For the fiftieth time, he looked down to his Asgeirr-Carbine and checked the ammunition.
We will be ready!
CHAPTER ONE
Twelve Hours Earlier, Laconian Titan ‘Valediction’
Strategos Clearchus, Lord Cyrus and Ariaeus, his Median deputy, stood in silence. They waited in the antechamber briefing room that was positioned at the far end of great hall, deep inside the Laconian Titan, Valediction. Although part of the mighty ship, the cavernous interior could easily have been inside a fortress, monastery or even an underground cave complex. The walls were rough, almost like bare rock, and there was a deathly silence that cooled the expanse of emptiness as easily as if they were all stood in the vacuum of space. Stone columns rose to the ceiling and led the eye along to the great arched entrance to the anteroom. In this smaller part of the hall stood an ancient altar upon which sat a number of worn and damaged relics. Most were weapons taken from numerous battle sites; some even taken from the recent action at the Gates of Cilicia. The walls were adorned with stylised artworks and tapestries of glorious actions. The majority of these concerned land battles, but at least one showed a massive space battle, specifically the defeat of the Terran Alliance. The Median noblemen looked a world apart from Clearchus, the seasoned human commander or Strategos as he was known to the Black Legion. Their thinner bodies, pale skin and narrow faces gave them a mythical quality, like a character from an ancient tale of monsters and heroes.
Lord Cyrus took a deep breath before finally speaking. “So, gentlemen, we are agreed then, on my course of action?”
Ariaeus nodded in agreement, but that was hardly surprising. The man was a close ally of Cyrus, and it was rumoured they were blood related.
“Of course, my Lord, my forces are ready for your command. With the extra support of Clearchus and his Legion, we will be able to overcome any opposition.”
Clearchus however looked less than impressed. He glanced at Ariaeus but quickly dismissed him and moved back to Cyrus.
“Support? The Black Legion is the force with which we will win. If your Median forces were so powerful, then you wouldn’t need us, would you? Even so, this isn’t what any of them signed up for, is it? You must appreciate the dissent this will cause in the Armada?” he asked sternly.
Cyrus looked taken aback, but it was hard to tell what the truth was and what was put on for show. He lifted his left hand and rubbed it across his lightly defined chin.
“Strategos Clearchus, I disagree. Why should it be an issue? The Legion is paid from my coffers to do my bidding, are they not? They are mercenaries, not conscripts or family bodyguards. No, they will fight where and when I tell them to do so.”
Clearchus shook his head.
“No, they are not. The Legion was formed specifically to operate in the borderlands, to clear pirates, bandits and other hostile forces. This is a policing operation, no more. What you now suggest is much more serious. It could start a series of devastating conflicts in our own territories. Even worse, it could bring us into direct conflict with your own Empire.”
Ariaeus lifted his hand but ignored Clearchus; even cutting in and interrupting the human commander’s speech. It was a gesture that could expect a serious punishment in the Legion. As it was, the fact that the Terran commander stayed his hand was an impressive feat of self-control.
“They will go where they are…” he started, before the firm hand of Clearchus grabbed him across the forearm. His fist clamped down like a vice and the Median nobleman winced with pain at the pressure.
“Learn some respect, Medes!”
He stepped closer so that he faced the taller figure. He looked up at his face, the expression showing a fascinating mixture of anger and disgust.
“Did they not teach you the simple basics of manners and diplomacy as a child? I seem to recall my father taught your ancestors the meaning of civility nearly a century ago. Perhaps you need to be reminded.”
Cyrus laughed and placed a hand on the shoulders of each of the men. His voice betrayed a nervous tone, and one that even Clearchus picked up on.
Perhaps it isn’t all going quite as he had hoped, he thought.
The Median Lord waited until Clearchus released his second in command. It was a tense stand-off. But ultimately, Cyrus was in charge, and while he controlled the purse strings, he also controlled the Legion.
“I know you both have reservations about my plan.”
He looked to Ariaeus whose face betrayed almost no emotion of any kind.
“Ariaeus, my old friend, we have studied and trained alongside each other for many years. There is nobody I trust more with weapons than you. Even so, your mighty forces will not be enough on their own. I do not wish to just win a battle. I must dominate the battlefield. When the dust settles and the reckoning begins, all must know that it is I, Cyrus, brother of the Emperor of the Medes, who is the victor.”
He then turned to the Terran commander.
“Strategos Clearchus. Your skill and experience as an infantry commander are second to none. We all have known the power of the Terran heavy infantry. I even faced your ancestors a generation ago on the battlefield.”
He immediately noticed a look of confusion on the face of the Terran.
A generation ago, Lord Cyrus fought my countrymen?
“You are concerned at what the Legion will have to say at my proposal, and you perhaps feel that some, maybe all, will refuse to come with me?”
A clattering of bolts and metal indicated the opening of a dozen doors into the great hall. A large number of Terran officers proceeded inside and made their way to the three commanders. Clearchus scowled in irritation when he spotted his senior officers making their way to him. Cyrus stood up tall and faced the approaching group. He glanced briefly towards Clearchus who was still fuming.
