Black Legion - The First Trilogy

by Michael G. Thomas

  He turned to those watching.

  “Cunaxa is the price, the richest world any of you will have ever seen. It is said there is more gold on Cunaxa than seen in the entire history of the Terrans. You are the Black Legion, the greatest force of mercenaries ever assembled. I have decided to melt down the entire treasury of Cunaxa and divide it amongst the victors of the Legion. You will each become as wealthy as a Medes Satrap and with more power than any of your own people back home!”

  Clearchus watched with satisfaction as the Terrans waved their arms, shouted and spoke among themselves. Even the Dukas, the most disciplined and experience of them all appeared to lose themselves to the moment. Clearchus was well used to this moment before battle, the final elation of knowing that the waiting was over.

  They will sober up when we reach Cunaxa. A fleet of Elamites tends to have that effect.

  * * *

  Imperial Palace, Cunaxa Secundus

  Dukas Phalinus, the exiled lord of Zacynthia stood smartly to attention alongside his bandon of three hundred warriors at the side of the parade ground. The Dukas himself watched the soldiers with pride. He’d managed to turn them from a non-martial performing rabble into something resembling an army in a matter of a few weeks. Unlike the Terrans, these warriors were more slaves than freed men, and they lacked strength, skill or discipline. In fact, the only positive feature he’d seen was that they had numbers. Armoured vehicles moved in perfect synchronisation while soldiers from a hundred nations marched back and forth under the command of their regional leaders.

  Not bad for provincials! He thought wryly.

  The only warriors he hadn’t needed to drill were the elite soldiers of the Anusiyans; the ten thousand soldiers that apparently could never be killed. He’d seen them die though and like all men or aliens, they died the same as the next. He looked back a short distance away to the spires and towers of the imperial barracks, the home of the palace’s defensive forces. Even further away were thousands of buildings, each of them more massive and awe-inspiring than anything he’d seen on a Terran world.

  Clearchus will not place a foot on this world.

  He looked back to his own force of Terran warriors. Almost half were Zacynthians like him, but the rest were a mixture of ex-soldiers, pirates and mercenaries from the furthest edges of the Terran territories. They were the equal of any elite Terran force and had seen action in the Ionian territories before being noticed by Tissaphernes. Since then, they’d fought pirates, Mulacs and a dozen other races before being attached to the Royal military forces at Cunaxa.

  His people had sided with the Terran Alliance, commanded by Attica in the War with Laconia. Following their defeat, he and many of his commanders had been imprisoned or exiled. Each of his warriors now wore the uniforms of the Emperor’s elite Anusiyan bodyguard and carried Medes rifles and long curved swords. They were allowed to retain their Terran chest armour and helmets though, a single allowance to their Terran heritage and martial prowess. His men were not happy with the Medes weapons. The rifles were long-ranged but excessively long in his opinion, and the swords seemed redundant to him in an age where firepower and numbers were more than a match for armour and close quarter combat skill. He recalled the story of the stratiotes defeating a Laconian spatharii heavy infantry unit on the mountain of Pylos. The lighter armed warriors had been able to use speed and range to keep away from the slower but better armoured Laconians.

  “My Lord.” Arkeisios, his trusted battle-brother twisted his head just a few millimetres so that he could whisper to his master. The man was his second-in-command and had worked with him for many years as a mercenary. There was no other he trusted more highly.

  “He approaches.”

  As always, Dukas Phalinus was amazed at the hearing of his friend. As good as his word, the form of Tissaphernes, Satrap of the recently disputed Cilician Gates, approached. He was flanked by just a dozen of his bodyguard. He ignored the soldiers and marched directly to the Dukas before nodding.

  “Dukas, what happened at Khorram? Your orders were clear, were they not?”

  The Satrap looked at the Terran with bemused satisfaction. The man’s reputation as a warrior might be second to the great commanders in the Black Legion, but it hadn’t stopped his men being equipped with Medes equipment.

  “Now, what were your orders?”

  He expected the man to cower down before him but instead was met with defiance.

