CHAPTER ONE
Median Battleship ‘Rashnu’
Strategos Clearchus, the supreme military commander of the Black Legion surveyed his prize with barely concealed pleasure. Few Terrans had even seen a Medes warship before, and even fewer had seen such a monstrous beast as the Rashnu. His eyes scanned through the interior of the Royal Chamber, and though he could appreciate its engineering and artistic merit, he could see little that would appeal to a warrior like him. The more he examined her interior, the more the ship reminded him of why he felt so little empathy towards the Medes.
These people think they know something of war. They are nothing but slave drivers.
The battleship Rashnu was the largest and most powerful ship in the entire Imperial Fleet, and named after the ancient Medes’ divine angel. She was supposed to stand for justice and last judgement in the Empire; more heavily armoured and shielded than even an Elamite battleship and filled to the brim with hardened warriors, each and every one of them sworn to give their life for that of the Emperor himself. The ship was so vast that to the Terrans she was classed as a super-battleship, a type of vessel second only to the twelve planet-sponsored Titans of humanity. Unlike the drab ships of the Terrans, this flagship was brightly coloured to an almost garish degree. She was designed to get the attention of all that came across her, friend or foe, and that had been exactly what had happened to her in the bloody space battle at the Imperial shipyards of Khorram.
“Present arms!” called out one of Lord Cyrus’ personal guards in heavily accented English. It was a polite gesture on behalf of Cyrus to his trusted Terran warriors. The line of newly named Anusiya fighters lifted their rifles high to the air. Cyrus had adopted the name of the Royal Bodyguard in the last week as part of his official naming as Emperor of the Median Empire.
Nothing but hot words from a politician with deep pockets, he thought.
Though Cyrus was indeed the half-brother of Artaxerxes, he was most certainly not the rightful leader of the Empire. Not that any of it truly mattered to the Terran commander; he was a mercenary like every other soldier, pirate and cutthroat in the Legion. The Emperor of the Median Empire would be chosen simply by whichever of the two men was left alive, and it was his job to ensure that Lord Cyrus came out as the true victor.
The stomping of soldiers’ feet caught his attention, and he watched with wry amusement as the Medes soldiers paraded back and forth in front of Lord Cyrus. They were pretty that he couldn’t deny, but it was hard for him to disguise his contempt for the men who considered themselves the equals of the Terran warriors. He was sure he could see equal contempt in their eyes for the vulgar, scruffy and brutal Terrans, but that merely improved his mood even further.
Clearchus was never alone, and this was especially true when in the presence of the Medes. Though he was the leader of the vast military operation, he still had many enemies in the Medes military. Some had been turned against him only recently, but for the rest it was hundreds of years of enmity between two very different peoples. As always on such occasions, he was flanked by his two trusted topoteretes, the common word used to designate his deputy commanders. They were the equivalent of generals or admirals in most military forces and like all Terran senior commanders; they were expected to do both jobs. On his left, the mighty warrior Kleandridas and on his right the cunning tactician, Pleistoanax. All three stood in their full military regalia with body armour and crimson cloaks, marking them out as the warrior elite of Laconian society.
Of all the disparate Terrans peoples, the Laconians were known as the first among warriors, and Clearchus was their greatest living commander. No sane Terran strategos would ever send his ground troops into battle against a Laconian strategos. The man that sent his soldiers to face Laconian troops under the command of a Laconian strategos was doubly the fool, and the Medes knew this full well from their futile attempts to subdue the Terran worlds in the past.
“They still haven’t removed the stench from this place,” muttered Kleandridas.
Pleistoanax grinned at his insult, but Clearchus maintained his famous stoicism by saying nothing. Instead, he lifted his eyes to examine the Royal Quarters of the mighty Medes warship. Rashnu had been the flagship of the Imperial Fleet and commanded personally by Emperor Artaxerxes at the previous battle of Khorram. Though powerful when in battle against other ships, she was vulnerable like all vessels to being boarded. The Terran had shot and hacked their way inside and taken her as a prize. Although heavily damaged, Clearchus had offered her to Cyrus as a gift. It was a useful gesture and had done much to further the Medes nobleman’s position with his people. Of course, to Clearchus it was a hulk, a piece of scrap that he might just use for target practice.
So, this part of the ship is to be accessed by only those of Royal blood? I must be a king then! He thought.
He grinned to himself at the simple conceit. Back on Laconia he had been second only to the kings in power and prestige. Unfortunately for him, this had meant sending him away as often as possible to keep him out of internal politics. That part he didn’t mind, but it had resulted in his exile, following a number of unfortunate incidents under his command. He looked at the ground and was instantly reminded of the fighting in this very place. A great deal of Medes blood had been spilled in this very room, and it pleased him to be stood there observing more of them trying to impress him. Lord Cyrus spotted his interest and moved from his position at the end of the room towards Clearchus. It was only a short distance, but everyone other than the marching soldiers watched with interest. The lithe and elegant figure approached the Strategos and nodded. Clearchus did the same. The difference between them was marked. Cyrus, the taller and paler of the two with beautifully intricate robes and flowing regalia; Clearchus, the squatter figure with thick sinewy muscles, and ceremonial armour that followed the curves of his body and the blood red cloak of the Laconians. One looked kingly, the other like a muscled warrior god of antiquity.
