Fallen Legion

by David Thompson

  "The foyer is just ahead," he whispered to Marcus. "We've made it this far without seeing anyone, so it's probably safe to expect that we either managed to perfectly hit the changing of the guard, or that most of the level's guards will be waiting for us in the foyer. Be on your guard, and keep that little girly-knife ready for action."

  "Believe me," Marcus said with a grin, "this knife is going to see far more action than you can possibly imagine. Just remember, when I tell you to run, you run. You're going to want to get the hell out of this building as quickly as possible."

  "I look forward to it. In the meantime, I'll take the lead here. You follow me and mop up whoever I can't handle."

  "All of them, in other words."

  "We'll see," Vincenzo said. "Just don't screw this up, or we're both dead. Ready?"

  "Ready."

  Inhaling slowly, Vincenzo drew his shortsword and dagger. He whispered a prayer to Mars, and then stepped out of the alcove. He dashed down the hall and into the foyer beyond. Marcus followed him, though slightly more cautiously.

  The foyer was a fairly unimpressive room, distinguished from the others only by virtue of its high arched ceiling and the large portrait of Julianus Vestatian which hung over the double doors of the entrance. Immediately after entering the room, Marcus knew he was embroiled in the middle of what was bound to be a massive battle; a quick headcount was enough to estimate that there were at least ten soldiers in the room. Vincenzo was already fighting two men, and half a dozen more were converging on him. The remaining guards rushed at Marcus, swords drawn. Marcus didn't shy away from their advance, choosing instead to brace himself in a low crouch. As the two soldiers closed in on him, Marcus leapt forward at the first, slashing at the soldier's stomach. The blow was one that would have been innefective, had it been delivered by any other man wielding any other weapon. The dagger's blade skipped across the metal bands of armour covering the soldier's abdomen, seeming to not even scratch the surface of the steel. The contact with steel, however, caused the rubies which encrusted the dagger's pommel to glow with an unnatural light; seconds later, the soldier's armour literally fell to pieces, dropping around his ankles like a pair of pants with severed drawstrings. The soldier stopped his attack, staring down at his destroyed armour with a mixture of shock and horror while Marcus twisted around with amazing speed, driving his dagger straight through the soldier's ribcage and into his heart. He pulled his dagger free from the soldier's body before the man even began to fall to the ground, twisting around behind the soldier's body to use him as a shield, keeping the rapidly dying man between himself and the second soldier. A rough shove against the body was enough to force the first soldier's corpse on top of the second soldier. The unexpected crash of his compatriot's body into his was enough to knock the second soldier off balance; Marcus took advantage of this momentary opening to leap forward and thrust his dagger into the second soldier's eye. The dagger slipped through the soldier's pupil with a sickening popping sound, then continued on its trajectory until the hilt of the dagger pushed against the soldier's cheekbone. Yanking the dagger back with a quick jerking motion, Marcus let the second soldier collapse onto the floor, grasping at his eye and screaming in pain. A forceful kick to the temple silenced the man's cries, however, knocking his head to the side at a horribly unnatural angle and snapping bones in the neck with a satisfying crunch.

  Any victory Marcus may have felt was short-lived, however. The yelps and cries of the two fallen soldiers attracted the attention of several of the soldiers who were attacking Vincenzo. While Vincenzo desperately battled five soldiers, three rushed at Marcus. He engaged the three soldiers, dodging and parrying every thrust and blow. The battle had become a sickening version of cat and mouse - Marcus and Vincenzo could do nothing but duck, twist, and weave to avoid the blows from the soldiers who vastly outnumbered them. As usual, Marcus was able to land a killing blow before Vincenzo, though only by a matter of seconds. A desperate downward thrust drove Marcus' dagger between the collarbones of one of the soldiers. The blade slashed through skin and muscle, severing an artery. The man barely had time to react to the shock of the blow before he fell to the ground unconscious, blood spurting from the wound in spasmodic jets. As that soldier was felled by a blow from Marcus, Vincenzo's shortsword hacked through the knee of one of the soldiers he was battling. As the unfortunate man dropped to the ground, Vincenzo swiftly dropped to one knee to slash his throat.

