Vulcan's Fury: The Dark Lands

by Michael R. Hicks

  Then, as the three men began again to turn the capstan to raise the net, she clambered atop the hexatiger, taking firm hold of the deep, thick fur between his shoulders.

  “Valeria,” Pelonius cried, “you can’t ride down with him! It’s too dangerous!”

  “It’s the only way he’ll go,” she insisted. “He’s not some dim-witted cow!”

  With a look of helpless frustration, Pelonius shook his head. To the other men he ordered, “Push!”

  The net slowly enveloped Hercules and Valeria. The hexatiger, curled into a huge ball, snarled as he was lifted from the floor. His tail, curled back over his body, whipped back and forth like a thing alive, and his fangs glistened in the darkness as he snapped at the ropes.

  Once the bottom of the net was high enough to clear the parapet wall, Pelonius directed the others in carefully turning the yardarm over the seaward side. Hercules mewled in fright, but held still under the power of Valeria’s soothing voice.

  “She sings to him,” Karan said, finally realizing that she was no longer simply speaking to the beast.

  “She always has,” Pelonius said after satisfying himself that the net would land on the narrow pier that floated along the base of The Wall. Rejoining the others on the capstan, he grunted as they began to lower the huge animal and his precious rider down toward the narrow dock below. “She’s always sung to him, since she was a little girl.”

  “Such power must she have,” Karan whispered in wonder as he pushed, “to tame the greatest of gods.”

  “That may be,” Pelonius told him, “but she’s just as human as we are, and she is in grave peril.”

  ***

  Valeria quietly sang what she knew was Hercules’s favorite song, the one that never failed to calm him, regardless of his mood. She ran her hands across his flanks in gentle circles, feeling how the muscles beneath the skin were taut as the wood of Karan’s drawn bow. The thought made her look up, hoping to see the young warrior, but all she saw was the dark, angular shape of the top of The Wall framed against the night sky. Turning to look down, she could see the silver foam of the waves of the Haunted Sea and the dark, impossibly narrow strip of the dock against the lighter gray of The Wall, which in daytime was a blinding white.

  Shouts off to one side, toward the main pier, drew her attention. She saw a parade of lights, torches held by approaching soldiers. Standing before them were three silhouettes: Marcus, Septimus, and Paulus.

  “Oh, no,” she whispered. Turning back to the men above her, she shouted, “Faster, Pelonius! Marcus and the others are in trouble!”

  ***

  “…Marcus and the others are in trouble!”

  “I will help!” Haakon said, stepping away from the capstan.

  “No!” Pelonius cried, but it was too late. By themselves, Pelonius and Karan didn’t have the strength to control the descent of the net and its heavy cargo. Their feet slid on the stone as the capstan began to spin the wrong way as gravity took control. First Pelonius lost his footing, followed instantly by Karan.

  The capstan began to whirl around and round in a blur as the net and its passengers began to fall. Somewhere in the darkness behind the parapet wall, Valeria screamed and Hercules roared in fright.

  Haakon saw his mistake and leaped forward, trying to grab one of the capstan’s bars and regain control, but was swatted backward to land hard on the unyielding stone, where he lay dazed.

  Karan darted to the wall and looked over just in time to see Hercules, Valeria still clinging to his back, both of them enveloped in the net, crash right through the wood of the dock and splash into the sea.

  Tossing his sword, bow, and quiver to Haakon, who was struggling to get to his feet, Karan backed a few paces away from the wall. Then he sprinted forward.

  “Karan, no!” Pelonius cried. “The water is too shallow!”

  But Karan had already flung himself outward from the wall. In a graceful arc, he sailed like an arrow through the darkness toward the water far below.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  The net suddenly dropped, jerked for just a second, and then began to fall, faster and faster. Unable to help herself, Valeria screamed. Beneath her, Hercules let out a cry of his own that echoed off the wall as the two of them plummeted toward the dock.

  Just before they hit, Valeria closed her eyes and prayed for a swift death, welcoming the thought of seeing her parents in the afterlife and hoping that Hercules would not have to suffer.

