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
An 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.
The igniculum was filled with gunpowder and phosphorous, and he cradled the destructive egg with a reverence normally associated with religious objects. They had just been distributed to the ground legions for combat in the north. This was their first testing ground in a real world situation. At least we no longer have to unscrew the tops from our plumbatae anymore to do the same thing. You can barely grasp the thing without cutting yourself. This is so much simpler, lighter, and packs a big surprise-hopefully!