  The rest of the battle was a blur to Marcus. His strength waned more and more as he strove to keep up the frenzied pace of his blows, but he fought on against the gnawing pain and hunger. One by one, the Roman soldiers fell to the blows which he and Vincenzo rained down upon them. As the last soldier fell, Marcus dropped to his knees, puffing and panting with exertion. His vision was little more than a field of blurred shapes and colours, and every limb in his body was so weak that he felt he would never move again.

  "Nicely done," a voice came from behind Marcus. "Unfortunately, it will be the last accomplishment in your distinguished career. A pity, too...the career of a venerated General ended in shame, executed in a prison riot."

  "Nicholas Claudius," Marcus said, forcing himself to his feet with an almost unimaginable effort. His eyes narrowed to slits, bringing the world into focus once more. "I thought you would have fled the city by now."

  "Fled the city? Why would you ever have a silly notion like that?"

  "Because those who know my reputation," Marcus said, slowly turning to face Nicholas, "know that I mete out swift and brutal justice to those who betray the Empire and the Gods. Your death is going to be very painful."

  "I'd really take that more seriously," Nicholas said, "if you were able to stand without trembling."

  "That's what I said," Vincenzo said.

  "Vincenzo, get out of the building. I'll take care of this pathetic whoremonger."

  Reluctantly obeying Marcus' command, Vincenzo backed out of the prison doors and into the street beyond, leaving Marcus and Nicholas facing off in the prison foyer.

  "Surely you can't think you'll beat me in a fight," Nicholas said. "And even if by some chance you do, you cannot believe that you'll make it out of here alive. There are guards everywhere - I'm sure a contingent is on the way to this room right now. They will cut you down -"

  "They will try. They will fail."

  Without further discussion, Nicholas thrust his sword at Marcus, forcing him to leap backward to avoid the blow. Marcus' foot struck a corpse of one of the fallen soldiers, knocking him off balance and forcing him to fall to the ground. As he lay on his back, struggling to find the strength to regain his footing, Nicholas stepped over him, placing one foot on either side of Marcus' body. Looking down at Marcus, he grinned wildly, and brought his sword down with a plunging motion, aimed right at Marcus' heart. Marcus was able to bring his dagger up from his side to deflect the blow, struggling hard against Nicholas to keep his sword from its intended target. With one final heave, Marcus knocked Nicholas' sword aside, losing control of his own dagger at the same time. While Nicholas' sword fell to the ground nearby, Marcus' dagger flew through the air, tumbling end over end until it slammed into the foyer wall. The words of Vulcan echoed horrifically in Marcus' head as he watched the dagger bury itself into the wall. I'll be able to sense when the dagger has embedded itself in stone, and when that happens, I will use it as a focus to channel some of my...less pleasant power. The pommel-rubies in the dagger began to glow a bright, pulsing red.

  Lashing upward with his balled-up first, Marcus smashed Nicholas' knee. As the warrior groaned in pain, Marcus' fist swung upward, crushing his opponent's testicles. Nicholas toppled over with a pained grunt.

  With the last ounce of strength in his body, Marcus pulled himself to his feet and ran towards the prison doors. He flung himself down the building's steps, hearing a terrifying roar behind him as his body passed over the threshold. A wave of searing heat blistered his exposed skin, and the force of a powerful explosion knocked
him through the air. His body landed hard against a home across the street, and the last thing Marcus saw before he sunk into unconsciousness was the molten inferno which had engulfed the prison.

  ***

  "Wake up! Come on," the voice said, though it was little more than a far-off and distorted mumble in Marcus' mind. "Blasted fool, wake up!"

  The voice slowly took on greater and greater clarity, gradually becoming recognizable again. Marcus groaned, opening his eyes slowly. He bolted upright, startled when his open eyes were greeted with darkness.

  "I'm blind," he said, glancing around in every direction in the vain hope of seeing anything.

  "You're not blind," Vincenzo's voice echoed from the nearby darkness. "We're in the back of an alley, and it's the middle of the night. Don't even try to see anything; you won't be successful."