  “Lord Tissaphernes. My orders were clear, to force the Legion to succumb to infighting, and to give your Great King time to prepare.”

  Tissaphernes raised an eyebrow at his words.

  “Well, what happened? Why is the Legion preparing to advance on Cunaxa?”

  Dukas Phalinus smiled at his confusion.

  “Because I left intelligence at Kashan that showed the assembly of the Imperial Navy.”

  Tissaphernes took a step closer to him, and two of the Dukas’ men moved closer to their commander. Each of them was ready to strike at the Satrap if he dared to raise a hand to the Dukas. Tissaphernes noticed them and stopped, contented that he was close enough to be uncomfortable to the Dukas. Instead, he turned to anger and simple rage.

  “You did what? This is treason!” he roared. “By leaving this information and a botched assassination attempt, you have managed to turn them against us. Instead of months, we have just days to prepare.”

  Dukas Phalinus remained perfectly calm.

  “Lord Tissaphernes, my orders came directly through the chain of command. The Great King Artaxerxes requested that I encourage his brother to attack before he has time to build up his fleet. It seems he is quite the strategist. Rumour has it that he has been assembling his forces for over a month now. He is quite well prepared for anything Cyrus might throw at him.”

  Tissaphernes looked at him, and the Dukas was convinced he could spot doubt on the face of the lithe Median noble. One thing he knew by now was that backstabbing and political intrigue were greater weapons in the Empire than any army or weapon. It was the same thing that had happened to him and his friends back home, and he knew full well how quickly the mighty could fall.

  With a little help, or course, he said to himself.

  Tissaphernes straightened up and looked to the Terran soldiers. It was clear he wanted to do or say something but with great effort, he controlled himself. He forced a smile, as if he somehow orchestrated the entire situation.

  “The Emperor wishes to see all of us in the throne room, inside the Citadel.”

  The Dukas looked back at the massive fortified structure and for a second, a rumour of doubt entered his body. He had never seen the Emperor. In fact, after the debacle at Khorram, the Emperor had not moved from the Citadel.

  Why does he want to see me?

  He turned and looked up at the largest building in the capital, the Citadel of Cunaxa. Built on top of a natural peak in the centre of the capital, it was surrounded by a dozen star-shaped fortresses and joining walls of thirty metres in height. Behind all of this was the Citadel itself, a mighty structure covered in domes and pillars that reached up into the clouds. Landing pads, weapon turrets and shield generators covered the entire site. Tissaphernes watched his gaze and smiled inwardly as his discomfort. He leaned closer to him.

  “Don’t worry. I have already spoken with him and the other Satraps. I think you are about to learn your part in the defence of Cunaxa and the end of Cyrus and hit pitiful little band.”

  The Dukas looked into the eyes of the Median Lord, but all he could see were the cold, pitiless eyes of a Satrap. He felt a very real chill through his body and the news that very soon he could be facing the most respected Terran commander in living memory, and his old enemy, Strategos Clearchus.

  So, my old friend, soon we shall meet, and this time it will be Laconian blood spilt.

  * * *

  Thessalian Titan ‘Poseidon’, Gates of Media

  Dukas Meno, the commander of the Thessalian contingent of the Legion watche
d from his command deck deep inside the Titan Poseidon. This mighty ship had been built with the combined effort of every shipyard his homeworld had to offer. It had been a monumental effort to build her and therefore even more incredible that Clearchus and Cyrus had been able to procure her services. The warship wasn’t designed just to be able to fight in the line of battle or even to transport legions of soldiers. A Titan was the very soul of a colony with the architectural style, technology and equipment directly reflecting its home colonies and planets.

