Lost Legio IX: The Karus Saga

by Marc Alan Edelheit

“What do you mean?”

  “Though Istros is in your sphere of influence, I intend to make that world a strong point,” Blue said. “On Istros our reversals will halt. Upon that world, with my design, and your assistance, we will eventually strike back.”

  “How?” Obsidian asked, irritation once again leaking into his voice. “There are no great empires on that world. It has been adrift for two thousand years. Though the people there are numerous, they are scattered into many individual kingdoms, hopelessly divided. There is no unifying influence. They have no concept of our war. The gods, for all intents and purposes, ignore them.”

  “I intend to change that,” Blue said, flashing what he thought was a devious a smile at the elf.

  “How?” Obsidian asked again.

  Blue gestured with his free hand around them. “It is why we are both here.”

  Obsidian’s eyes widened. He stumbled back a step.

  “You cannot ask that of me,” Obsidian said in a whisper. “You cannot be serious.”

  “I am,” Blue said firmly, a feeling of deep burning rage rising up within him to match the resolve of his actions. “I tire of struggling so much for so little gain. It is time for drastic measures. Something must change, for our cause as it stands now is lost. The tide must turn, and if it will not do so on its own, it must be rolled back by force of will alone.”

  Obsidian was silent for several moments. Blue could almost sense the other’s thoughts despite the implacable façade his friend worked so hard to present to the world.

  “You think these legionaries can provide that backbone?” the elf said after some time, glancing around at the assembled legion.

  “I do,” Blue said in a near whisper. “I have arranged things nicely.”

  “Will not the gods stop you?”

  “They dare not,” Blue replied with an almost maniacal giggle.

  “Are you so sure?”

  “Direct interference would upset the order of things,” Blue said, struggling to sober his tone. The vast quantity of power he was holding onto threatened once again to overwhelm him. With effort, he closed his eyes and tamped down the wave of energy that had bubbled up, and pushed it back to where it belonged, reserved for his call and need. The crystals on his rings flashed, and his staff’s ill-shaped sapphire blinked with the effort. When he opened his eyes again, he saw Obsidian studying him with a calculating look.

  “The order has been upset before, but never like this.”

  Blue shrugged. “It would be an escalation even they are not prepared to fully undertake.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Obsidian said. “I have my doubts.”

  “Imagine for a moment if this empire were pushed and permitted the run of this world,” Blue said. “What greatness could they achieve? Should a Gate be opened to the next world, surely they would come to eventually dominate that one also. In the end, who knows how far it could go?”

  “The gods will not permit a Gate on this world.” Obsidian cocked his head to the side. “I am unsure exactly what you intend.”

  “True, they will not permit a World Gate, yet there still resides an ancient portal, one of the very first, and not far from where we now stand.”

  Blue saw the surprise register in Obsidian’s eyes. It pleased him greatly, and he almost lost himself as his hold on the energy slackened. It was becoming a real effort to maintain control over the power, which continually threatened to overwhelm his will and sanity. In a few days’ time, he would be free of the burden. Then would come a greater weight to shoulder. He was not looking forward to that.

  “The gods will demand a price for your actions,” Obsidian said. It came out almost as a whisper. “Are you prepared to accept their punishment?”

  “They have yet to act,” Blue said.

  “What do you mean they have yet to act?”

  “I have been working on this for a very long time, taking individuals and small groups from this world,” Blue said casually. “Though they mean nothing to you, I have removed Carthaginians, Etruscans, Greeks, Assyrians, Medians … the list of peoples goes on.” He paused and once again glanced around at the assembled legion. “This, however, will be something a bit more … substantial.”

  “All to Istros?”

  “No, to Tannis,” Blue responded with a heavy sigh. “An ancient portal still resides on that world. Sadly, one was never built on Istros, and if I rectified that oversight, it would be noticed.” He paused for a moment to suck in a breath of the cold morning air. “Once on Tannis, these Romans would need to unlock the World Gate to Istros.”