  "What happened? The last thing I remember was being in the prison, fighting soldiers..."

  "I'm not sure how you did it," Vincenzo said, "but that surprise you said you had in store turned out to be one hell of a surprise. Not three seconds after you stepped out of the prison door, the entire building was rocked by a massive wave of destruction. The entire structure was reduced to a pile of flaming rubble with incredible speed.

  "You were knocked out in the blast. I grabbed you and carried you into the alley here, just in time to avoid the soldiers and onlookers who rushed into the streets to see what happened. So, tell me: how did you do it?"

  "I didn't. I may have been instrumental in helping it happen, but I didn't do it," Marcus said. "The credit for what happens belongs to someone far greater than I."

  "Who would that be?"

  "You wouldn't believe me if I told you," Marcus said. "Come on, we'd better get moving. It's only a matter of time before Julianus Vestatian finds out what happened here, and mobilizes the Sicambrii to find out who is responsible. We won't want to be found in this alley when they start combing the city."

  "I've been thinking about that," Vincenzo said, "and I think we should head to The Countryside Inn. It's our best bet of finding sanctuary. But before we go, you have to tell me how you caused that inferno. If I didn't know better, I'd swear that you made a pact with one of the heathen gods to deliver that sort of a punch."

  "Not one of the heathen gods," Marcus said, struggling to his feet. He braced himself against a nearby wall with one hand and continued to glance around in the hopes of finding some trace of light. "The only pact I made was with Vulcan himself, the Lord of the Forge. It was his power that levelled the prison. Now let's get moving."

  "Vulcan? Huh," Vincenzo said, pondering this tidbit of information. "I should have suspected as much. Very well, come on. Keep hold of this bit of rope, and I'll lead the way."

  A piece of rough rope was thrust into Marcus' outstretched hands. Almost simultaneously, the rope jerked to Marcus' left, pulling him along with it. Rather than resisting the tug of the guiding strand, Marcus followed compliantly. The procedure of tug-and-follow lasted for only a few minutes before the alleyway opened up into a dimly lit street. Flickering torches set along the sides of the rows of homes provided enough light for the pair to get their bearings and throw the guide-rope to the side. Looking up and down both directions of the street, Vincenzo tapped Marcus on the shoulder and nodded to the north. Marcus nodded his assent, and the pair strolled down the street together. They looked ordinary, even casual, carrying themselves with an affected air of boredom specifically designed to make them easily overlooked by casual observers.

  The trip to The Countryside Inn was long and laboured; Marcus and Vincenzo had to stop frequently, ducking into back alleys and side streets to avoid being spotted by people milling about the streets. When they finally arrived at their destination, Marcus was exhausted to the point of passing out. His stumbling pace was maintained only through the grace of being kept awake by Vincenzo's ocassional jabs. Stepping through the doors of the inn, Marcus collapsed into the nearest chair, managing to find enough strength to prop himself up against the wall in a half-seated position. When the bartender caught sight of Marcus and Vincenzo seated at the table, he rushed to their side.

  "General," he said quietly, glancing around to make sure that none of the other patrons were listening. "You've managed to escape from the prison. I was wondering how long it would take."

  "Too long," Marcus said with a forced laugh. "But now that I'm out, I'm hoping you can give me some assistance finding my wife. She should be with Vito and Domitian, probably locked away in a safehouse somewhere."

  "I'm sorry, sir," the bartender said. "I am not privy to such information."

  "Don't lie to me," Marcus said. "Vito is no fool. He knows that this is the first place I would come after making an escape. I find it difficult to believe that he wouldn't have left instructions for me, should I arrive."

  "I really can't divulge the location of any safehouses," the bartender said. "Even if I knew of them, the purpose of a safe house is that its location is a secret. The best I can do is provide a room for you and your companion, and send a message to Vito. I'm sure he'll be here within the hour."

  "That isn't an option," Marcus growled. The ferocity of the statement was undercut by the fit of spasmodic coughing that followed. "Tell us where the safehouse is, or I'll carve you open and strangle you to death with your own entrails. If Vito has a problem with you divulging the information to me, just tell him that I ordered you to give me the information. The last time I checked, a General outranks a bartender."

