Vulcan's Fury: The Dark Lands (22 page)

Even Haakon was taken aback. “You were treated worse than my master did me,” he said in a sympathetic voice. “A great deal worse.”

Karan said nothing. Cocking his head to one side, he regarded Haakon for a moment. “Wood or steel?”

“Ah!” Haakon looked at Septimus and grinned. “He may be a suckling babe, but he is a true warrior!”
 

“Careful, Karan,” Septimus warned quietly.
 

“Your friend gives you wise counsel,” Haakon said. “You would be wise to decline my invitation, for I am not known for showing mercy, even to the brave. But if you insist…if I am given the choice, I always prefer steel.”

On the platform, Valeria whispered, “Pelonius, stop this! Make them use the training swords! We’re supposed to be training the men, not having them kill one another!”

“We’re forging a legion,” Pelonius told her, “and sometimes that requires more than just sweat and wooden swords. I hate to say this, but Karan is the only reflection we have of our enemy, and this is the first real test we’ll have had of his skills against other men.”
 

“It’s also a matter of honor,” Marcus added. “Karan cannot back down, and we cannot change the rules, without him sacrificing his honor. And, in a way, he’s fighting now for Septimus’s honor, as well.” He looked at her. “You are Roman. You should know better.”

Her lips compressed into a tight line, she glared at Marcus, then at Pelonius. Then she turned back to the arena, a disgusted look on her face. “Men,” she whispered. “Idiots.”

Karan set aside his wooden sword and retrieved his true weapon, slowly drawing the long, gracefully curved blade from its glossy scabbard. Turning toward Hercules, he fell to his knees and raised the sword in his hands like an offering to his god, which was exactly what it was. Bowing his head and closing his eyes, he whispered words that were too soft for Valeria to hear. Finished, he opened his eyes and looked at her with a gaze so intense she felt as if she might melt.
 

Then he was on his feet, striding toward his challenger, who had been handed a sword by Septimus.

Pelonius chewed his lip, then sighed. “We’ll compromise,” he told Valeria. “We can’t afford to lose Karan, and I would hate to lose Haakon.” In his command voice, he bellowed to the men below, “The combat is until first blood is drawn,
not
to the death. Is that clear?”

Haakon bobbed his head, while Karan bowed at the waist. Then they turned to face one another.

Pelonius nodded to Valeria.

She felt Paulus put his arm on her shoulder and give a gentle squeeze. In a hoarse voice, her hands clenching the arms of her chair, she said, “Begin!”

In a smooth motion, Karan brought his sword up, both hands lightly gripping the weapon’s long handle, the blade shimmering in the sun. His face was an expression of utter calm, his body completely relaxed.

Haakon gave his sword a few test swings, the sharp blade cutting through the air with an audible whoosh. Then he looked at Karan and grinned. “You can still give up, boy,” he said in a good natured voice.
 

“Stop playing the gladiator and get on with it,” Septimus snapped from the sidelines.

“You have no appreciation of theater, little man,” the giant grumbled. Then, with a roar, he charged at Karan, amazingly fast, his sword flashing in an overhand arc toward Karan’s head.

The training ground rang with the kiss of steel as Karan deflected Haakon’s blade with his own, neatly sidestepping around the giant as the larger man’s momentum carried him forward. With what to Valeria’s eye was no more than a casual flick of his wrists as Haakon roared past, Karan cut Haakon’s loincloth, twice. The severed garment fell away, leaving the former gladiator naked for all to see.

The soldiers erupted in a gale of laughter. Even Septimus laughed, which sounded not unlike the braying of a donkey.

To his credit, Haakon took the blow in stride. Turning to face the platform, he raised his arms above his head and grinned at Valeria as he thrust his hips in a mock display of passion. “Ah, the boy has revealed my true weapon!”

The soldiers howled.

“The man is insufferable,” Valeria growled, pretending to avert her eyes from the sight of Haakon’s impressive manhood.

She gave a start as the naked, laughing man leaped a distance equivalent to at least his own height toward Karan, his sword drawn back like an arrow, its tip pointing right at Karan’s heart.

Again, Karan effortlessly flicked Haakon’s blade aside, then whirled, his body following the path of his own weapon. The bigger man grunted as Karan’s right elbow slammed into Haakon’s exposed left side hard enough to send him sprawling face first in the sand.