  “Surely,” Obsidian said, “there are better choices than Istros. It is so … out of the way.”

  “There are no others,” Blue said firmly. “Besides, that world’s remoteness makes it the perfect choice.”

  “I don’t like it.”

  “Neither do I,” Blue said. “But I can see no other way. Very few of the ancient portals remain active. Sadly, most lead to places that would prove far harsher environments than Tannis.”

  “Can these … these Romans make it?” Obsidian asked. “Tannis is slowly being overrun. Our enemy, knowing the dead-end nature of that chain, seems in no particular hurry.”

  “That will change once the Ninth arrives,” Blue said matter-of-factly.

  “That is an understatement,” Obsidian said.

  “The journey to Istros will be difficult and perilous,” Blue said, “but there are ready allies in place.”

  “So, that is why there are dwarves on Tannis?” Obsidian looked closely at Blue. “It must have taken centuries to get them all the way out there.”

  “I have long planned this,” Blue admitted with a slight shrug of his shoulders.

  “I am beginning to see that. It would seem your ambitions are as unrivaled as these Romans’.”

  Blue nodded at that truthful statement, and the two were silent for some time as they watched the legionaries.

  “Should they succeed and make their way to Istros,” Blue said after some time, “they will have all the time they need.”

  “Should?”

  “I shall give these Romans their empire without end, as their god has promised,” Blue said, turning back to Obsidian. “And you, my friend, will help me. You will give them their push. You must send one of your wizards to this world to watch over them and guide things.”

  Obsidian turned away and cast his gaze around them. The roll had been taken, and the formations were being dismissed one after another. Men were streaming off the parade ground on their way to begin their daily routines.

  “Only if you send one of yours,” Obsidian countered. “Two wizards on Istros will increase the chances of success.”

  “I have already done so,” Blue said with a sense of triumph. “He is on Tannis, as is a Knight of the Vass, and several Noctalum.”

  Obsidian glanced over at him with a raised eyebrow, and then nodded. “You realize that once the other alignments figure out what we are doing, they will move to counter us?”

  “Yes, but, with luck, by the time they react,” Blue said, “our momentum will have carried things too far along for them to easily stop us, particularly if the Romans make it to Istros. With your help, they will seal the Gate behind them and begin to dominate their new world.”

  Obsidian remained silent as he considered what Blue said.

  “Once the Gate is sealed again,” Obsidian said, “anything could happen. There will be no help available, and no going back.”

  “That is why we are each sending our best with them.”

  “Are you prepared for judgment?” Obsidian asked. “For the gods will surely demand it for removing this … this legion.”

  “You know better,” Blue said with a frown.

  “The question is, do you?”

  “Once I have seen to the transfer, I will travel to Olimbos. There I will atone … for my sins,” Blue said with a heavy sigh. Yes, he would go to the one world where the gods still walked the land a
nd pulled strings from afar. There he would pay the price for his actions, even as he served the god he honored and loved. “Besides, traveling through space and time as we both do, you know it has already happened.”

  “Will you really climb that mountain?” Obsidian asked him, ignoring the last comment. Blue could almost detect a trace of sympathy in his friend’s tone. “Willingly?”

  “Indeed, I will.” Blue hesitated. “I already have.”

  Obsidian was silent for some moments, his eyes on Blue.

  “Eventually, another Dvergr will rise to assume my mantle,” Blue added, filling the silence. “Until such time, you will have to carry on without me, but you will help me. Yes, my friend, Vera’Far, you will help me.”

  Vera’Far, the High Master of Obsidian, glanced over at Blue and, after a pause, gave a curt but firm nod. “I shall, Rarokan, High Master of the Blue. I swear by my god, and yours, I will indeed help you in this mad endeavor, but only because it may just work.”

  “Good,” Blue said with a grim look, though he was deeply pleased. Everything he had worked toward for so long had hinged upon this one moment. Had Obsidian refused him, his plan would have stood little chance of success. Even now, with Obsidian’s assistance, the odds were long. “I want to show you the champion I have selected. Though he has been but a soldier his entire life, he is a complicated individual for a human.”