  Dukas Meno was very different to the other Dukas and Komes in the Legion. Unlike them, he’d spent most of his adult life as a mercenary. He had never served in the military but he had fought for a dozen commanders on a dozen worlds, and knew how to fight on land and in space. He had links to many important figures in the Thessalian Territories, and it was him that had enabled Clearchus to enlist the services of the warship. He looked the part of a mercenary commander with a rugged complexion, muscled body and a badly burned face on the one side. Most assumed it had been from battle, but very few knew the truth about his injuries. He’d led a mercenary contingent on behalf of Attica in the last stages of the war between Attica and Laconia. After a number of minor victories, he’d been sent on a suicide mission on the final day of the war to attack an undefended Laconian starbase. He had refused to fight and it was that decision that had made him something of a celebrity following the war. Most assumed he’d refused because of some kind of humanitarian spirit while others thought it was to save his own warriors from a pointless last mission in a lost war. Only his closest commanders knew the truth, and that there was no profit to be gained in terms of wealth, honour or casualties by attacking in the last day of a war. He might have been rich but that never seemed to improve his mood. It was rumoured that not one Terran had ever seen him smile. Another rumour said that he was one of the richest, if not the richest Terran.

  Olympia, a beautiful ship. How did that old fool lose such a prize? He wondered.

  Poseidon was an impressive ship and carried thousand of crew as well as fighting contingents of the Dukas, plus the warriors of Sosis the Syracusan and the survivors of Dukas Xenias’ forces from the Titan Olympia. There was a small force of native Navy crew, apparently part of the agreement for the use of the ship, but he had already moved most of them to less important tasks. There were few he trusted, and those in the pay of the state were not at the top of his loyalty list. As was customary on a Titan, the commanding Dukas stood in the centre with all other officers in their positions to follow his orders. There were slightly fewer officers in this ship compared to the others. This was mainly due to the technological improvements made to the ship by the Dukas over the course of their trip. Poseidon also had access to the largest contingent of engineers. The increased automation, power system improvements and modified weapons had made her into potentially the most powerful of the three remaining Titans. He looked at the view around the ship and shook his head.

  Stood next to him was Lady Artemas, dressed as always in her tight fitting Median corset, long boots and Terran armour.

  “Explain this to me again, Lady Artemas. We are supposed to be the vanguard of the Legion with a scout from the Imperial family itself. Why is it then, that this is the third refuelling point we’ve stopped at, to find nothing but abandoned colonies and destruction?”

  She looked out into space and gazed upon the beauty and the devastation that had been wrought throughout the system. Like all the modern Terran ships, the Poseidon was equipped with a full Virtual Observation System. A molecular level surface had been installed to the walls, floor and ceiling of the command deck, allowing the central processor to project a photorealistic video feed on every surface. The resulting imagery gave the effect that the command crew were floating in space. An added benefit was that information, graphs and additional data could be overlaid to provide a detailed tactical view of the surrounding system. She took a long breath and answered the irritated Dukas.

  “Dukas, I am no truthsayer. The course the Strategos has laid out gives us little room for change. We are only two jumps away from the Cunaxa Nebula. It’s clear that the Emperor already knows we are coming.”

  The Dukas sighed, the air whistling gently through his teeth.

  “Really, you know this? How?”

  Artemas walked to the navigation desk where two senior dekarchos were busy watching for potential problems.

  “May I?” she asked politely.

  The nearest, a young woman in her twenties looked to the Dukas before nodding. Artemas then approached the display and brought up the starmap that showed the area of space around the Gates of Media. There were dozens of stars but few routes to Cunaxa that wouldn’t double or even triple their journey time. She pointed at the Gates, their present location.

  “We’re here, the Gates of Media. This is the ancient entrance to the Median territories. From here onwards, we are not just inside the Empire, we are in the territory of the Medes themselves.”

  The Dukas looked confused, but she wondered how much of it was a show, put on to extract as much information from her as possible. On the other hand, he could simply be that stupid. There was also the possible chance that he just wanted to be a nuisance.

  “So? We’ve been in Medes territory for weeks. What point are you making?”

  Xenophon, who until now had been stood silently, was waiting in the corner with Roxana Devereux at his side. Both wore their Legion uniforms with Arcadian insignia and a small device on their shoulders to pin their cloaks into place. Apparently, it was an emblem of sorts for Artemas and her house. He stepped from the side of the deck and towards the Dukas and Lady Artemas.