“That’s done it,” Marcus hissed.

As he got to his feet, spitting sand from his mouth, Haakon’s face was a vision of Mars enraged. With murder in his eyes, he stalked Karan much like Hercules might stalk a deer.

Except Karan was no deer.
 

Falling upon Karan, Haakon rained down a series of rapid blows with his sword, forehand and back, overhand and side cut, and the onlookers fell silent as the ring of steel and the big gladiator’s angry roar filled the air. Training in the other areas of the field had all but stopped, and most of the legion was pressing close for a look at the action, with money frantically trading hands as the soldiers placed bets on who would win.

Karan gave ground as he parried Haakon’s strikes, his body moving like water, graceful and fluid, a look of quiet contentment on his face.
 

Grunting and bellowing in wordless rage, Haakon drove forward, hammering at Karan with his sword like the blacksmith who had forged it.

“No,” Valeria whispered, leaning forward, her eyes filling with hot tears as Karan found himself cornered, trapped against the line of men who formed the boundary of the makeshift arena. “Please, no.”

Perhaps the gods heard her plea, or perhaps it was mere coincidence, but that was the exact moment when Karan suddenly transformed. In the terribly brief interval between Haakon’s sword strikes, Karan leaped up into the air and lashed out with his right leg, slamming his foot square into Haakon’s chest. The big man grunted in pain and surprise.

As Haakon stumbled backward, his arms windmilling for balance, Karan did a backward somersault in midair to land lightly on his feet. But the look of serenity on his face was gone, replaced by one of animal intensity that Valeria glimpsed every time she looked into Hercules’s eyes.

In three long strides Karan found his prey, and his sword was a blurring silver flash as he sent Haakon into full retreat across the sand, never allowing him to regain his balance, let alone the initiative.
 

When he had nearly run out of room, Haakon lost his footing and went down on one knee. With a twirl and flick of Karan’s own sword, Haakon’s weapon was sent flying. Before the sword hit the ground, Karan had whipped around, his blade scything through the air…stopping just as it touched Haakon’s neck.

With the barest movement, Karan drew the blade a fraction of an inch across the skin of his opponent, right over where the artery pulsed from Haakon’s rapidly beating heart. As a thin trace of crimson welled from the tiny wound, Karan withdrew his sword and stepped back.

Valeria jumped to her feet, infinitely relieved, and Pelonius called, “The match is over! Karan is the victor.”

The soldiers, especially the handful who had wagered in Karan’s favor and had just made a small fortune, went as wild as any mob attending a gladiatorial game.

Karan bowed to Valeria, then turned to face Haakon, who was still on his knees, glaring.
 

“You were toying with me the entire time,” the former gladiator accused.

Karan shrugged. “I was taking your measure as an opponent, just as you were doing with me.”
 

Haakon sighed. “I never stood a chance, did I?”

“It is a secret I shall take with me to the afterlife,” Karan told him in a solemn voice, soft enough that no other ears might hear above the tumult that Marcus was now trying to quell. Then Karan stepped forward and offered his hand.
 

Staring at it for a moment, the big man finally grinned, showing sand between his white teeth. Taking Karan’s hand, he got to his feet, then lifted Karan to his shoulder with one arm as if he were no more than a small child. Haakon paraded Karan around the makeshift arena as the soldiers chanted “Hercules! Hercules!”
 

“Well, Ghost,” Haakon shouted over the noise as he set Karan down, “I expect we’ll be having some interesting times, you and I.” Then, with a lusty roar, Haakon grabbed his own manhood and rendered a lewd salute to his fellow soldiers.

“Be careful what you wish for,” Karan said softly as the legionaries’ laughter echoed across the training field.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Tiberius sat erect on what he termed his “field throne,” a much less elaborate version of the throne that occupied the focal point of the Senate chamber. It had been placed near the front of the main room of the principia, the headquarters building of the fort occupied by
Legio Hercules
. Tiberius and Octavia had accompanied
Legio VI Victrix
to Aquitania, traveling by ship north through the Mediterranean before entering the straits that emptied into the Haunted Sea. From there, the ships hugged the shore, risking running aground rather than invite the mysterious death that awaited them in deeper waters. Upon their arrival at The Wall, Tiberius had granted himself a brief moment for a joyful reunion with his daughter. Then, leaving her in Octavia’s care, he wasted no time in assembling the senior officers of
Legio Hercules
, who briefed him and the officers of
Victrix
on the events that had taken place. They had also introduced Tiberius to Karan, who had recounted in his own words what Tiberius already had heard from Pelonius.