  “Your champion?”

  “Yes,” Rarokan said as he turned and stumped off, leaving Vera’Far behind. He stopped several feet away and turned back. “I have also tied another and his subsequent line to destiny. You will meet them both, for, from time to time, they or their descendants will need assistance.”

  Rarokan turned away and continued walking across the parade ground. A heartbeat later, he sensed that Vera’Far followed, and with that, the endgame of his design had begun.

  CHAPTER ONE

  There was a loud rap on the hardwood door. Karus looked up from the scroll he’d been reading, feeling somewhat annoyed. He was seated at a rough wooden table scattered over with a variety of scrolls.

  “Come,” Karus called.

  Karus sat back as the door scraped open to reveal Centurion Tacitus Cestius Dio. A wash of cold air from the outer corridor flooded into the already chill room.

  “Am I interrupting?” Dio flashed Karus a lopsided grin.

  “Yes,” Karus said.

  “Good.” Dio stepped into the small room, closing the wooden door behind him.

  Though spring had arrived, the morning temperatures were still quite bitter. The small brazier that sat in the corner of the austere room did little to combat the cold, even before Dio had opened the door. Karus had no idea how the locals managed to thrive.

  Dio glanced about the small room. Karus followed his friend’s gaze. Except for the table, everything was neat. Karus liked it that way. There were two simple trunks and a camp cot. A sputtering yellow lamp hung from the ceiling. Another lamp sat on the table and provided light for Karus to read by. A thin stream of black smoke trailed toward the ceiling, where the numerous drafts caught it and swirled it about.

  Karus’s armor, maintained to perfection, hung from hooks on the back wall, as did several spare tunics. His shield rested against a wall. It prominently displayed the bull emblem of the emperor’s Ninth Legion, Hispana.

  Dio’s eyes scanned the floor.

  Karus knew there was not a speck of dirt or a particle of mud present, unlike the rest of camp, where dirt seemed to cling to everything. He had swept it clean.

  “Is this an inspection?” Karus was being ironic. Dio was junior to him in rank.

  “For the legion’s senior centurion, you read too much.” Dio’s gaze traveled back to Karus. Dio reached down and picked up one of the open scrolls, narrowing his eyes as he studied the script. “Is this Greek?”

  “Yes,” Karus said with a sour note, “it is.”

  Dio made a further show of examining the scroll, though Karus well knew his friend was unable to read it. As it stood now, Dio could barely read Latin, and only enough so that he could manage his duties. Being able to read and write was required for promotion to the centurionate. After a moment, Dio lost interest and laid the scroll back down upon the table.

  “A proper soldier should not read so much,” Dio said. “It is not natural for those in our line of work.”

  “Only a fool ignores the histories,” Karus said, “particularly those focusing on our line of work.”

  “So, I am a fool then?” Dio asked with a hint of a smile.

  “Let’s just say you are my kind of fool.” Karus began to roll up the scroll he had been reading, along with the others scattered about the table. No matter how much he desired to continue reading, he had duties to attend to. It was time he began his day. “You should try reading sometime,” Karus suggested. “You may learn something for a change.”

  “How to speak, and read, like a Greek?” Dio chuckled. “No thank you. I am a soldier, not some dishonest merchant. Besides, thanks to your brother, you are now of the equestrian class, with aspirations of nobility. I understand from good authority that all respectable patricians learn Greek. So, I find it fitting in a way that you can read this stuff.”

  Karus spared his friend an unhappy look as he finished securing the scrolls of the book he had been reading. He tied each off with a bit of string. Satisfied, he leaned over, stool creaking, and carefully placed each into a small trunk, which was filled with similar scrolls.

  “What were you reading?” Dio asked curiously when Karus snapped the trunk closed.

  “Polybius’s Universal History,” Karus said. “I have all forty books.”

