“Gods be with you, sir,” Paulos said.
“And also with you. I’ll see you on the other side.”
“Don’t make me send someone to rescue you. Again.”
The plan decided upon, it was only a matter of quietly waking the men and having them assemble in their cohorts and divisions. Shorter-ranged ballistae and protective mantlets were brought up and assembled before being moved into position.
“Commander, the XIII Germania is ready and awaiting your orders.” A familiar face appeared at his side.
“Very well, Centurion Gwendyrn. Silence is the order of the day.” Gwendyrn nodded, then turned abruptly and faded back into the darkness.
The march began, the legion’s goal, the secret entrance revealed by Scipio and Marciena. Scipio was at the head of the column, leading his legionnaire brothers. He would be joining them on their assault through the fortress.
Constantine checked his heavier standard-issue shield, which had replaced his thinner air legion equipment. I’d rather have the heavier stuff in the tunnels, he conceded; it’s more able to withstand a beating. He knew he was taking a gamble, sending his less experienced air legion on an underground mission into the depths of an enemy fortress, their hopes riding on the memory of a single man who had been through the tunnels exactly once before. I suppose I’d better pray.
Chapter 24
Julius
Julius parried an axe swing with his sword, letting the blow fall off to his side. Shield high, he stepped forward, smashing the man’s face, then his exposed foot. Howling, the Nortlander spun around, and Julius delivered a quick stab with his spatha.
His foe dispatched, Julius took the opportunity to glance around. The Roman-Nortland allied force was being pushed back into the apartments. To make matters worse, some enterprising adversary had made use of the stair system as well. Even now, more rebel supporters were forcing their way through the loyalists holding the apartments.
Overall, the news was not good. They had last heard from Duke Laufas over an hour ago, as his men fought to access the great armories below the citadel. Since then they had been cut off, as the rebel forces seemed to gain ground over the self-proclaimed loyalists.
The ker-chung of stone throwers filled the hallway, bringing screams of pain and death. Beyond the skirmish, someone had taken charge and organized the various rebel forces into a coherent unit. They were firing indiscriminately into the mass of fighting soldiers. Friend and foe alike fell under the heavy lead slugs.
Taking cover in a convenient alcove, Julius looked frantically for Halder. Spotting him, he waved his sword to get his attention. “Halder! We need to fall back into one of the chambers!”
Halder nodded, used the butt end of his chain-axe to kill a militiaman, then shouted at his men. Grudgingly, the loyalists fell back toward the apartments. The rebels paused in their assault, as some leader must have been trying to reorganize them before executing his final attack.
Halder and Julius pulled the last of their men around the corner of the corridor.
“Not good.” Halder said stoically.
“They’ve got us outnumbered. We should be able to slow them in the hallways, but numbers will eventually overwhelm us. Can we use the back way out?”
Halder shook his head, gesturing to the new ranks of loyalists who were joining them. Julius recognized a few faces from the rearguard they had put in place to guard the staircase. “Sealed the door,” Halder explained.
That must have been the large explosion I heard earlier. “Can we use the secret passageway in the senatora’s room?”
Halder evidently hadn’t thought of that. They raced into the room, finding Senatora Pelia sitting up and groggily looking around. Julius quickly explained the situation as Halder pulled at the bookshelf, trying to open the secret passage. Julius joined him, their muscles straining; the furniture piece refused to move.
“Perhaps there is a trigger?”
“Trig-her?”
“Like, something that makes it open?” Julius wiggled his forefinger as if flicking a switch.
They set about seeking a trigger. Julius pulled books off the shelf while Halder went around pulling and twisting on the candleholders. Hearing the clash and clang of renewed fighting out in the hallway, they doubled their efforts.
“There must be something here,” Julius cried out in desperation.
“Maybe it only opens from the inside?” the senatora said wearily.
Julius resorted to hitting bricks on the fireplace with the poker, hoping against hope that something, anything, would work.
A hand on his shoulder stopped him. “No more. It is time to fight,” Halder said. His tone was gruff, but also perhaps a bit sad.
Julius nodded, dropping the poker with a clang. He drew his spatha again. The fighting had now spilled into the outer rooms of the apartments. Julius turned to look at the senatora. “Domina, please hide under the bed. Perhaps they won’t even remember you’re here.” The young woman nodded slowly, still trying to shake the effects of whatever had happened to her. “Halder, could you take care of that chain?”
With a single stroke, the chain parted like soft butter, and Octavia rolled under the bed. May the gods see her safe, Julius prayed. And may the gods see my sister safe, as well. He turned to follow Halder into the outer chambers.
The scrimmage had overturned divans and scattered broken pieces of fine pottery. In the ruins of the once well-appointed room, Nortlander fought Nortlander. Following Halder’s lead, Julius sidled along the right wall, his scutum guarding his left side.
From there, Julius hamstrung a Nortlander guard about to finish off a wounded loyalist. The man flashed him a look of gratitude that crumpled under a deathblow from another attacker’s war hammer. Howling, Julius drew a long gash across the man’s throat with his spatha. As blood arced into the air, Julius turned just in time to be tossed against the wall by a charging attacker. Pinned to the wall, Julius struggled to keep his shield between him and his opponent. The Nortlander’s scarred faced and huge biceps spoke of a seasoned warrior. Sure enough, the man fought dirty like one, head-butting Julius then kicking him in the side on his way down. Instinctively, Julius turned and fell with his scutum atop him. The wood and steel shield saved his life.
The heavy crack as an axe penetrated the shield numbed Julius’s left arm. But the axe was stuck in the shield, for as the man hauled his weapon up, Julius was pulled back to his feet. He took advantage of the man’s surprise to deliver several quick jabs, crippling, then mortally wounding the man with a gut strike. With his foe dispatched, Julius hastily tried to free his arm from the now ruined shield with blood-slippery fingers.
He had just managed to free his arm when two more barbarians advanced upon Julius faced them one-handed and without a shield, finally grabbing his dagger with still tingling fingers, forcing them to operate. He killed one with a lucky slash to the back as he careened out of control on a wild swipe. His other opponent nicked Julius’s sword arm with his own short sword, then his leg. Julius could feel his strength leaving him as the wounds began to take a toll. Mustering his last bit of energy, Julius feinted high, then stabbed low. The man must have underestimated him, as he let down his guard entirely. Julius’s sword entered his thigh, severing an artery. Blood gushed and shrieking, the man went down, his voice only adding to the din of battle.
Julius looked around, chest heaving. Halder was down, five men standing over him with long, vicious-looking spears poised as another tied his arms. Most of the other loyalists were dead, and the wounded were being dispatched brutally and mercilessly. Julius watched as the last two loyalists surrendered, only to be hacked down. Sensing his defeat, Julius lowered his sword as the rebels surrounded him.