Authors: Evan Currie

Steam Legion (33 page)

He directed his forces more to the middle, putting more and more force to one point in the line. It lost him scores more men, but it was the only way to punch a hole through the phalanx line. The Roman line was buckling, being pushed back more and more by the weight of his men, and, as he knew, it must finally shatter.

His men poured through the center, splitting the Roman force into two segregated forces as the fighting once more descended into the chaotic fury inherent in that sort of free-for-all. He surged forward with his men, sword flashing in hand as he pushed to break through the newly formed gauntlet.

Blades flashed in the Egyptian sun as the fighting turned from lines of battle to a desperate scramble through two formations of slicing and hacking soldiers. More and more men fell from the sides, but he pushed his force through and emerged on the other side.

Only to be greeted by flight after flight of arrows raining down from both sides. He cursed and he swore, but there was nothing to do by press forward. They could do nothing here to earn vengeance for their fallen—there was no time and even less opportunity—but he was confident that they would be avenged when the day came.

The forces of the Lord were patient, like the water that flowed on the land. Come what may, they could be triumphant when the final bells tolled.

Those thoughts were raging through his mind as he surged with his forces, aiming to escape the trap he’d found himself in, when a crushing blow slammed into him from the side and drove the Commander of the Zealot forces to the ground. He hit rolling, several men sprawling over him as he took their legs out from under him, and forced himself to a crouch.

A gap had opened up in the fleeing mass of men, and across a short distance, he spotted what…or, rather,
who
had struck him.

“Grecian whore,” he spat, climbing to his feet. He brought his sword up, eyes narrowing as he glared at the woman child who’d dared
strike
him.

“Zealot pig,” she returned with a hint of a smile.

A pair of Romans was at her side, blocking and fighting the flow of his own forces, killing many as men fled without care for what was in their path. He seethed at the lack of discipline and the pointless loss of otherwise good temple-going men, but then just wasn’t the time.

“First, you die. Then I see to the escape of my men.”

“Don’t be more stupid than you must,” she told him with a casual flick of her blade. “Neither you, nor your men, are escaping anything. All you’ve won here today is a quicker death than you had coming to you.”

“Perhaps that is the truth.” He hefted his blade before lunging forward. “But if so, I’ll take you with me!”

She parried his strike with the spine of her own blade, deflecting it wide before thrusting down and out.

He grunted, more surprised than anything when the heavy curved blade dug into his sternum and swept downward right through his armor as if it were not there. The mail he wore was better by far than any of his men owned, but against her blade, it may as well have been naked flesh.

She leaned in, eyes looking into his for a long moment as men rushed by them in a blur.

“No,” she hissed. “You will not.”

Then she pushed down, levering the blade into a deep gash that emptied his entrails to the ground as he fell. The world was quiet as he lay there, darkness infringing on the periphery of his vision, and so he just looked up as she stood over him.

All around her, men were rushing, nothing more than a blur to his eyes, though she remained in crisp detail. Her hair blew in the wind as she turned and seemed almost lost, looking around herself as retreat turned to route. Roman uniforms rushed passed them both, and for a moment all he could see was the red, gold, and polished metal grey of the Legion.

And then the moment passed, and all he saw was the blackness as it claimed him.

Chapter 25

On the bank of the river, Dyna rested on a spare shield she had taken from the battlefield, unwilling as she had been to sit in the bloody mud roiled up by the battle. The Twenty-Second had arrived, and with them, her campaign was over, just as simple as that. She found herself at something of a loss.

The Library had been her home and her dream for so long, but just then, it felt like it had lost all its color compared to what she had seen and done. She didn’t know that she wanted to return to that life, but she did know that there was little other choice. There was yet work to be done, and the Library was an all-consuming Master for the scholars who dedicated their lives to it.

She knew she’d be able to fit back in, forget this portion of her life, except for quiet times at night when the combined terror and thrill of it would seek her out in her dreams. Her work there was satisfying, but for all that, it would now seem almost pedestrian, and she knew that she could do truly great things, as had her Master.

None of which would quite manage to wipe away the sheer vivid
life
she had just experienced.

“You must be the Spartan I’ve heard tales of for these many weeks past.”

Dyan twisted on the shield to see a tall man standing over her, his face affable, if not overtly friendly. She recognized his emblem, however, and rose to her feet.

“Dyna of Sparta, Tribunus Militum Laticlavius.”

“Gordian,” he told her in return, looking past her to where the battlefield was being cleaned up. “I’ve heard a great deal about you, Dyna of Sparta. We met once, I believe.”

She nodded. “Almost a year ago, before the Twenty-Second was ordered to the northeast.”

He looked out over the water, remembering the day she was referring to. “Bad business, that. Still, I must tell you, Dyna of Sparta, you did well.”

