Copper Centurion (The Steam Empire Chronicles) (14 page)

“Thank you, Captain Alexandros. I fear I must decline. Duty and expectations leave me no choice. I do appreciate your offer, though, and would love to travel upon your magnificent airship sometime soon.”

They had arrived at the compound’s gate. Alexandros showed their passes and they were waved through.
Not that there is anyone else out here to wander in,
he thought sardonically
.
They said their goodbyes just inside the gate. Alexandros offered to walk the senatora to her quarters, but she declined. He bade her farewell and watched her disappear into the crowds of soldiers and camp followers.
Hopefully this is not the last time I see her alive.

Chapter 11

Corbus

C
orbus walked quickly through the
tunnel-like hallways of Midgard. The warrens could be claustrophobic at times, but Corbus had long since mastered his own fear, facing it with grim resolve. Reaching the doors of Prince Santoruk Lokus’s chambers, he lifted gauntleted fists and shoved them open. The solid wood panels slammed into the wall on either side, startling the occupants of the prince’s waiting room.

Reclining half naked upon a chaise, Lokus had been watching slave girls dancing seductively before him. They scrambled away at Corbus’s entrance.

“What is the meaning of this, Outlander?” Lokus stood, face flushed with anger and alarm. “You’ve ruined my afternoon’s entertainment.”

Corbus scooped up the pleasure girls’ clothing and tossed it at them. “Out,” he said gruffly. The comely women grabbed their garments and fled the room. Corbus shut the doors behind them, then turned to Lokus.

The prince made to repeat his demand, but Corbus clamped his hand around Lokus’s neck, silencing him. “You are late. There is a war meeting, and you are not present.” He pushed the noble back onto the couch.

“That’s all? You want to take me from this for a meeting?” Lokus laughed, slowly sitting up on the chaise. “You are such a southerner. Do you never take pleasure in women or wine?”

“No, and while your country is invaded by those southerners, neither should you,” Corbus snapped. He turned away as Lokus stood and pulled on his clothing.

“Okay, we can go to the meeting,” Lokus said sulkily as he pulled the royal emblem on its chain from under his wool shirt. He placed the glittering copper sphere atop his vestments.

Corbus sketched a brief bow, then followed a pace or two behind the prince as he marched haughtily out of the room. Servants and warriors alike moved out of their way as they strode through the hallways, Lokus muttering that they’d take “a fløte; it will be faster.”

Corbus looked up as they boarded one of the strange, half-lift, half ferry-like contraptions
.
Wires suspended it from long, moving arms high overhead.
These people are backward as the Hibernian hill tribes yet as technologically advanced as the Romans. Confusing
. The fløtes were an ancient creation, and he wondered how old this one was
. We might fall at any moment
.
An ignoble way to die.
They arrived safely at their destination a few moments later. The operator opened the doors and the prince and his companion stepped into the palace quarter.

They passed the king’s chambers and several offices on their way to the war room, where a single armsman in livery bearing the royal insignia—two blue wolves charging each other on a copper background—pushed the doors open for them and stepped aside. At the end of a short hallway, they entered the circular war chamber, where grizzled advisors clustered around a large wooden table strewn with maps and paper reports. Tiered seating rose around them, and the air in the central well where they stood was close and heavy with the smell of smoke and sweat.

“I still say we haven’t done enough to harry the Romans. They march up our roads with impunity!” one of the nobles was saying. In Nortland, leading troops to war was a noble’s prerogative.
It is still mostly that way in Rome, but I suppose even they have to accept sometimes that being descended from great men doesn’t make you a great man.
Corbus supposed it was different here, where a man had to be a proven warrior before he was accepted into the nobility.

“Greetings, Prince Lokus and Outlander Corbus. Welcome to the war meeting.” One of the lords beckoned them closer.

Corbus elbowed the prince, who flashed him a glare before responding to the invitation. “Thank you, we . . . apologize for our lateness. We were just discussing the current situation.”

“Ah, then come to our table.”

King Gustavus Bismark II, an older man with a nearly bald pate, looked up at them from his seat of authority farthest from the door. “We’ve been trying” he said as the prince pulled up a chair and Corbus stood respectfully behind him, “to figure out a way to trap these Romans against the river. But the terrain just doesn’t seem to support it. They are too well drilled and their formation too tight. If they were more strung out . . .” He left the rest unsaid.

