She covered her mouth as her lips curled into a smile. The chiseled muscles of their sweat covered bodies were a wonder to behold.
“Come on, Haakon,” Septimus goaded the larger man, who stood over a full head taller and weighed half again as much, every ounce of it rippling muscle. “I saw you fight in the arena once. After what I saw of your performance, I would’ve sooner given a pig his freedom.”
Haakon grinned. “And you would have an almost even chance against the pig, little man.”
As if on an unspoken and unseen cue, the two men suddenly crashed together. After exchanging a flurry of blows, Septimus went flying as if he had been fired from an onager. Rolling as he landed, he got to his feet with deft grace, a look of grudging admiration on his face.
“I’m going to call that one in favor of Haakon, Septimus,” Paulus called, and the men applauded.
Septimus frowned, uttered a venomous curse, and spat.
Turning to Pelonius, Haakon pointed his sword at Septimus and said with a laugh, “If he is the best you have, the Empire is doomed.”
The soldiers who had gathered around to observe the spectacle laughed. Every man in the legion respected Septimus, but none of them would confess to liking him, for he was a difficult man to like. Haakon, who was well known in the region and an entertainer by trade, had instantly become popular.
But his humiliation of Septimus had wiped away the goodwill Valeria had felt toward him. She had no doubt that with steel in his hand and a true cause in his heart, Septimus would lay the larger man low, just as he had put others to the sword countless times before. More than that, Septimus, despite having the personality of an annoyed badger, was at heart a good man.
“This could get interesting,” Pelonius muttered as a murderous scowl clouded Septimus’s face.
“He’s going to want justice for that,” Marcus added with a sigh.
“And he might get more than he bargained for if he does,” Pelonius said. “I, too, have seen Haakon in the arena. He’s far more formidable than even his appearance would lead you to believe. Even against Septimus, I would be hard pressed to wager against him.”
Valeria turned at that. “You won’t let him hurt Septimus, will you? I won’t stand for that.”
“If Septimus feels his honor is at stake,” Pelonius said, “I may have no choice.”
Haakon solved the problem for them. “I heard a rumor that you have a true fighter here, a warrior from the Dark Lands? Is this true?”
“It is,” Pelonius replied. “His name is Karan. But he is a free man, not a legionary. I have no authority over him to make him face you.”
Karan, who had been sitting quietly, legs crossed, on the other side of Hercules, uncoiled and stood.
“I’m not through with you, yet!” Septimus hissed at Haakon.
Haakon turned to him, his face again breaking into a smile. “We can play sword games later, little centurion. I meant you no insult.” He waved his arm toward the onlooking soldiers. “I simply wanted to entertain my friends a bit and enrich their bets.” As the soldiers laughed, Haakon’s eyes locked on Karan. “But mostly I wanted to meet this Ghost I have heard so much about.”
“I don’t believe it,” Marcus growled.
Valeria looked at him. “What?”
“I think that daft idiot enlisted in the legion just to satisfy his curiosity about Karan. He’d never be able to cross swords with him otherwise.”
“He would give up ten years of his life in an enlistment just for that?”
“You’d be surprised what men like that might do,” Marcus told her. “Besides, he’s probably been bored out of his mind since becoming a freedman and leaving behind the arena.”
Turning to Karan, Pelonius said, “This is entirely up to you.”
Karan shrugged. “He is of my kind, and perhaps will be worthy of my sword.” With that, he stepped down from the platform to the sand. He paused to set down his sword and retrieve the wooden practice sword he had made, which reflected the size, shape, weight, and balance of the real one.
“This is the famous Ghost?” Haakon gawked at Karan, then sighed with disappointment. “You are but a boy! Never mind. I have not come to kill a babe still sucking on his mother’s teat.”
Karan stared at him for a moment, then exchanged a look with Septimus, who was mouthing a nonstop stream of invective. “I accept your challenge,” Karan said in a quiet voice. Driving the tip of his wooden sword into the sand, he removed his clothes down to a white loincloth, folding the garments carefully before setting them aside.