“Strategos, my friend. How do you find this display?”
Clearchus smiled back at him.
“As always, your soldiers put on a fine display of marching.”
Cyrus detected the sarcasm but decided to not act on it. He knew perfectly well that he could never change Clearchus’ opinion of his own people. Of all the Terrans, the Laconians were the least likely to ever see the good in the Medes. The two were as far apart as it was possible for them to be. Cyrus lifted his left hand to add something but was interrupted by the opening of the great doors to this part of the ship. They were massive, and easily large enough to move a ship through. At the base of the mighty doors emerged the form of Ariaeus, the Median general and second in command to Lord Cyrus. He marched into the Royal Chamber with ten attendant Medes at his flanks. Cyrus watched his approach, but Clearchus turned his attention back to the parading soldiers. He showed nothing but contempt for the Medes commander as he stopped in front of the small group. With an extravagant flourish, he bowed down in front of Cyrus.
“My Lord Emperor,” he said so that Clearchus might hear and understand.
The old Terran commander did the unexpected and turned to face him. He nodded at Ariaeus as if the bowing had been specifically for him. Ariaeus snarled at him.
“Clearchus, why are you here?”
Cyrus inhaled before speaking in a firm tone.
“Lord Ariaeus, I am glad to see you have finally arrived for the demonstration.”
Clearchus looked at them both with a mixture of bemusement and interest.
“Of course, my Lord Emperor. I have brought my finest for your pleasure.”
He turned to his ten attendants and lifted his hand. They quickly formed up into two lines of five to face Cyrus. With another flick of his hand, they dropped to one knee and rested their rifle butts on the ground. Clearchus looked at them carefully, noting the thin but beautifully crafted helmets, fine clothes and selection of daggers and blades on their flanks.
“They are almost the match of yo
ur Anusiyan bodyguards,” he said dryly.
Cyrus looked at them and then to his own troops. Clearchus sensed a moment of confusion, or perhaps doubt about the man. Was he worried about the loyalty of these ten men, or perhaps that they might even best his personally chosen guards? He rested his chin in his right hand before straightening up and turning to face the room. He clapped his hands, and the marching stopped. The open space inside the Royal Chamber was vast, but the large group of nearly two hundred warriors still paled into insignificance next to the columns and finery on display. All eyes were on Cyrus as he continued. He spoke in his own tongue for almost a minute before turning back to the three Terrans. The space turned to a hive of activity as the Anusiyan warriors redeployed themselves into a circular formation that left a large gap in the middle almost fifty metres in diameter.
“Perhaps a demonstration of their skills might interest you?” asked Cyrus.
Clearchus looked to his two topoteretes who in turn tried to nod politely, without betraying their amusement at the idea of a martial demonstration by what they considered to be effeminate slavers.
“Of course. Might you be interested in seeing how they fare against Terran soldiers? An honourable trial for the pleasure of the assembled Legion?”
Cyrus nodded, the idea apparently appealing to him greatly. Ariaeus, on the other hand, seemed less than impressed. He started to speak, and Clearchus was certain he recognised a few of the words, specifically those related to Terrans. Cyrus lifted his hands to stop him.
“Lord Ariaeus, in English if you please, in the presence of our esteemed guests.”
Ariaeus scowled at Clearchus and started again.
“My Lord Emperor, this was supposed to be a demonstration of our own people. Is this necessary?”
Cyrus looked to Clearchus.
“Do you have any regulars that could participate in this contest?” he asked.
“Regulars?” he responded with scorn. “All of my warriors are trained and ready for battle whenever it may be demanded of them.”
Ariaeus smiled as he looked about the Royal Chamber.
“Where are these warriors of yours, Strategos?” he asked with the contempt dripping from his mouth.
Kleandridas leaned in and whispered quietly into his commander’s ear. Clearchus listened intently before indicating for him to step back. He then ignored Ariaeus and spoke instead to Cyrus.
“My Lord, I have a small contingent here from the crippled warship Vendetta. You will recall they were the ones that broke through this very chamber and helped secure this vessel.”
Cyrus nodded in recognition.
“Of course, they were under the command of Dukas Xenias, were they not? So the same warriors that have been protecting my niece these last weeks?”
“Yes, my Lord. If you recall, they were made the personal guards of Lady Artemas, under the command of Dekarchos Xenophon of the Spatharii. They are waiting with Lady Artemas outside the Royal Gates.”
Cyrus turned his head and looked to the massive doors once more. Their official name was the Royal Gates, due to the fact that they guarded the entrance to the Royal Chamber but also because they would only open to those of Royal blood. This would include him; Satraps of the Empire and of course his niece.
“Bring forth Lady Artemas,” he called out.