  But Death stayed its hand. The huge hexatiger’s weight carried them right through the relatively flimsy dock, which was only a temporary service structure while The Wall was being built, to crash into the warm waters of the Haunted Sea below.

  For a moment, she was overcome with relief. Then she was filled with terror, because both she and Hercules were trapped in the net, underwater. The big cat struggled, whipsawing his body back and forth as he bit and clawed at the web of rope. She screamed as her right leg was pinned between the net and the cat’s body with such force that she thought her thigh bone must certainly break, then the pressure was gone as Hercules whipped back in the opposite direction. She, too, tried her best to escape the net’s clinging embrace and reach the surface, but in the dark, swirling water she wasn’t sure in which direction lay the surface, and the net seemed to have a lethal will of its own. She drew her dagger and began to saw at the thick rope, but she knew right away that the small blade would never cut through it before she drowned.

  Just as the cold grip of panic began to close around her heart, she felt more than saw something splash into the water nearby. A dark form dove past her, then instantly looped upward to avoid slamming into the shallow bottom. The specter swam closer, and her heart skipped a beat with joy as she realized it was Karan.

  Drawing the shorter blade he always carried, which was as wickedly sharp as his sword, he made quick work of a section of the net around her, setting her free. Grabbing her elbow with his free hand, he drew her up to the surface, where she took a huge, gasping breath.

  “Hercules…” she choked, spitting water from her mouth as she treaded water. “He’s trapped…”

  Without a word, Karan took a deep breath and dove back down. Taking a breath of her own, ignoring the burning in her lungs, she followed after him.

  Hercules was still struggling, but weaker now. Karan cut the net, trying to free the cat’s head and forepaws. Valeria pulled the severed sections of rope away, and both of them dodged the frenzied thrashing of the beast’s claws.

  At last, the net fell away, and Hercules followed Valeria and Karan to the surface, where he snorted and wheezed as he swam toward the section of the dock that he had crashed through. Karan guided him to the side that would lead them to where Marcus and the others were desperately fending off a mob of enemy soldiers. Valeria grabbed the big cat’s tail and let him pull her up onto the dock.

  “Valeria…” Karan began, but didn’t have time to say more before her lips were on his. The kiss was as brief as it was passionate, and he felt as if he’d been struck by lightning.

  “Princess!”

  She looked up at the sound of Haakon’s anguished voice. “I’m all right!” she called. “Come down, quickly!”

  The big man nodded. Then he shouted, “Karan! Watch out!” With careful aim, he first dropped Karan’s sword. Then, after making sure Karan had caught it, tossed down Karan’s bow and quiver.

  Turning to Karan, Valeria pointed to the battle on the pier. “Take Hercules. Help the others.”

  Bowing, his eyes still bulging from the surprise of her kiss, Karan whirled and ran toward the battle.

  “Hercules,” she commanded the hexatiger as she pointed toward the melee, “protect!”

  With a low growl, the big cat bounded after Karan, causing the wooden sections of the dock to rock up and down with every step.

  Returning her attention to the top of The Wall, she saw that Haakon was lowering Pelonius by a rope tied about the scribe’s upper chest. In a blessedl
y brief time, Pelonius was beside her, and he wasted no time gathering her in his arms in a display of unabashed relief.

  “I thought you were gone,” he whispered as he held her. “After losing your father and mother…”

  She returned his embrace, fighting back the tears. “I’m fine. And we don’t have time to grieve. Not yet.”

  “Princess, please forgive me.” Haakon had slithered down the rope so fast that his palms must have been stripped bare of skin, and he fell to his knees before her, tears glistening in his eyes. “It was my fault, I let go of the capstan and let the net fall, thinking to help Marcus and the others, and I—”

  Valeria barely had to lean over to take the big man’s face in her hands, for even on his knees he was nearly as tall as she. Lifting his chin so their eyes met, she said, “You are forgiven, Haakon. No harm was done. But I won’t forgive you if you don’t get up right now and help the others. You wanted more of the enemy to kill, barbarian,” she pointed toward their friends who were now fighting for their lives, “and have been granted your wish. Go!”

