The movement that Marcus, who had tactical control over the men now while Pelonius and Tiberius managed the reserve, intended the men to make would add a slight but vital twist: as the men at the front rotated to the rear of their line at each blow of the whistle, the entire formation would continuously, if slowly, move along the Via Praetoria toward the gate that led to The Wall.
He blew his whistle, and the men reacted as if they were part of a giant machine with a thousand moving parts, rotating smoothly from outside to inside as the entire formation began to flow along the street toward the far gate like an enormous millipede. If anything, the most difficult part was to keep the men facing the bulk of the enemy from being trampled by their foes, who were now in a blind panic to flee from the dark wolves that were savaging the rear of their formation. The beasts leaped from the backs of their tightly packed kin attacking the men in the rearmost rows, hurling themselves as deep as they could into the mass of soldiers before diving in with snapping jaws.
Marcus felt a brief pang of pity for the legionaries being slaughtered, but only until he recalled that, if it had been in his power, he would have slaughtered them all himself.
The sands of time having run through his mental hourglass, Marcus blew the whistle again, sending fresh men to the front as Legio Hercules continued its slow retreat toward The Wall.
***
Karan moved like a shadow upon the wind through the castrum. He killed enemy soldiers when necessary, but avoided them when he could. He had every intention of joining the battle, but he had to first reach the officers’ barracks where Paulus had been quartered, for that was where Karan’s bow awaited him.
Every route to the building was blocked by the enemy, with more pouring down the alleyways between the buildings as they sought to escape the attacking beasts. With no other way open to him, Karan dashed toward an ox cart beside one of the barracks, leaped up, then used it as a springboard to reach the building’s roof. Treading with care so as not to fall through, he ran in short, light steps across its length before hurling himself to the roof of the next building.
After four such jumps, he reached the building that housed the officers’ quarters. Swinging down from the roof in a move he had learned from watching the monkeys in the jungle, he let go and sailed through the doorway, just above the heads of the soldiers fleeing past.
With a sigh of relief, he saw that the enemy had been too preoccupied to ransack the building. His bow and quiver, stuffed full of arrows with gleaming metal tips, were right where he had left them. Fastening the quiver to his back with its strap, he slung the bow over his shoulder by the string.
Looking at the human tide fleeing past the doorway, he knew he wouldn’t be able to force his way in the opposite direction, which was the direction he intended to go. Instead, he darted into the flow and let the enemy soldiers, who completely ignored him in their terrified flight, carry him to the end of the building, where Karan darted around the corner, dashing to the other side. There, the stream of soldiers sweeping past ended with sudden violence as the stragglers were pounced upon by four legged shapes with teeth that gleamed in the darkness.
Bringing up his sword, Karan moved forward and began to kill the things that had pursued him across the waters of the Haunted Sea.
***
“You’re insane,” Decius said as he stared at Sergius. The two men, both astride their horses, were close behind the mass of men who were simultaneously pressing forward against the men of Hercules while desperately fighting off the wave of Dark Wolves that had poured through the main gate. “Twenty-thousand men are packed into this butcher shop, with at least a fifth of them being mine. You may not care about your men, but I do.” He snorted. “And Placus has fallen, you say. How convenient.”
“Do you doubt me?” Sergius hissed. He would have drawn his sword, but unlike Placus, Decius had kept bodyguards within easy reach.
“I only doubt your honor, motives, and skill in battle. Now, if you want men, go back the way you came and find your own legion, or whatever’s left of it. You won’t be poaching any from mine.”
With that, Decius rode forward, accompanied by his bodyguards, who cast suspicious glances at Sergius as they left him behind.
Muttering a curse, Sergius wheeled his horse away and rode until he was around the corner of a building, out of Decius’s sight. “You there!” he called to the nearest, one of Decius’s centurions. “Do you know who I am?”
“You’re General Sergius, sir, of Legio Invictus.”
Sergius smiled. “Quite right. Your general has graciously volunteered the services of you and your men for a special duty under my command. There is no time to waste!”