  “All forty,” Dio teased him. “You sound rather proud of that.”

  “I am,” Karus admitted, and it was the truth. It had taken him years to collect all the historian’s books. They were now the pride of his collection, and he was quite confident another complete set did not exist anywhere in Britannia.

  “What does old Polybius have to say?”

  “A great many things,” Karus said.

  “Such as?” Dio pressed.

  “I was reading on Governor Galba, and his tenure in Hispana specifically.”

  “Galba?” Dio said. “Never heard of him, though I guess our legion has something in common with him.”

  “He was a bit before our time.” Karus stood. He groaned with the effort, using his hands to help push himself upright and off the stool. He massaged the old wound on his thigh a moment, then glanced up at Dio. “What say we grab some grub? While we do, I will tell you all about him.”

  “I thought you would never ask,” Dio said.

  Karus was already dressed. In truth, he had been waiting for Dio. Over the winter, as in others past, this had become their morning routine. Though these days Karus’s responsibilities were greater, the two still made the effort to continue the practice. Karus was the legion’s senior centurion, the primus pilus of First Cohort. Dio, on the other hand, commanded Second Cohort, and was that unit’s senior centurion.

  Officially, a cohort numbered around four hundred eighty men. A cohort was lucky to come close to that number. The emperor’s legions were always understrength. This was due to a number of factors, some of which included death, disability, retirement, or sickness. Or, in the Ninth’s current circumstance, a lack of recruitment.

  First Cohort, Karus’s own, was a double-strength cohort and, out of all the formations of the legion, was maintained as close to full strength as possible. The First was the backbone of the legion and boasted the greatest concentration of veterans. Not counting those on the sick list, Karus commanded nearly eight hundred men.

  He glanced back at the spare tunics hanging from pegs on the wall opposite his bed. He considered slipping on a second one. It was not uncommon in cold weather for legionaries to wear multiple tunics.

  A quick glance at Dio changed his mind. His friend was wearing only one tunic, and besides, Karus was of the opinion that the
men should see their centurions as tough, unflappable bastards whom even the frigid morning air failed to disturb.

  Dio led the way out of Karus’s quarters and into the short hallway beyond. Unlike standard cohorts, Karus shared the barrack with the five other centurions from his cohort. Each commanded a double century, which consisted of a hundred sixty men, instead of the normal eighty. The doors were all shut, as most elected to sleep until the morning horn called the legion to assemble.

  The two men stepped out into the bitter cold of the quiet early morning. His breath steaming, Karus glanced up at the sky, which had barely begun to lighten. Within the next hour, the legion would be roused from its nightly slumber, the quiet shattered. They started walking in the direction of the officers’ mess.

  “I bloody hate Britannia,” Dio hissed as a bitter gust of wind whipped down a pathway between the buildings. It struck Karus like a slap on the face.

  The legion was stationed at Eboracum, a permanent garrison town. Eboracum represented the northernmost point in the empire. It was almost as far away from Rome as you could get, and as such, it seemed to Karus as if the High Command had more often than not forgotten them.

  “It is too damned cold out, that’s for sure,” Karus agreed as the two men weaved their way between buildings, following the pathways of the fortified camp toward the officers’ mess. “My days could be spent in warmth and comfort.”

  Dio glanced over at him, amused. “Sicily again? I can’t ever see you retiring.”

  Karus grunted in reply.

  “You,” Dio jabbed a finger at Karus, “love your job too much, as do I. Though to be perfectly honest, on a bitch of a morning like this, a warmer climate has some appeal.”

  Karus chuckled.

  Dio was right, of course, but in truth Karus was thinking more and more on retirement. He was nearing the age when his usefulness to the legion would come to an end. Karus found that he was beginning to think on his responsibility to family over that of the empire. He could not admit this, of course, but he found himself dwelling increasingly upon his life after the legion.

  “Trade army life for one of comfort and indolence?” Dio waved his hand dismissively. “Bah, you’d be bored in a week, and you know it.”