“I thank you, Karan,” Tiberius said to the young man, who bowed deeply, “both as Caesar and as father to Valeria. I am in your debt.”

“The honor is mine…Caesar.”

“Now, if you would, please excuse us. I would have words with my officers.”

After another bow, Karan turned and left, his feet padding silently across the floor.

Tiberius stared after him and said nothing for such a long moment that some of the younger officers, unaccustomed to being in the presence of Caesar, began to fidget. Finally, he said, to no one in particular, “And this…boy…defeated Haakon the Barbarian in single combat?”

“Quite effortlessly,” Pelonius answered.
 

“I’ve never seen the like,” Septimus added, volunteering his professional opinion. “I wasn’t sure before I saw them fight, but I know now that Karan could’ve taken that big oaf in not much more than the blink of an eye. He’s the best swordsman I’ve ever seen in my life, and when he uses the bow, Mars cast me down if Diana herself isn’t guiding his hand.”

Tiberius turned to Marcus, favoring him with a cold gaze. “And you’ve trusted this warrior to be near my daughter, when it was your duty to protect her? What if he has some darker intent of which we are unaware?”

Marcus stiffened. “When the Dark Wolves came upon us, sir, she would have died, were it not for him. We all would have, I think. But you already know that. Since then, he’s…”

“He’s been absolutely devoted to her,” Paulus interjected, “as much or more than Hercules, whom Karan worships as a living god.” He shrugged. “We all had such reservations early on, but Karan’s never given us cause to question his benign intent, especially toward Valeria. He never hovers over her, but he’s never far from her side, either.”
 

Tiberius cocked his head to one side. “Does he have feelings toward her?”

“None that he’s spoken of,” Paulus said as his neck flushed red. “But I believe he cares deeply for her, all the same.”

“No one in the Empire could protect her any better,” Septimus added in a glum voice. “Not even me.”

“And that,” Marcus said, “is why I have allowed him to be close to her. After what I saw of him in the match with Haakon, I regard that as one of the best decisions of my life, and in keeping with your orders, sir.”

“If there is fault to be had, Caesar,” Pelonius said, “I beg that you look to me. Marcus had direct responsibility for her protection, but that responsibility fell upon me as soon as I accepted the position of temporary
legatus
of the legion.”

That finally brought a smile to Tiberius’s lips. “Sticking your head in the lion’s mouth again, are you, Pelonius?”

The scribe-turned-temporary general grinned. “The smell is far better than the last time. Lion’s breath leaves much to be desired.”

The two men laughed at their shared memory, while the younger men who didn’t know Pelonius gawked.

“All right,” Tiberius said, rising from his chair and coming to stand at the head of the large table upon which stood a mockup of The Wall, the fort, and the land around them for a radius of roughly a mile, “I’ll accept your word that our friend Karan poses no threat to my daughter or my wife, now that she is here, as well. Now let’s get down to business.”

Over the next hour, Pelonius, Marcus, and the senior engineer of
Legio Hercules
gave Tiberius an overview of the plans for The Wall itself, as well as the sites chosen where additional forts would be sited to provide quarters for the incoming legions. Then they took him on a tour of The Wall of Hercules. It now sported an impressive arsenal of onagers and scorpions, which were mounted on temporary platforms because The Wall was still being built higher. Pelonius, however, had not been content to wait to install them until The Wall was finished.
 

After the engineer had explained the procedure for moving the weapons as each new layer of stone was added to the structure, Tiberius turned to Pelonius. “You’re expecting an attack soon, aren’t you?”

Pelonius leaned forward on the temporary wooden railing that lined the top of The Wall, looking out across the waves to the shadows of the smoking mountains in the far distance. “An eclipse will soon be upon us, and it will bring with it the highest tide of the entire year…and the lowest. Based on what I have been able to gather from the local fishermen, I believe the bridge will lay completely exposed for a good six hours, possibly more.”