His voice trailed away. In front of them, the mad charge ground to a halt.
“What are they doing, Sir? Are they afraid of the dyke?”
“I wouldn’t count on it.”
Marcus paused to survey the slavering, snarling ranks of the Horde. In their highly excited state, the outlines of individual ogres were clearly visible, and the sight of thousands upon thousands of snapping jaws and flexing talons sent a shock of fear along his spine.
“The addition of the Controllers will make a huge difference,” he murmured, “so for goodness’ sake, make sure we seize the advantage while we can. Command all weapons to open fire.”
Amelius conveyed the order, and within seconds the air was filled with iron.
The enemy’s front ranks exploded skyward. Marcus nodded in grim satisfaction as a series of secondary detonations continued to ripple through the mob for nearly a minute.
“Again!” he hissed.
The throng pulsed. Monsters situated along the outer flanks shuffled inward to crowd in behind their compatriots. Those already to the front also adjusted their position. Thinning their numbers, they edged forward, toward the earthwork. Within the span of a few heartbeats, a distinct wedge formation had emerged.
They’re going to attempt the moat.
In answer to Marcus’s realization, a rippling skein of arcane puissance bloomed outward from the knot of Horde Masters. Dancing across the heads of the gathered assembly, the web knitted to form a concentrated nucleus at the tip of the blockade. Once the leading file was enmeshed, the multitude reacted. Letting out a deafening roar, they marched forward.
Marcus held his breath.
As the first spook pressed into the iron stakes, the shield darkened to deep maroon. The ogre shuddered.
He’s not combusting!
The strength of the seizure grew, and spread to the surrounding brutes. Their extremities seemed to inflate and undulate. Inevitably, after a few seconds, they succumbed to the anathema of their kind and disappeared in a blinding flash. The gap was immediately choked by willing volunteers.
“Did you see that?” Marcus gasped. “They lasted longer before dying.”
“And look,” Amelius cried, “a myriad still pour through the gateway.”
Marcus made a decision.
“Sound the retreat. I want the wall and arc completely clear of our people. We’ll fall back to the inner defenses and surround the teleport ring. Update the relevant commanders.”
“How long do you think that will take?” Amelius queried.
“For everyone still in the city? That’s about two thousand souls altogether. Maybe another thirty to forty minutes?”
“Marcus! The demons destroyed the first level in less than thirty minutes. And now they are protected by some eldritch contrivance of their masters.”
The two men stared at each other. Their eyes said it all.
It was Amelius’s turn to make a hard choice.
“We will stay,” he stated. “The Fourth Cohort will hold them here, to ensure the safety of everyone else.”
“You will die,” Marcus murmured.
“Then we will die well.”
Marcus could see his friend would not be swayed.
“Very well. Have your cornicen use the radio to get Flavius and his unit to fall back to the Magister’s courtyard. Hold the Horde here as long as you can, but don’t waste lives. Remember, the inner wall is well defended, and every second you delay them saves a life.”
“Then we will save many.” Amelius saluted crisply. “For the Ninth.”
“For Rome and Rhomane,” Marcus replied, returning the salute. Turning quickly, he made his way from the platform before his men could see the tears in his eyes.
*
Stained-With-Blood peeked in both directions along the corridor, listening. The way seemed clear, but he knew appearances could be deceiving. Stepping out, he moved to one side and pressed his ear and fingertips to the wall. Closing his eyes, he relaxed and extended his senses into the fabric of the stonework. A minute or two passed before he repeated the process on the opposite side of the hall.
“This way,” he murmured, indicating the route leading north. “We can loop back after the first stairwell and avoid the conflict now unfurling above us.”
Small Robes came forward to stand by her uncle’s side. She was followed by a band of Cree warriors led by Snow Blizzard and White Bear.
Snow Blizzard turned to the braves. “Protect the princess at all costs.”
Bows at the ready, his men fanned out and moved silently along the passage. Vibrations radiated through the floor and walls, providing subtle hints of the fight raging overhead. Feeling them, Small Robes looked about anxiously.