She shrugged. “I was just advising Centurion Cassius. He deserves the credit, if there is any.”

He smiled, clearly amused. “Is that the story then? Alright, I’ll congratulate him as well, but I’ve spoken with your men. They speak highly of you, and that speaks highly of you.”

“Pardon?”

“Only two types of Commanders gain the love of their men,” he said, looking over the work still being done to clean up the area. “The first is someone who gives them everything and asks nothing. That Commander will be loved by his men until the first battle, when most of them are killed. The other is the one who gives them what they need and demands of them what they can give. That is a Commander who wins wars.”

Gordian gestured to the battlefield around them. “This speaks for itself.”

“I…” She swallowed, honestly not knowing what to say.

Gordian just smiled, and then saluted. “My Lady.”

Dyan returned the salute. “Tribunus.”

“Good luck to you back in Alexandria, Lady Dyna of Sparta,” he told her formally. “I wish you the very best and leave you with my thanks for handling work that should have been done by the Legion. Farewell.”

She nodded numbly as the Tribunus of the Twenty-Second Deiotariana Legion turned and walked away.

Perhaps I did well after all, and just maybe the University is looking better than I thought.
She smiled, thinking of Master Heron, who would no doubt be waiting with new projects to complete and new wonders to build.

She might not be able to lead forces into battle, but she would help lead the world into a brighter age, and that…that would be more than enough.

Many times more than enough.

****

The city of Rome gleamed on the surface, white marble and polished metals shone from every corner like jewels in the crown of the Empire that bore its name, but under the surface, there was a far different story to be told. Sewers flushed feces and urine, death and decay, and all manner of trash away from the sight of men, but not away entirely.

Disease was rampant in the city, all manner of infections commonplace, and despite the enormously sophisticated medical knowledge of the practitioners who worked to stem the tide, there was little their advanced knowledge of mending trauma could do against the plagues that beset the city.

The famed skills of Roman physicians were far more effectively geared to the treatment of wounds and injuries sustained on the field of battle than against the nebulous enemy that spread plagues and sickness within their gleaming city walls. Despite that, they worked tirelessly and, all too often, feverishly to control the unseen enemy, healing what they could and crediting the Gods with both their failures and their triumphs.

In the Roman Senate, another such sickness existed and had rooted itself just as deeply, with coming consequences every bit as deadly as the plagues.

“Word from the south, Senator.”

“What of it?”

“The Zealot forces have been repelled from Egypt, no significant casualties. The Twenty-Second has moved to retake the port at Caesarea. Predictions are that Jerusalem will fall within the year.”

Galba masked his displeasure, only just and only because he had already known of the report through his spies. He smiled, nodding. “Excellent news. Who do we owe this great victory to?”

“That is the odd part, Senator,” the young man said, appearing a little confused. “The reports speak of a woman, Dyna of Sparta. Apparently one of the Agiad line. Have you heard of her?”

“No,” he lied, looking up to see Nero himself walk into Senate room.

“Ah, Galba, you’ve heard the news from the south then?” the Emperor asked, all smiles, in a slightly off-center manner.

“Yes, excellent news.”

“Oh yes, excellent indeed,” Nero said, his expression dropping a little as he frowned just slightly. “What do you make of this Dyna woman, though?”

“She must be a very…” Galba’s mind sought the right word, but his tongue had already found it. “…
ambitious
lady.”

Nero’s expression darkened just slightly more. “Yes. Yes, I would suppose so.”

“Likely views herself as a new Cleopatra in Egypt,” Galba smiled, as if sharing a joke. “I’m certain the people there will love her for saving them from the Zealots.”

Nero nodded, now appearing distracted. “Yes, of course. Well, I must be going. I need to speak with people.”

“Of course, Emperor.” Galba bowed. “Always a pleasure.”

“Of course.” Nero waved his hand as he walked away.

Galba watched him go, dark eyes glittering as he began to formulate new plans to remove the fool from the seat of the Empire. He may have lost a little time with these events, but unless he very much missed his guess, there was now a new level he could work to dethrone the impotent fool.

Well, Dyna of Sparta,
he thought behind darkly glittering eyes.
Welcome to the game of Imperial politics. I expect you’ll find the experience to be very…educational.

END

About the Author

Evan Currie is the self-published author of several novels including
Steam Legion
, the
Warriors Wings
series (
On Silver Wings, Valkyrie Rising
, and the upcoming
Valhalla Call
),
Thermals
and the
Odyssey One
series (
Odyssey One
and the upcoming novel
Heart of Matter
). A longtime fan of science fiction, his love of epic storylines led him to put several million words onto the net in the pursuit of fanfiction stories, and eventually led to the novel you just finished.