  “It shall be as you say, princess.” Taking one of her hands, he kissed it, then ran to join the fight.

  “Are you all right?” she asked Pelonius. He was limping, and hissed as she put her arm around his waist.

  “I think I broke a rib when we lost control of the winch,” he gasped. “Maybe more than one. I won’t be any good in a fight, I’m afraid.”

  “We don’t need you to fight,” she replied as Sergius’s soldiers shrieked as one when Hercules dove into their midst with a snarling roar. She pointed to the boat at the end of the pier. “We need you to pilot that infernal contraption you built.”

  “Just help me get there.”

  ***

  “Didn’t we just leave this mob?” Septimus quipped as he put one foot against the chest of the soldier facing him before yanking his sword from the man’s throat. With a fountain of blood that was barely visible in the darkness, but fell upon Septimus like a warm summer rain, the man fell backward onto the pile of bodies that was swiftly growing on the pier.

  “I think it’s a different bunch,” Marcus replied as he thrust a spear at another soldier who tried to leap over the pile. The man slammed into the pier, the spear embedded in his belly just below his chest armor, before falling into the water. “It’s a bit hard to tell. They all look alike.”

  Eight soldiers made a coordinated attack over the mound of dead and wounded. Four kept Septimus and Marcus busy, getting just close enough to keep them off balance without trying to go for the kill, while the rest concentrated on Paulus. With two swords in his hand, the young warrior fought well, but his opponents drove him back with constant, relentless thrusts and slashes. With a cry of surprise as his sandal got stuck in a gap between the heavy wooden planks of the pier, he stumbled and fell. His opponents rushed forward to finish him off.

  “Paulus!” Marcus shouted, turning toward his young charge. One of the men facing Marcus tried to take advantage of the opportunity, thrusting his sword at Marcus’s exposed side. Marcus dodged to one side just in time, then drove his sword through the throat of his opponent. Then he turned to help Paulus, but saw that he was too late. Four dark shadows converged on the boy Marcus had come to look upon as a son, and his heart broke as their blades rose high, the metal glinting in the light of the moon and flickering torches.

  Something hissed past Marcus’s right ear, close enough that he felt something brush his skin. He heard a wet sound, like a blade being driven into a slab of meat, come from the nearest of the men attacking Paulus, followed by the sound of the man gagging as he was knocked sideways into the soldier beside him. Both of their swords missed their intended mark, and Paulus managed to fend off the other two soldiers as Marcus dashed toward him.

  Again, something hissed past Marcus’s ear, barely a heartbeat after the first, and another of the men trying to kill the boy was struck. As the hapless soldier staggered toward the edge of the pier, Marcus caught sight of something long and slender sticking from his right ear. Then the soldier disappeared over the edge of the pier to splash into the water below.

  With a savage cut, Paulus all but amputated the legs at the ankle from under the last of the four men standing. With a scream, the man fell to the pier, and Paulus finished him off with a stab through his open mouth, just as Marcus shoved his blade through a gap in the chest armor of the soldier who’d been knocked over by the first of them to fall.

  As he withdrew his blade, Marcus looked up as Hercules roared. Like a god’s shadow, he emerged from the darkness to fall upon the enemy soldiers now swarming over the mound of bodies and threatening to overwhelm Septimus.

  Another figure emerged from the shadows, slinging his bow over his shoulder and drawing his sword: Karan.

  “We might actually make it out of this,” Marcus murmured to himself as he lent Paulus a hand, pulling him to his feet.

  “You know,” panted Septimus, “I really hate it when you say that.”

  But Marcus’s words proved prophetic. The will of the enemy soldiers evaporated at the appearance of Hercules. No amount of whipping from their centurions or threats of crucifixion would make them face a hexatiger in the full light of day, let alone at night, when the cat could see as well as its human prey could in the daytime. Unable to flee the narrow confines of the pier fast enough, many of the soldiers tossed their weapons away and leaped into the water, choosing to risk drowning under the weight of their armor than be torn apart by the monster now rampaging in their midst. Hercules surged into them, batting three or four men at a time into the water with each swipe of his forepaws. Aside from the men who would drown, he killed only those who turned their weapons upon him. Those brave, foolhardy souls met a grisly end, crushed in his terrible jaws.