Stained-With-Blood squeezed his niece’s shoulder. “Try to relax, child. We are only several tiers beneath the evacuation point. Even if we encounter trouble, these hallways are well defended and aid will come quickly.”
Reaching the intersection, the main party paused while several braves scouted ahead. One pair took up firing positions on the first landing below them, while two more scooted up to the next level. The sound of a cricket chirping signaled the way was clear.
As they ascended, the echoes of battle grew steadily louder. Someone could be heard shouting orders. A rapid volley of shots rang out, followed by the crump of muted explosions. The floor shook, and loose particles of dust were shaken from overhead ledges. The tramp of many feet resounded in the air.
Snow Blizzard signaled to his lead scouts, and they sprinted up the stairs to intercept whoever was there. Moments later, a command rang out, and the chime of armored boots approached. A face appeared at the banister, peering down.
“I am Centurion Quintus Scipio, and my centuriae are at your service. You are fortunate to have met us, for we are lending our strength to the defenses here while we await our turn at the transporter pad.”
Stepping forward, Stained-With-Blood called up, “Well met, Quintus Scipio. You are known to me, as are your commanders, Flavius Velerianus and Marcus Brutus. How are your men?”
“They are well, if somewhat frustrated at having to leave at such a time. But orders are orders.” Quintus glanced around the heavily armed war party, and then at Small Robes. “May I help you?”
“Yes, you can. The princess must be escorted to safety. Will you see her to the Arch of Winter on my behalf?”
“I will. But are you not leaving yourself?”
Small Robes turned to look at her uncle, puzzlement on her face.
“I will stay here,” Stained-With-Blood replied. “Not only must I retrieve something precious to me, but our remaining warriors must be —”
“Uncle?” Small Robes interjected. “What are you doing? You can’t leave. Not now. Why must you —”
“Hush, child. There is something I must do. Worry not, I will be completely safe and will rejoin you before you know it.” He gestured to Snow Blizzard. “Your husband-to-be is a capable man. Both he and the centurion will guarantee your welfare until I can be with you again.”
Snow Blizzard gazed long and hard at his former adversary. “You honor me,” he whispered. Drawing his knife, the Cree chieftain pressed the blade to his hand and scored a line across his palm. “By my blood, I swear to protect her with my life.”
Small Robes looked back and forth between the two men before lowering her eyes in resignation. A small sigh escaped her lips. “Be safe, my uncle.”
The stairwell vibrated in response to a powerful, nearby explosion. Voices mingled above as updates were given and further commands issued.
“We must go,” Quintus called down, “quickly. We dare not delay.”
Making eye contact with his niece, Stained-With-Blood nodded once, then turned and ran back toward the bowels of the city.
*
Mac and Sam entered the Ark control room, only to find Saul Cameron still fussing over the controls of a large computer console.
“C’mon Commander,” Mac
advised. “It’s time to leave.”
Saul didn’t appear to hear the request and continued working.
Okay. Have it your way. “Please don’t make me angry,” Mac warned, “you wouldn’t like me when I’m angry.”
Saul turned toward him. Maintaining eye contact, Mac unclipped his weapon and placed it on the table. Cocking his head to one side, he cracked the knuckle of each finger. “Because I tend to get rather aggressive.”
Saul gasped. “You wouldn’t dare!”
“That’s the other lot,” Mac retorted.
In response to the confused look on the commander’s face, Mac added, “The SAS. They dare. And they win most of the time, too. Our lot gets things done by strength and guile. And just so we’re clear, Commander. My job is to haul your ass upstairs and get you safely aboard the Arch of Winter. If you put your own safety in jeopardy, I’ll get very . . . hands on. I’ll give you one minute before I demonstrate what I mean.”
Saul glanced at Sam Pell. Mac did too, and could see his partner was grinning from ear to ear. Nothing about the smile was friendly.
“Oh, very well,” Saul conceded, “I suppose I was being overly cautious anyway. The seal is ready to go, and I can trigger the lockdown from orbit.”