“By all the gods,” Valeria whispered. None of them had seen any more of Karan’s skin than his face and neck, hands and wrists, for he always bathed alone in the stream near the fort. The scars he had thus far revealed spoke of terrible cruelty, but had been merely a prologue to the tale told by the rest of his body. His back was a mass of deep crisscrossed scar tissue, as if he had been scourged, probably more than once. More scars curled and twisted around his arms and shoulders like intricate scrollwork, streaming over his chest, sides, and stomach, then down over his buttocks and legs to his feet. She counted eight puckered scars resulting from deep stab wounds, three of which were in his chest, and one of which must have speared him clean through.
Even Haakon was taken aback. “You were treated worse than my master did me,” he said in a sympathetic voice. “A great deal worse.”
Karan said nothing. Cocking his head to one side, he regarded Haakon for a moment. “Wood or steel?”
“Ah!” Haakon looked at Septimus and grinned. “He may be a suckling babe, but he is a true warrior!”
“Careful, Karan,” Septimus warned quietly.
“Your friend gives you wise counsel,” Haakon said. “You would be wise to decline my invitation, for I am not known for showing mercy, even to the brave. But if you insist…if I am given the choice, I always prefer steel.”
On the platform, Valeria whispered, “Pelonius, stop this! Make them use the training swords! We’re supposed to be training the men, not having them kill one another!”
“We’re forging a legion,” Pelonius told her, “and sometimes that requires more than just sweat and wooden swords. I hate to say this, but Karan is the only reflection we have of our enemy, and this is the first real test we’ll have had of his skills against other men.”
“It’s also a matter of honor,” Marcus added. “Karan cannot back down, and we cannot change the rules, without him sacrificing his honor. And, in a way, he’s fighting now for Septimus’s honor, as well.” He looked at her. “You are Roman. You should know better.”
Her lips compressed into a tight line, she glared at Marcus, then at Pelonius. Then she turned back to the arena, a disgusted look on her face. “Men,” she whispered. “Idiots.”
Karan set aside his wooden sword and retrieved his true weapon, slowly drawing the long, gracefully curved blade from its glossy scabbard. Turning toward Hercules, he fell to his knees and raised the sword in his hands like an offering to his god, which was exactly what it was. Bowing his head and closing his eyes, he whispered words that were too soft for Valeria to hear. Finished, he opened his eyes and looked at her with a gaze so intense she felt as if she might melt.
Then he was on his feet, striding toward his challenger, who had been handed a sword by Septimus.
Pelonius chewed his lip, then sighed. “We’ll compromise,” he told Valeria. “We can’t afford to lose Karan, and I would hate to lose Haakon.” In his command voice, he bellowed to the men below, “The combat is until first blood is drawn, not to the death. Is that clear?”
Haakon bobbed his head, while Karan bowed at the waist. Then they turned to face one another.
Pelonius nodded to Valeria.
She felt Paulus put his arm on her shoulder and give a gentle squeeze. In a hoarse voice, her hands clenching the arms of her chair, she said, “Begin!”
In a smooth motion, Karan brought his sword up, both hands lightly gripping the weapon�
��s long handle, the blade shimmering in the sun. His face was an expression of utter calm, his body completely relaxed.
Haakon gave his sword a few test swings, the sharp blade cutting through the air with an audible whoosh. Then he looked at Karan and grinned. “You can still give up, boy,” he said in a good natured voice.
“Stop playing the gladiator and get on with it,” Septimus snapped from the sidelines.
“You have no appreciation of theater, little man,” the giant grumbled. Then, with a roar, he charged at Karan, amazingly fast, his sword flashing in an overhand arc toward Karan’s head.
The training ground rang with the kiss of steel as Karan deflected Haakon’s blade with his own, neatly sidestepping around the giant as the larger man’s momentum carried him forward. With what to Valeria’s eye was no more than a casual flick of his wrists as Haakon roared past, Karan cut Haakon’s loincloth, twice. The severed garment fell away, leaving the former gladiator naked for all to see.
The soldiers erupted in a gale of laughter. Even Septimus laughed, which sounded not unlike the braying of a donkey.