Another lord spoke up. “What if we tried to drive a wedge between their legions?”

“There isn’t enough space for that. We’d be surrounded and decimated.” The king stood, moving closer to the table for a better look. His crown sparkled in the lantern light.

Corbus pulled at his collar, unobtrusively loosening his cloak. While the mountain itself might be freezing, the rooms here were toasty warm. Cooler air crept under his shirt and the assassin muffled a sigh of relief. The king was still talking.

“At least their fleet has disengaged. But the weather is making it impossible for us to launch our own airships, as well. We’ll have to use the militia and our raiders to try to bleed off some of their men, or at least slow them down. We can’t take them head on right now, but we can harry them and hurt their logistics.”

The prince did not agree. “We are Nortlanders, Father. We should be striking them hard, not waging this ‘small war’ you speak of. We must bring them to battle and annihilate them man to man.”

His father looked across the table, smiling indulgently at his son. “Lokus, you may have earned the right to be prince, but you have not yet earned the right to be a war leader. I wanted you here to learn. There is value in not fighting right away. Let them come to us. When they try to lay siege, we can surround them and trap them. The winter shall be our ally.” His tone was patient.

Corbus glimpsed looks passing between various nobles at the table, but they were too fleeting for him to be sure of the message behind them. The prince was clearly not happy, but he shut his mouth and listened.

“Lord Therodi, you shall lead our raiders. We just need you to slow them down. Save every man you can, for we shall need them once we are besieged.” The king order.

“Aye, my lord. I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve. I’ll get my men to work on it right away.”

“Excellent. Lord Dirmlor, how stand our
mecha-wolf
packs?”

“Our engineers report they are ready, and we have about twenty-five available for combat now. More are in production, but they are expensive and time-consuming to build. The Romans have too many of the things we need for their construction. We can’t build both the
mecha-wolves
and our airships. Both machines require similar parts and people,” Dirmlor replied grimly.

The king nodded. “Well for now, focus on the
mecha-wolves
. We’ll get the most impact from them. It’s time the Romans learned that they are not the only ones with talent and ingenuity in inventing machines of terror and war.” He slammed his fist down on the table.

“May I lead our
mecha-wolves
into battle?” Lokus asked. “I would love the chance to decimate the southerners from the back of one of those mighty beasts.”

His father glared at him. “No! You may not! I shall not have my heir gallivanting about the snowfields of Nortland! You have never ridden one before and are more likely to kill yourself falling off it than killing any Romans.”

The king’s words were harsh and Corbus could practically feel the waves of anger and embarrassment radiating from the prince as he glowered in silence.
Keep doing that, my “king,” and you’ll be handing me the perfect tool to overthrow you and turn this country into a dagger aimed right at Rome. Anger and vengefulness are my sharpest tools.

In the pregnant silence that followed, the door opened to admit Lord Laufas. He bowed low before clasping the king’s arm warmly. The men chuckled and chatted amicably for a few moments, something that was not lost upon Corbus.
It is Laufas, not the king, who is the true barrier to the throne.

Laufas looked over the table. “When the Romans have come up to here, just south and west of the city, we shall hit them. We can use our forces to outmaneuver them and strike them. I already have my men hard at work to provide us with an opportunity to crush the legions. The Romans will never know what hit them.” The other men around the table nodded approvingly as he detailed the plan to sweep the Romans from their flank and roll up their battle line. “It all starts with the river. If we can draw them close to the Little Viken . . .”

Corbus noticed that Lokus had stood and was about to leave. As much as Corbus wanted to stay and listen to Laufas’ plan, he knew that he could not remain without his patron, Lokus.

The king, too, had noticed Lokus’s exit. “Outlander, go with him,” he said gruffly as his thoughts and eyes returned to the plan. Corbus turned sharply and followed Lokus from the room.

When stepped into the main hallway, he had to ask the guard in which direction the crown prince had fled.
Gah, here I am stuck with a petulant child as the instigator of a rebellion. How on earth can I convince people to support this . . . man-child . . . as king, if he acts like this!