Pausing only for the briefest of moments, the centurion said, “Of course, sir!”
“Have your men grab as many torches as they can, then follow me.”
After shouting the necessary orders, the centurion’s men dashed into the nearest buildings, emerging moments later with torches in hand.
“We have a plan to kill the Dark Wolves,” Sergius told them, in what was not entirely a lie. “Along the walls are stockpiles of pitch and oil. You are to use them to set fire to the inside of the castrum’s wall. We will burn the beasts alive! Stop for no one and nothing! And as you move through the castrum, torch any buildings you pass. The Dark Wolves fear fire, and we must give them plenty. Your general is counting on you!” To the centurion, he added, “Break up your men into small groups and assign them each a section of the castrum. And centurion, make sure all the gates are closed except the south gate, the Porta Praetoria, which we will defend so the other troops can retreat. But we cannot let the Dark Wolves escape.”
“Yes…yes, sir,” the man stammered, involuntarily throwing a glance in the direction of the snarls and screams toward which his legion was pressing. “But what about the sections of the wall near the south gate, where the beasts are now? We might not be able to push through.”
“Some of your men are competent with a bow, I assume? Get them up on the roofs and let fly some flaming arrows. The amphorae holding the pitch are open at the top, and setting alight the buildings nearest them should also serve.”
That seemed to relieve the centurion. “Of course, general. I should have thought of that myself.”
“You are forgiven,” Sergius told him, flashing a smile. “This is certainly no ordinary battle, and it will not be won with ordinary tactics or by ordinary men. Do your duty for Rome, centurion!”
“Sir! It will be done.” Turning to his men, he quickly gave them their orders. In but a few moments, they had broken up into eight groups and quickly moved off toward their objectives.
***
“I think we might actually pull this off,” Tiberius breathed as he wiped blood from his eyes. One of the enemy soldiers had managed to shove a spear point into the gap between his helmet and scalp. It was only a minor wound, but was bleeding a river down Tiberius’s face.
“Thanks to those wretched beasts,” Marcus agreed.
While men of the other legions were still pressing their attack, in a very literal sense, they were far more afraid of the teeth and claws of the Dark Wolves than the swords and spears of Legio Hercules. Marcus had taken ruthless advantage of the enemy’s plight to move Hercules faster toward the northern gate. If they could escape the confinement of the castrum and reach The Wall, the legion would be able to hold out for at least three months. Pelonius had designed The Wall such that if the enemy managed to work his way around from the seaward side, he would find no easy way to attack the defenders from the rear. The fortifications also boasted stores of food, wine, pitch, oil, and fresh water, and a well stocked armory. Pelonius had told Tiberius that nothing less than a dozen legions with siege engines could break The Wall, and even then it would be at terrible cost to the attacking force.
Tiberius tried not to think of Octavia and Valeria, but it was impossible not to. The worst thing for a husband and father was to know that his wife and daughter w
ere in peril, but he was unable to help them.
“They are safe,” Pelonius said, as if reading Tiberius’s mind.
“You have no way of knowing that.”
Pelonius raised an eyebrow before casually stepping to one side as a poorly thrown spear flew past. “Have I ever been wrong?”
The darkness was torn away by flames that exploded upward from the southeastern section of the wooden wall that surrounded the castrum. More flames licked skyward from the buildings nearby.
Every man not fighting against the Dark Wolves looked toward the flames. The battle between Legio Hercules and the enemy legions paused as if the gods had stayed the hands of all who had only a moment before been intent on killing one another.
“It had to happen,” Marcus said in a resigned voice. He blew his whistle, then bellowed, “Move, you bastards! Move!”
His men snapped out of the trance and continued their retreat. The signal also galvanized their opponents, who pressed their attack even harder. None of them wanted to burn any more than they wanted to be eaten.
More flames leaped into the air from the northeastern quadrant, rapidly spreading along the eastern half of the castrum’s wall toward the northern gate that was the escape route for Legio Hercules.