  "Fine," the bartender said with a resigned sigh. "They aren't far. Six blocks east, three north. Fourth house on the right - you'll see a small eagle carved into the left side of the door frame. Knock three times; a woman will answer. Tell her you're there for Marellus. She'll know what you mean."

  "See? That wasn't so hard," Marcus said, "was it?"

  "We're going to need a horse and cart," Vincenzo said. "I don't think he's in much of a condition to keep walking."

  "Shut your foul mouth," Marcus said. "I'm fine. I can walk."

  Marcus tried to stand up, but his legs buckled under his own weight.

  "Maybe a cart wouldn't be a bad idea," he said with a weak smile. "But make it quick. We need to get to the safehouse as soon as possible."

  "No problem," the bartender said. "In fact, I'll take you there myself. That way, the cart won't be left sitting in the middle of the street."

  "Good," Vincenzo said. "Let's go."

  The bartender waved to the barmaid, who was circling the room like a listless hawk. She waved back and took a position behind the bar.

  The trip from the inn to the safehouse was mercifully short. In order to accommodate Marcus' exhausted form and keep him out of sight of errant observers, he was laid prone in the back of the cart under a pile of blankets, left to bounce around every time the vehicle hit a loose cobblestone. Fortunately, the cart finally pulled to a halt and the blankets covering Marcus were tossed aside. Vincenzo offered him a hand, pulling Marcus out of the cart. The bartender said his farewells and rode off down the street, leaving Marcus and Vincenzo in front of the safehouse. The two approached the door, Marcus half-walking, half-carried by Vincenzo, and knocked three times. As the bartender had told them, an old woman answered the door. She stared up at Marcus silently.

  "We're here for Marellus," Vincenzo said to the old woman. She stared at them for a moment longer, looking them both up and down. Finally, she turned into the house, waving for Marcus and Vincenzo to follow her. She silently led them down a set of stairs into the home's basement, unlocking the sturdy wooden door at the foot of the stairs. When the door swung wide open, she ushered them into the room beyond. The room was small and sparsely furnished, but the furnishings were the last thing on Marcus' mind when he took notice of the room's occupants - Domitian, Vito, and Alexandra were all seated in the middle of the room. Alexandra gasped when she saw Marcus. She rushed over to him, embracing him tightly.

  "Marcus," she whispered into his chest. "How did you
get here? We were planning to mount a rescue for you..."

  "I had a little help," Marcus said quietly. "Tell me, beloved, while I was gone, did you have a dream -"

  "About us meeting on Mount Olympus," Alexandra exclaimed, turning her head upward to stare lovingly into his eyes. "Yes, I did. I thought I was just a dream. I never dared to let myself hope that it was real."

  "It was real," Marcus said. "And I would love to tell you all about it, Alexandra. However, I hope you won't think it terribly rude if I just drop to the ground and collapse. It's been a very long couple of days."

  Alexandra replied with a smile, leading Marcus by the hand to a small cot in the corner of the room. He collapsed onto it with a heavy thud, the strength in his body completely expended. Before he was entirely lost to the oncoming rush of unconsciousness, Marcus sensed rather than saw Alexandra sit on the cot beside him. The last sensation his conscious mind felt was her taking his hands in hers and holding them tightly.

  ***

  It was nearly a full day before Marcus awoke again, feeling refreshed and strong for the first time in days. After consuming enough food to nearly make up for the fare he missed while imprisoned, he joined his wife and companions to discuss their situation. The four men and one woman sat crowded around a small table in the corner of the safehouse's basement.

  "Have any of the scout riders returned from their missions yet?" Marcus asked.

  "No," Domitian replied. "I doubt that we'll see any of them for at least a few weeks. You've only been gone a few days, Marcus - not months. Little has changed."

  "Except for reports of what happened to the city prison," Vito added with a smile. "And even those reports are terribly vague. All we can tell for certain is that where a prison once stood, there is now little more than a pile of molten rock and bits of rubble. What exactly happened?"