“It is perhaps just as well that I have already invited the commanders here.”
Ariaeus smiled at the fait accompli, and it took great self control on behalf of the Terran commander not to lurch across and strike him. He looked back and recognised the senior officers from each of the four Titans. The Dukas were the most significant, each in control of between six hundred and four thousand warriors. There were ten of them, and he was sure he could see at least six in the crowd. Larger numbers of the junior commanders, known as the Komes, took up most of the space. From another door entered the contingent from the Arcadian Titan. The first to move inside was Komes Pasion, a man that Clearchus recognised from his dealing at the Gates. Stood near to him was his commander, Dukas Xenias; an arrogant but brave officer and a worthy member of the Legion.
“How many did you bring here?” hissed Clearchus through clenched teeth.
“My dear, Strategos, I invited all the Dukas and their Komes to this meeting. It seemed only fair. These officers represent the entire Legion, from Pasion, the Megaran, over there to Menon and his two thousand warriors. We will find out very soon what they have to say.”
Clearchus looked into the eyes of Cyrus and tried to imagine what further schemes or plans he had hatched. Cyrus was rich, undoubtedly, but how far could he be trusted?
This isn’t good, not good at all. If he addresses the Legion, they will tear him apart for his betrayal. This needs a Terran. I need to take control of this announcement, and I need my topoteretes in here now!
Clearchus looked out at the large number of Terran officers who were stood in a large horde in the open. As he glanced at them, he discreetly pressed a hidden button on his sleeve. It went unnoticed, at least he hoped so. Cyrus took a step forward, and it was clear he was about to speak to the assembled troops. The Dukas were all at the front with their contingents stood around them. It gave the effect of an ancient warband from the history of Old Earth. The Terrans wore their dark grey uniforms, and in the low light of the great hall it looked more like black. Some bore the symbols of their old states such as Arcadia or Attica on their chests, and others carried personal markings or even the symbols of their companies
or families. It was a disparate group of men and women, but all of them shared a common experience in the violent work of the mercenary.
The Median commander inhaled, about to speak when in walked Kleandridas and Pleistoanax. These were Clearchus’ two deputies, and his most experienced and loyal officers. These mighty warriors were the equal of Clearchus in close quarter fighting and looked both massive and powerful. As they moved down the hall, the assembled officers moved aside to create a corridor that led directly to the end and the antechamber. It was almost ceremonial and took nearly a minute for them to make the journey. By the time they reached the three commanders, the Great Hall was completely silent with every single warrior watching them. The two men wore their official uniforms as well as their traditional Laconian armour and crimson cloaks. They stopped in front of Clearchus and knelt down before him. He nodded to them, the signal for them to stand and move to his flanks. He took this as is his cue and stepped out ahead of Cyrus.
He thought to himself: I need to make this good or this Legion is finished. No Legion, and I’ll have to return to Laconia, and they will want to know how I was able to commandeer a decommissioned Titan!
It was time to speak, but there was little time to think of the treason back home and his violent struggle from his homeworld. It gave him little pleasure knowing he could not return, at least not until he had achieved great victories and trophies to bring back with him.
“Men and women of the Legion, you have been brought here for a great announcement.”
He held out his arms as if welcoming them all to the hall.
“This mighty ship might be from old Laconia, but in this fleet we are all Black Legion. We have joined this endeavour for many reasons, some of us for money, others for fame, and perhaps even a little glory.”
A low chortle rippled through the crowd. Clearchus grinned to himself, satisfied that he seemed to have their attention and support, so far at least. He took another deep breath and continued.
“There are others, like myself that have found themselves forced from their homes. I have been away from Laconia for some time, and yet not one day passes where I wish I were anywhere else. Never in our history have so many warriors been assembled for such a bold enterprise.”
Here it comes, make it good!
“You joined to fight for Lord Cyrus here,” he waved with his right arm over to the Median Lord.
“He sets the objective, and then we take care of it. I am pleased to tell you that we have not been assembled to simply deal with pirates and rebels. No, we have been assembled for a much nobler and much more dangerous campaign, and one that will be remembered for generations to come.”
He looked back to Cyrus who was now smiling in his own discrete manner. Clearchus relaxed, if only a little when he saw him.
All I have to do now is sell the plan and make it sound good.
He pressed a button on the massive stone table. Above it appeared a projected model of the galaxy. A few deft gestures and he had programmed in the ultimate destination. The starmap started to pan across but slow enough that he could continue speaking without giving it all away.
“Lord Cyrus is the brother of the Emperor, a man known to us as Artaxerxes. This man is a tyrant, worse than many of his predecessors. Since coming to power four years ago, he has made numerous enemies and even murdered most of his close family. He is no friend of ours and still claims our lands as his own.”
He glanced to the starmap and noted the display had move passed Terran territories and was working through the borders of the Median Empire.
“My friends, our objective will secure peace and stability for all our worlds and create a friend amongst the Medes. Our campaign will be to the heart of the Empire, where we will find and defeat Artaxerxes so that his brother, the noble Lord Cyrus can take his place.”