He finally succeeded in chasing down the prince on one of the long, winding staircases that connected the many levels and sections of the citadel. “What do you think you’re doing out here?” Corbus growled. “You need to get back in there and be serious about this! You are a prince, not a hormonal teenager.”

The prince glared at him. “I can’t do anything I want to do. I want to fight and kill like a man, not be stuck here planning battles. I ought to be out there fighting battles!” he shouted. His voice echoed up and down the staircase.

“You want to do anything you think of? Then you have to become the king. If you aren’t the king, the king will always be able to tell you that you aren’t ready. Don’t you understand? I’m trying to help you here!”

Lokus slapped Corbus, his palm leaving a brand of stinging skin on the assassin’s cheek. Corbus restrained himself.
I will not hit a royal; I will not hit a royal
. Instead, Corbus gave his most powerful glower, eyes red-tinged and full of rage.

Lokus shrank back in fear, awaiting the reprisal. Corbus took a few deep breaths to still his temper. Lokus collapsed onto a step, all the fight gone out of him. After a moment, Corbus joined him.

“My liege, you must listen to me. I alone know how to get you the throne. And once you have the throne, you can punish those who would think you unready.”

The prince looked up at him. “And then?”

“Once we’ve crushed your enemies, then we crush mine.”

The prince straightened his back and held out his forearm. Corbus clasped it.

“Together?”

“Yes, my prince, together.”

Chapter 12

Constantine

A
n unearthly silence blanketed the
dark forest. Moonlight filtered through the pine needles and bare limbs of the tall trees, creating a patchwork quilt of light and shadow on the forest floor.

The men of the 13th Cohort, XIII Germania moved quietly through the forest, their footfalls muffled by recently fallen snow. Their breath came in puffs of hot air that quickly vanished into the night. The 13th Cohort was on night patrol, and their scouts had just reported signs of an ambush ahead.

Ice crystals had formed in Gwendyrn’s beard. He tugged at it while Constantine conferred with him, his voice barely above a whisper.

“The scouts say that they’ve seen some tracks just ahead, along the turn in the road. The supply train should be coming up within the next half-hour. We’ll have to hit them now.”

Gwendyrn nodded, then relayed instructions using hand signals. He turned back to Constantine. “What is the signal, sir?”

“I’ll shoot off a flare. As soon as you see it, hit them. Hopefully they’re just along this flank of the road.” Constantine gestured to the longer side of the curve. “That’s where I would be. It offers an easier escape route.”

Gwendyrn stood, brushed the snow off his trousers, and pulled his repeater off his back.

“Oh, and Centurion?”

Gwendyrn turned to look at his commanding officer. “I’m not a centurion yet, sir. Nor do I wish to be,” he replied evenly.

Constantine placed an arm on the other man’s shoulder, and they locked eyes. “Your loyalty to Julius is admirable, Gwendyrn. But right now, I need to know that you can work with me and accept your rank, even temporarily.”

Gwendyrn kept eye contact for a few seconds, then he nodded almost imperceptibly.

“Thank you, Centurion. Now, if you please, take the left flank and try to grab a captive or two. The Empire does not look fondly upon people stealing its food. And since I’m the heir, I can say that.”

Smiling, Gwendyrn shook his head as he walked away.

The cohort split, and Gwendyrn led his force toward the road, while Constantine led his force around to the right. His men moved cautiously. Because the ground was so frozen, it was absolutely essential that they move slowly and use the trees as cover. Finally, Constantine spotted a scout just a short distance ahead, kneeling behind a massive fallen tree. Silently directing his men forward, the tribune quickly moved to join the scout.

He leaned against the trunk. “Alright, Luter, what’s on the other side of this log?”

“Sir, I’ve counted at least thirty raiders, and there are probably some we didn’t see. They are in this depression that runs along the side of the road here, at the turn. If I may sir, this may be a good time to try the
igniculum
. They’re clustered in that turn, and the explosion will distract them while we rush in.”

Constantine considered.
Is this a good time to use our newest weapon? It would certainly provide an excellent distraction and morale breaker. We need them to run so we can hunt them down and find out where they are coming from.
He carefully pulled the oilcloth-wrapped parcel from his belt pouch then, with great care, pulled back the paper flaps within to reveal a small, heavy metal ball with a long, thin wick.
Looks too small to be so deadly.