To his credit, Haakon took the blow in stride. Turning to face the platform, he raised his arms above his head and grinned at Valeria as he thrust his hips in a mock display of passion. “Ah, the boy has revealed my true weapon!”
The soldiers howled.
“The man is insufferable,” Valeria growled, pretending to avert her eyes from the sight of Haakon’s impressive manhood.
She gave a start as the naked, laughing man leaped a distance equivalent to at least his own height toward Karan, his sword drawn back like an arrow, its tip pointing right at Karan’s heart.
Again, Karan effortlessly flicked Haakon’s blade aside, then whirled, his body following the path of his own weapon. The bigger man grunted as Karan’s right elbow slammed into Haakon’s exposed left side hard enough to send him sprawling face first in the sand.
“That’s done it,” Marcus hissed.
As he got to his feet, spitting sand from his mouth, Haakon’s face was a vision of Mars enraged. With murder in his eyes, he stalked Karan much like Hercules might stalk a deer.
Except Karan was no deer.
Falling upon Karan, Haakon rained down a series of rapid blows with his sword, forehand and back, overhand and side cut, and the onlookers fell silent as the ring of steel and the big gladiator’s angry roar filled the air. Training in the other areas of the field had all but stopped, and most of the legion was pressing close for a look at the action, with money frantically trading hands as the soldiers placed bets on who would win.
Karan gave ground as he parried Haakon’s strikes, his body moving like water, graceful and fluid, a look of quiet contentment on his face.
Grunting and bellowing in wordless rage, Haakon drove forward, hammering at Karan with his sword like the blacksmith who had forged it.
“No,” Valeria whispered, leaning forward, her eyes filling with hot tears as Karan found himself cornered, trapped against the line of men who formed the boundary of the makeshift arena. “Please, no.”
Perhaps the gods heard her plea, or perhaps it was mere coincidence, but that was the exact moment when Karan suddenly transformed. In the terribly brief interval between Haakon’s sword strikes, Karan leaped up into the air and lashed out with his right leg, slamming his foot square into Haakon’s chest. The big man grunted in pain and surprise.
As Haakon stumbled backward, his arms windmilling for balance, Karan did a backward somersault in midair to land lightly on his feet. But the look of serenity on his face was gone, replaced by one of animal intensity that Valeria glimpsed every time she looked into Hercules’s eyes.
In three long strides Karan found his prey, and his sword was a blurring silver flash as he sent Haakon into full retreat across the sand, never allowing him to regain his balance, let alone the initiative.
When he had nearly run out of room, Haakon lost his footing and went down on one knee. With a twirl and flick of Karan’s own sword, Haakon’s weapon was sent flying. Before the sword hit the ground, Karan had whipped around, his blade scything through the air…stopping just as it touched Haakon’s neck.
With the barest movement, Karan drew the blade a fraction of an inch across the skin of his opponent, right over where the artery pulsed from Haakon’s rapidly beating heart. As a thin trace of crimson welled from the tiny wound, Karan withdrew his sword and stepped back.
Valeria jumped to her feet, infinitely relieved, and Pelonius called, “The match is over! Karan is the victor.”
The soldiers, especially the handful who had wagered in Karan’s favor and had just made a small fortune, went as wild as any mob attending a gladiatorial game.
Karan bowed to Valeria, then turned to face Haakon, who was still on his knees, glaring.
“You were toying with me the entire time,” the former gladiator accused.
Karan shrugged. “I was taking your measure as an opponent, just as you were doing with me.”
Haakon sighed. “I never stood a chance, did I?”
“It is a secret I shall take with me to the afterlife,” Karan told him in a solemn voice, soft enough that no other ears might hear above the tumult that Marcus was now trying to quell. Then Karan stepped forward and offered his hand.
Staring at it for a moment, the big man finally grinned, showing sand between his white teeth. Taking Karan’s hand, he got to his feet, then lifted Karan to his shoulder with one arm as if he were no more than a small child. Haakon paraded Karan around the makeshift arena as the soldiers chanted “Hercules! Hercules!”