The great hall erupted into noise as the scores of officers realised what their commander had just said. The talking and muttering quickly turned to shouting, and it took almost a full minute for the noise to die down. Dukas Kratez, the Achaean, stepped forward, resplendent in the insignia of his homeworld, and around him stood his personal guards, including a dozen Komes warriors. He voice boomed throughout the hall.
“Strategos Clearchus, are you actually suggesting that a Terran mercenary force of just ten thousand can move through heavily defended Median space to strike at the Imperial capital? This is surely madness?”
Dukas Xenias followed immediately afterwards without giving Clearchus even a moment to respond.
“We have four Titans, enough to defend against a major Median attack, but surely not enough to survive in hostile territory for so long? My forces signed up for border wars against enemies of the Medes as well as enemies to our own Terran worlds. They did not sign up to join a Median civil war. This could have dire consequences for all Terrans.”
Clearchus again lifted his hands for silence.
“I hear your worries, but let me explain. Our intelligence over the last week has shown collusion between Tissaphernes and the Mulacs. He has contacted us to help suppress a revolt between him and the Psidian traders that are apparently blockading several trade routes. It seems that these are all ruses to blunt our combat power of the Legion and to reduce the influence of Lord Cyrus.”
He pointed to each of the Dukas that stood at the front of the crowd.
“Each of you commands a contingent that is more powerful than an entire Median army. This is what Artaxerxes fears, and he is using his local satraps to wear us down.”
Cyrus himself moved closer and pulled back his robe to reveal elaborately detailed and jewelled armour. It was so close fitting it looked almost rubberised.
“May I?” he asked Clearchus in a quiet, polite tone.
Clearchus nodded and took a step back to join the others.
“My comrades of the Legion, all this is a game to my brother. He is a tyrant and a warmonger and will stop at nothing until he exerts complete control over the border lands. Trust me, he will not stay there.”
He paused and tried to assess the crowd, especially their mood.
“The only reason I have been able to assemble a force of this kind was by playing along with this feud with Tissaphernes. He brought in the Mulacs I am sure, to try and break me and this Legion. But you all proved him wrong.”
There was nothing, not even a gesture from the audience; they simply stared at him with empty eyes as he spoke.
What is wrong with them?
He waited, watching them but nothing changed. The longer he watched them, the more he thought he could see anger or disdain in their faces. Perhaps the ruse of recruiting them to deal with pirates and raiders had been a little optimistic, but still, they were only mercenaries.
Mercenaries, of course, he said to himself, all I need to do is to appeal to their most base nature.
He nodded in satisfaction at his realisation. It was only when he could see one of the Dukas watching him that he caught himself and stopped the physical gesture.
Okay, perhaps this will get their attention.
“This is all politics and diplomacy, and for that I apologise. What is of much more importance is what I want you to do and what your rewards will be for doing it. You are mercenaries, the best I have ever seen and worthy of the greatest pay.”
That seemed to make a change, and already a number of the lower ranked Komes were busy speaking quietly to their comrades.
Yes, nothing gets the attention of a mercenary quite like the idea of money, now does it? He almost laughed to himself at his tactic.
“For those of the Legion that follow me against my brother, I will offer you this. First, an immediate payment to the value of triple pay, plus...”
He waited, letting the suspense build up.
“Plus a percentage of the loot from the spoils of my brother’s defeated army, and this will be substantial.”
Now this statement caught the Legion’s attention. Pay was one thing, but the chance to take a
chunk of the loot from a defeated Median army could be enough to make a man rich. It was the dream of any mercenary to face such an opportunity.
Dukas Xenias lifted both of his arms for silence, and most of the officers quietened down with the exception of a handful from the Boeotian contingent commanded by Proxenus. He called out, his booming voice echoing across the great hall.
“I’m sure you are aware, Lord Cyrus, that as Arcadians, we have a treaty with Emperor Artaxerxes. It is not just us, but the Laconians also have the same non-aggression agreement with the Empire. If we join you then we, as citizens of Boeotia and Laconia, would be considered enemies of the Empire.”
Cyrus smiled at the assembled warriors.
“Only if we lose,” he replied with a mischievous grin that made even Strategos Clearchus smile.
* * *
Xenophon waited along with the many hundreds of other stratiotes warriors in the landing bay of the Arcadian Titan, Olympia. Like the rest of his comrades, he was armoured and equipped as a light infantryman. This meant he wore quality armour plus a variety of ranged weapons. Unlike the more heavily equipped spatharii, they didn’t carry the heavy energy shields that made the other troops so devastating at close quarters. To his right stood Pentarchos Glaucon, his faithful, if somewhat excitable, comrade from Attica. Tamara, still with her electric blue hair, stood further along the column. Xenophon looked across the open space to the other line of warriors and quickly spotted the rest of the stratiotes. They were part of the same unit and wore the patches of the Night Blades, the adopted name of the unit. Stood to the right of the group was Roxana Devereux, his close friend and one of their newest dekarchos.
Black Legion - The First Trilogy Page 28