  “Pelonius is injured,” Karan shouted over the bedlam.

  Before Marcus could reply, the silhouette of a huge man — Haakon — flew past them, leaped over the pile of bodies, and rolled under one of Hercules’s slashing paws before hacking and chopping at the retreating crush of enemy soldiers with such fury that even Hercules was given pause.

  “Guess he hasn’t gotten his fill, yet,” Septimus observed, shaking his head at the barbarian as he began to move forward to help him.

  “Let him be,” Marcus said. “We’ve got to help Pelonius and get him and the princess to the boat.”

  With a grunt of acknowledgement, Septimus did as he was told. Leaving the enemy soldiers to Haakon and Hercules, the four ran down the dock to where Valeria was helping Pelonius. Gently, they relieved her of her burden. Marcus took one of Pelonius’s arms over his shoulders, while Septimus took the other.

  From above the snarling battle on the pier could be heard shouted orders involving scorpions and onagers. Either could do lethal harm to a hexatiger. And the lights of the approaching fleet grew ever brighter, ever nearer. Marcus wasn’t sure, but he thought he could hear the drum beats that kept time for the rowers.

  “Get a move on,” he said through gritted teeth as he and Septimus managed a walk-trot that Marcus knew was putting Pelonius through hell while the two younger men, Valeria right behind them, went ahead to make sure the way was still clear.

  They reached the pier and awkwardly negotiated the pile of bodies, and when they were most of the way to the boat, Marcus said, “Paulus! Come take Pelonius.” Paulus did so, taking the scribe’s arm over his shoulder just as Marcus had. “Get him on the boat and do whatever he tells you to do to get it ready. And be quick about it!”

  Then Marcus pulled Karan close, and in a whisper said, “I need you to drop a fire arrow right at my feet, about halfway down the pier. Can you manage that?”

  Squinting down the pier toward the one-sided battle, Karan nodded. “Yes.”

  “Good. I’m sure there’s something in the boat to light a fire with, along with some pitch and whatever else you might need,” Marcus told him. With a smile as he thought of the irony, he added, “I never understood why b
oats that float on water are only built with things that love to burn.”

  “How will I know when to loose my arrow?”

  Marcus looked him in the eye. “I think you’ll know.” He paused, as if about to say more, but only shook his head. “Princess,” he called to Valeria, “come with me.”

  ***

  Marcus and Valeria ran back the way they’d come until they reached a place on the pier that was piled high with supplies to build and repair boats. This was where Pelonius’s strange craft had been modified from its original form as a light scout vessel. Marcus said, “This will do,” and came to a stop. Glancing again at the approaching ships, then at the shore where he could see men dragging wheeled scorpions forward, he told Valeria, “Call Hercules. It’s time to go.”

  Putting her hands to her mouth, she shouted, “Hercules! Come!” After a moment’s thought, she added, “Haakon! Run!”

  With a growl of disappointment, the huge cat took one last swipe at his unwilling toys before whirling around and dashing away from the fight. Even though the pier was as sturdy as Roman building methods would allow for a wooden structure, she could feel the thump of every one of her great protector’s footfalls.

  Haakon took the liberty of finishing off a few more of his comparatively puny opponents before he, too, turned and began to retreat out along the pier.

  Unfortunately, while the enemy soldiers on the pier had momentarily been routed, their companions on the beach were under the control of firmer hands. On shouted orders, scorpions began firing their bolts, which were nearly as long as a man stood tall. They whooshed through the air, coming dangerously close to both Hercules and Haakon. Another centurion, somewhere in the assembled multitude on the beach, bellowed an order to a formation of archers, and a hail of arrows flew into the night sky.

  “Oh, no,” Valeria whispered, and Marcus ground his jaws together in fearful anticipation.