“Well, Ghost,” Haakon shouted over the noise as he set Karan down, “I expect we’ll be having some interesting times, you and I.” Then, with a lusty roar, Haakon grabbed his own manhood and rendered a lewd salute to his fellow soldiers.
“Be careful what you wish for,” Karan said softly as the legionaries’ laughter echoed across the training field.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Tiberius sat erect on what he termed his “field throne,” a much less elaborate version of the throne that occupied the focal point of the Senate chamber. It had been placed near the front of the main room of the principia, the headquarters building of the fort occupied by Legio Hercules. Tiberius and Octavia had accompanied Legio VI Victrix to Aquitania, traveling by ship north through the Mediterranean before entering the straits that emptied into the Haunted Sea. From there, the ships hugged the shore, risking running aground rather than invite the mysterious death that awaited them in deeper waters. Upon their arrival at The Wall, Tiberius had granted himself a brief moment for a joyful reunion with his daughter. Then, leaving her in Octavia’s care, he wasted no time in assembling the senior officers of Legio Hercules, who briefed him and the officers of Victrix on the events that had taken place. They had also introduced Tiberius to Karan, who had recounted in his own words what Tiberius already had heard from Pelonius.
“I thank you, Karan,” Tiberius said to the young man, who bowed deeply, “both as Caesar and as father to Valeria. I am in your debt.”
“The honor is mine…Caesar.”
“Now, if you would, please excuse us. I would have words with my officers.”
After another bow, Karan turned and left, his feet padding silently across the floor.
Tiberius stared after him and said nothing for such a long moment that some of the younger officers, unaccustomed to being in the presence of Caesar, began to fidget. Finally, he said, to no one in particular, “And this…boy…defeated Haakon the Barbarian in single combat?”
“Quite effortlessly,” Pelonius answered.
“I’ve never seen the like,” Septimus added, volunteering his professional opinion. “I wasn’t sure before I saw them fight, but I know now that Karan could’ve taken that big oaf in not much more than the blink of an eye. He’s the best swordsman I’ve ever seen in my life, and when he uses the bow, Mars cast me down if Diana herself isn’t guiding his hand.”
Tib
erius turned to Marcus, favoring him with a cold gaze. “And you’ve trusted this warrior to be near my daughter, when it was your duty to protect her? What if he has some darker intent of which we are unaware?”
Marcus stiffened. “When the Dark Wolves came upon us, sir, she would have died, were it not for him. We all would have, I think. But you already know that. Since then, he’s…”
“He’s been absolutely devoted to her,” Paulus interjected, “as much or more than Hercules, whom Karan worships as a living god.” He shrugged. “We all had such reservations early on, but Karan’s never given us cause to question his benign intent, especially toward Valeria. He never hovers over her, but he’s never far from her side, either.”
Tiberius cocked his head to one side. “Does he have feelings toward her?”
“None that he’s spoken of,” Paulus said as his neck flushed red. “But I believe he cares deeply for her, all the same.”
“No one in the Empire could protect her any better,” Septimus added in a glum voice. “Not even me.”
“And that,” Marcus said, “is why I have allowed him to be close to her. After what I saw of him in the match with Haakon, I regard that as one of the best decisions of my life, and in keeping with your orders, sir.”
“If there is fault to be had, Caesar,” Pelonius said, “I beg that you look to me. Marcus had direct responsibility for her protection, but that responsibility fell upon me as soon as I accepted the position of temporary legatus of the legion.”
That finally brought a smile to Tiberius’s lips. “Sticking your head in the lion’s mouth again, are you, Pelonius?”
The scribe-turned-temporary general grinned. “The smell is far better than the last time. Lion’s breath leaves much to be desired.”
The two men laughed at their shared memory, while the younger men who didn’t know Pelonius gawked.
“All right,” Tiberius said, rising from his chair and coming to stand at the head of the large table upon which stood a mockup of The Wall, the fort, and the land around them for a radius of roughly a mile, “I’ll accept your word that our friend Karan poses no threat to my daughter or my wife, now that she is here, as well. Now let’s get down to business.”
Vulcan's Fury: The Dark Lands Page 17