On cue, the great doors opened with barely a sound. Dwarfed by their height, emerged the slender figure of the Medes woman. Her eyes glowed, and her skin seemed even paler than Cyrus’, not that it was actually possible. To the surprise of those in the chamber, she wore a mixture of Terran and Medes clothing, something that was unheard of in the Empire. As expected, she wore a Medes close fitting black corset and tightly fitting trousers. On top of this, she sported an assortment of light Terran armour that had been modified and crafted to her athletic figure. She looked every part a Royal woman but in the garb of a Terran princess. Clearchus gasped at her beauty as she marched into the room, flanked by four spatharii, the generic term given to the Terran heavy infantry. She stopped in front of Cyrus and bowed.
“Uncle.”
He nodded in acknowledgement, noting she hadn’t used the Imperial being used by most of his subjects. Even so, she had bowed down to recognise his sovereignty. He looked to her four comrades. Two were male, one an older woman and the fourth, a girl with flowing blue hair. All four wore the uniforms and armour of the Arcadian military and the markings of Xenias, their Dukas.
“My dear niece. Your choice of clothing is, well, perhaps a little cosmopolitan for this audience.”
She lifted herself back up and returned to her guards.
“Hardly, Uncle. I asked for, and have been given, an official position as scout with the Arcadian contingent that has reinforced the troops aboard Poseidon.”
“What?” growled Ariaeus, now turning his attention to Clearchus.
“A noblewoman of the Medes has no place aboard a Terran warship, not least one of your harbingers of devastation.”
Clearchus raised an eyebrow at his description.
“Harbinger of devastation?” he asked, looking to Kleandridas. “I like that.”
His comments simply infuriated Ariaeus further. It took the intervention of Cyrus once more to calm the situation.
“Enough. My niece has proven on more than one occasion her worth and her independence. As a freewoman in the Empire, it is for her to choose where she will go and with whom she will associate. If Lady Artemas wishes to spend her time with the spatharii of the Terran Titan Poseidon, then that is the way it shall be.”
He turned to the crowd of warriors.
“Now, back to more important affairs. The demonstration.”
Ariaeus turned and approached the circle of soldiers. Each stepped aside as he moved closer so that he could move through and stand at the front. Cyrus walked away to do the same, with Lady Artemas and her escort following, when he spotted Clearchus hadn’t moved.
“We need Terrans for this demonstration also,” he explained, gesturing with his hand. Clearchus nodded politely and indicated for his topoteretes to follow him. It didn’t take long for them all to be in position and looking inward at the open space.
Cyrus stepped into the middle so that all of them might see him and turned to look at each of them in turn. It took almost a full minute before he actually started to speak, but the illusion of speaking to them as individuals instead of a group had been cemented. He started in his own tongue while Ariaeus translated for the Terrans.
“You are all warriors. Some as Terrans, most as Medes, and all have been blooded in battle. You are here because your skills and expertise have raised you up and above the common soldier to be a guardian, a protector of your leaders. The battle of Khorram is long over, and our fleet is ready for the next stage. Today you will demonstrate to me, to Lord Ariaeus and to Strategos Clearchus, that we are united in martial skill. In the next days and weeks, each of you will be called on to fight in the greatest battle in recorded history. Your descendants will speak of you and your actions with pride.”
He paused and looked to Ariaeus and Clearchus.
“Now, we have three groups of warriors. First there are my handpicked Anusiyans, each of you chosen for your bravery and loyalty. Next we have the ten guardians of Ariaeus, each chosen for exactly the same reasons.”
Ariaeus nodded.
“Finally, we have the Terrans and the personal guards of my niece, Lady Artemas.”
Xenophon, Glaucon, Roxana and Tamara all bowed slightly at their mention. Cyrus nodded to a pair of guards near a number of wooden boxes. They moved the one closer to the soldiers and opened it to reveal blunt metal training weapons.
“This will be a simple contest using these training weapons. Two fighters from each group will enter the circle. The last group with a fighter standing will be the victor and win this great prize.”
He turned and pointed at the guards who were busy opening a second wooden unit that contained various valuable spoils take
n from the Rashnu. After a short delay, they lifted up a curved blade encrusted with jewels and gleaming stones.
“This is one of the three hundred blessed Makhaira taken from Rashnu’s armoury following her fall. My traitor brother used them as rewards for his Satraps and bribes for foreign dignitaries. I have ordered all but ten to be sold, and the funds distributed to the troops as a reward for their brave struggle.”
The last comment seemed to grab the attention of all present, with the exception of Clearchus who appeared disinterested in the entire affair. Cyrus continued and Ariaeus maintained his translation as best he could.
“My treasurer confirms this will amount to over a year’s pay for every warrior. A worthy payment indeed for your courage and skill.”
The two guards approached with the weapon and handed it to their leader. Cyrus lifted the beautifully crafted blade over his head. At this distance, it was now possible for everyone present to see it in all its magnificence. It was based on a common Makhaira, an ancient bladed weapon shaped like a long knife with a slightly curved blade. The hilt was carved to fit the fingers perfectly, and a blue and green jewelled shell covered where the knuckles would be. The blade was almost silver in colour, and the edge gleamed.
Black Legion - The First Trilogy Page 51