  “My Lord, may I?” he asked.

  The Dukas looked at the Dekarchos and the uniform he wore. He was no great fan of the Medes, and the fact that this man wore a mixture of Terran and Medes military attire seemed to annoy him even more.

  “Dekarchos, you are the escort of the Lady Artemas. What insight can you possibly have to offer?”

  Xenophon did his best to choke back his annoyance. There hadn’t been time for them all to be properly introduced to the Dukas and his command staff. The fact that Xenias and his troops had been ordered aboard the Poseidon, against the wishes of Meno, had done little to help that. The only reason he was on the command deck was down to the insistence of Cyrus that his niece was protected at all times by her trusted group of companions.

  “First of all, the Median Empire is the name we gave to this substantial Empire. Technically it is a poor choice. The Medes themselves are the masters, the primary race if you will, and are based in the Median territories.”

  “As in the place we have now entered,” added Artemas with a gentle smile.

  “Indeed,” said Xenophon, looking back to the Dukas, “the planets and systems outside of the Medes territory are still part of the Empire and ruled by the Satraps on behalf of the Emperor. This is the heart of their Empire, and only those of Medes blood may live on these worlds.”

  Dukas Meno pointed to the worlds around the ship.

  “I count many worlds here, all of which were inhabited until four to five days ago. Where are these Medes people you refer to?”

  Xenophon shrugged.

  “Dukas, that I do not know.”

  The commander of the Titan lifted his hand in annoyance.

  “Both of you get off my command deck. I will send scouts to investigate these planets before we make the next jump. I suggest you return to your unit and prepare yourselves.”

  Xenophon started to reply, but Artemas grabbed his arm. The Dukas saw this and laughed loudly.

  “I see, so the Medes woman tells the Terran soldier what to say and to whom.”

  He shook his head with disgust.

  “Get out, now!”

  Roxana had already stepped to the door, and four of Meno’s mercenaries stepped aside so that the three of them could leave. Xenophon looked back through the door as it shut behind them.

&nb
sp; “Well, that didn’t go down so well, did it?” asked Roxana sarcastically.

  The three followed the corridor past many mercenaries who seemed to be lurking about with nothing useful to do. Xenophon watched them carefully, ever suspicious one of them might attack him or more likely, Artemas. They passed many such groups, as well as a spatharii security patrol that seemed more interested in gawping at Artemas than keeping the ship safe. The elevators to the different parts of the ship were in this section, but the doors were open, and two engineers were busy working away with welding equipment. They both wore traditional Navy uniforms and were presumably part of the Titan’s original crew. One of them spotted the group waiting patiently.

  “Sorry, elevators are being upgraded. You’ll have to go the long way through the barrack levels. Sorry,” he said apologetically and returned to his work.

  “Is it me, or does this ship seem like a disaster area to you?” asked Artemas.

  Xenophon and Roxana ignored her question but increased their pace. For the last few days, they’d spent all their time with the rest of Xenias’ troops. Any contact with the Dukas had been done using the internal communications. This was their first meeting, and Xenophon suspected probably their last one, based on the way they’d been treated. They finally reached the first main junction, stopping to check the route. Lit signage pointed to the command deck, security post and barrack levels. Two soldiers wearing the uniforms of Dukas Sosis the Syracusan leaned against the wall. They watched the group of three but said nothing. Roxana stopped and checked the schematic on the wall.

  “Yeah, seven levels down. We need to go that way,” she said, pointing to a rectangular doorway on the right. Floor and ceiling lighting showed it was the route that led to a number of barracks levels. They moved on, passing a number of doorways of large barrack rooms for the embarked soldiers. There were flags, banners and posters all over the walls, proclaiming the dominance of their Dukas. It took almost ten minutes to reach the next junction and the corridors leading down to the lower levels. This part of the ship seemed even less salubrious, and the soldiers became more a mix of different colonies as well as mercenaries. Almost exactly as he predicted, two of the mercenaries stepped out and blocked their path no more then thirty metres from the doorway.