The sound of cornicens echoed over the snarling mayhem of the battle.
Tiberius blinked in relieved disbelief. “They’re sounding retreat!”
***
Sergius knew that he couldn’t save all his men, nor did he care to. But he had to save at least some if he was to save his own skin. From the swirling chaos he had found a pair of cornicens from Invictus and ordered them to sound retreat. “Push back through the south gate!” he shouted over and over again to his men. Those who were not fighting for their lives against the ravening animals threw their weight forward, surging like a living organism toward the gate through which they’d entered the castrum, trying desperately to reach it before the fire did. The smoke was growing thicker by the moment, making it even more difficult to see, let alone breathe. The fire crackled and popped as it spread, consuming everything before it, and Sergius could feel the heat on the back of his neck. “The south gate! The south gate!”
His horse was trapped in the close-packed mob so tightly that he had no hope of moving forward or back.
Just as he was about to whip the beast forward, trampling his own men underfoot, the men suddenly surged forward like water released from a dam. He moved slowly at first as men began forcing their way past those who were holding off the wolves, then faster as more and more soldiers forced themselves into the gap to reach the relative safety of the sandy ground beyond.
With his height advantage atop his horse, Sergius could see over the heads of his men into what had become a roughly circular arena strewn with bodies — of both men and beast — covered in blood that stood ankle deep. Somewhere down the Via Praetoria in the direction of the Haunted Sea were Legio Hercules and Caesar. He could only hope that his men were able to close the north gate in time and trap them in the castrum as it burned.
“Centurion,” Sergius called out to the leader of his legion’s first cohort, ignoring the men who were still trying to contain the wolves within the walls, “close this gate.”
***
Karan emerged from the lee of one of the buildings beside the Via Praetoria, stepping into the abattoir before the south gate. Soldiers were streaming out through it like terrified rats, with the surviving Dark Wolves, which were growing tired, snapping at their heels. Karan himself was fighting for breath. After gathering up his bow and quiver, he had killed without pause. Mostly he had put dark wolves to the sword, but many of Caesar’s human enemies had joined the carnivores in death.
The alpha stood near the center of the impromptu arena, panting, his eyes fixed on Karan. A few of the other wolves made to charge Karan, but the alpha warned them away with a ferocious growl. The other wolves, hearing the voice of their master, turned from the other prey and gathered around to attend the end of the Great Hunt, come at last.
Karan set down his bow and quiver, which was nearly empty. He had never before even imagined surviving the end of a Great Hunt, because in his former existence there was no reason to continue living, even if it had been possible. Swords were born and bred for that final pursuit, the ultimate pleasure of the Masters, and nothing else had mattered. And in all the countless years during which Swords had served Masters, none had survived a Great Hunt.
But now…an image of Valeria’s face flashed through his mind. His dreams were not big enough to imagine a world where the two of them lived together as one, as did Caesar and Octavia. But he remembered with heart-pounding clarity the electric warmth of her lips against his, her hands on his skin. A pleasant chill ran through his body at the memory. Even if that was all there ever would be between them, it was worth fighting for. It was something worth living for.
Pushing thoughts of her aside, he closed his eyes and calmed his body, stilled his mind. The sword in his hands was lighter than a feather, faster than lightning. Opening his eyes, he looked through the thickening smoke at the great beast that crouched with bared teeth, a growl deep in its throat. The darkness was nearly like day now, so bright were the fires burning, and he felt the searing heat from the flames. “Let us finish this,” Karan whispered.
The alpha moved forward, crouched low, the muscles of its legs bunched up, contracted and ready to spring. Karan, holding his sword over his head, circled to one side, careful to avoid tripping on the countless corpses of men and beast, his feet splashing in the pools of blood.
Another wolf leaped at him from behind, fear of the alpha no longer enough to restrain its primal impulses. Karan whirled in a smooth motion, the sword slitting the beast’s throat before he ducked to one side, letting the mortally wounded beast sail past him. It hit the ground and tried to turn on him, even as blood poured from its neck. The alpha pounced, taking the already dying beast by the spine, just behind the skull, and biting down with killing force. The doomed wolf squealed as its spine snapped with a wet crunch, then it fell lifeless to the ground.
Moving with its own bestial grace, the alpha leaped toward Karan, landing before him, just out of reach of his sword, snarling and snapping its jaws. Lunging forward, Karan tried to stab it, but the beast was incredibly nimble. Not only did it dodge his blade, it made its own lunge, its jaws closing on the sleeve of Karan’s left arm. Letting go of his sword with his left hand, he swung the weapon with his right, aiming for the alpha’s back.
But the animal let go and darted just out of reach before charging in once more.
Karan knew the animal was trying to wear him down, but he had no alternative but to fight: unless he defeated the alpha, he had no chance of getting away from the rest of the pack.
Around and round they went, lunging, feinting, testing, with neither man nor beast able to make a decisive move, until Karan made a fatal mistake. Approaching exhaustion, his vision clouded by the smoke, which was also making him cough, he dodged another of the alpha’s attacks, only to slip on a pile of slick entrails. Even as he went down the alpha attacked, darting forward with open jaws. Slamming into the ground, Karan did the only thing he could: he rolled toward the beast, presenting it with the tip of his sword while holding the end of the handle firmly against the ground, braced by the weight of his body.
His mistake had indeed been fatal, but not for him. Perhaps blinded by the smoke, or perhaps just unable to see the tiny cross section the sword presented when seen end-on, the alpha didn’t try to slow down or dodge aside. Instead, it came straight on with all its might. The beast drove itself into the sword with so much force that Karan was shoved backward along the blood-slick street. The tip of the blade disappeared down the alpha’s throat, and the beast came to a shuddering halt with the end of its snout only a hair’s breadth from the sword’s intricately decorated steel hand guard. It stood there for a moment, staring at him as blood poured from its mouth. Then, with a wheezing sigh,
it collapsed to the ground.
Getting to his feet, Karan wrenched the sword from the dead beast. The other dark wolves glared at him, their eyes reflecting the flickering fires.
Crack! The main truss of the nearest building, which was fully aflame, gave way, and the entire structure collapsed in a splash of fire and embers that exploded outward.
The animals decided that enough was enough. With their alpha dead and none yet chosen to replace him, they fled along the alleyways between the buildings that were not yet burning, seeking a way out of the burning cauldron the castrum had become.
Picking up his bow with shaking hands and slinging the quiver over his shoulder, Karan ran along the street, following in the path of Legio Hercules as the legion slowly made its way toward the north gate. Off to one side, he caught sight of a small group of soldiers running at full tilt toward the gate on a parallel course among the burning buildings. With suspicion blooming in his mind, Karan cut across to the street along which they ran while nocking one of his few remaining arrows in his bow.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“May the gods have mercy,” Octavia whispered as she stood with Valeria and the others, watching the castrum burn. From their vantage point atop The Wall, they could see everything in vivid detail. The entire wooden wall around the castrum, save for a section to either side of the northern gate facing them, was now a flaming barrier. The buildings within were lost to the yellow and orange tongues of fire that swept across the rooftops.
And in the center of it all, still moving with mechanical precision along the Via Praetoria toward them, were the men of Legio Hercules. Like ants moving in lock step, their rectangular formation proceeded through the swirling smoke and flaming embers down the castrum’s main street as if they were in some sort of macabre parade. They were surrounded by the soldiers of the legions that had betrayed Caesar, but those men, apparently having been abandoned by their leaders, were far more interested in escaping a fiery death than trying to kill the Emperor of Rome. They had begun to pour out the north gate in a panicked rush not long after Octavia and the others had escaped, and she worried now that so many soldiers were trying to get out that her husband and his men wouldn’t be able to force their way through the crowd.
Vulcan's Fury: The Dark Lands Page 24