“Good to hear. Now let’s get a move on. By all accounts, things are getting pretty volatile topside.”
Mac retrieved his machine gun, and they headed for the exit. As the control room doors opened, they discovered a sentinel waiting outside, along with two of the .50 cannons.
“Greetings, Lieutenant McDonald. As requested, I have prepared the weapons for transport. Just enter the appropriate codes, and the localized translocators will activate and deposit them at the site of your choice.”
“Excellent. Have the emplacements in the exterior corridor also been prepped?”
“Of course. The entire array has been linked into one circuit, as you requested.”
“Thank you, custodian. That will be all.”
“Why are you moving the sentry posts?” Saul queried. “I would have thought you’d want them to remain here as insurance.”
“If I left them where they are, it would be a terrible waste of limited resources. Especially once the rip-space tear is sealed. We still have over a thousand people in the city awaiting evacuation, and these guns will make a huge difference once they’re in the right place.”
“So where are you sending them?”
“This pair is going to the chokepoint above the inner wall. They’re fighting a losing battle up there, so ten thousand rounds and an entire rack of mini micro-mines will give them an edge they’ve been lacking.”
Mac paused to activate the locator beacons, and typed a code into his wrist pad. “The ones outside will help form a last line of defense around the emergency pad itself. Fortunately, there are only two ways into the Magister’s courtyard from the battlements, so we’ll have things well covered.”
A brief hum preceded the moment each of the cannons disappeared, and a strange prickling sensation crawled across Mac’s skin. Hmm. Must be a side effect of the transporter.
Dismissing the sensation as of no consequence, he led the small group from the Archive. As they marched swiftly along, he eavesdropped on the continual chatter on the local network. It made painful listening.
Those blasted Masters have rallied their troops in a way we’ve never encountered. They’ll be through the arc before the last of the stragglers makes it to the pad . . . Unless we do something about it.
Tapping his earpiece, he said, “Andy, are you there?”
There was a short interval before Andy Webb replied. “Sorry, Boss, I had to concentrate for a moment or two. Some of our soul-sucking friends were getting a bit too close for comfort. They’re out of the picture now. How can I help?”
“Is the Horde advance still snowballing?”
“That’s an unfortunate yes. They’ve organized themselves into one huge, diamond-tip formation. The Controllers are augmenting their minions’ resistance to the iron in some way that slows the destructive process. They still explode, but it takes longer. When they do, it vaporizes everything in the blast radius, defenses included. As soon as the dust settles, their eager buddies slip in from behind to take their place. They’ll be at the wall in five minutes. Six, tops.”
“Where are the damned flyers?”
“On the way. ETA, three minutes. Talk about the cavalry, eh? Oh, and just to let you know, Stu, Fonzy, and Marcus said thank you for the guns.”
“Are they making a difference?”
“Not yet, Boss. Sean’s in the middle of adjusting the parameters on one of the cannons as we speak. The shields around the ogres are quite effective, so he’s going to coordinate the firing sequence to activate following the detonation of a mine. We’ll save some in reserve, just in case the Masters decide to get brave. In any event, it should spoil their parade quite nicely.”
“Good thinking. Get Mark and Sean to liaise with Stu and Fonzy at the chokepoint. Once the flyers and cannons take over, have them orchestrate a structured withdrawal. We’re on the way to the surface with the commander. Expect the second set of sentries at your location any minute now.”
“Roger that. Safe journey.”
Breaking the link, Mac saw they had reached the perimeter doors to the Archive. Activating the bio-scanner, he waited for the exit to manifest, and nodded to Sam to make ready.
The arch appeared, solidified, and glided silently apart. An icy chill washed over them from the corridor, and Mac was once again struck by the odd impression of insects on skin. As the robot sentries reacted to their presence, Mac felt his stomach turn, and was forced to take a few deep breaths to keep his queasiness at bay. I’ve had this feeling before. Where . . . ?
“Contact!” he snapped, bringing his weapon to the shoulder.
“What’s happening?” Saul hissed.
“Wait!” Ignoring the distraction of the automatic sensors, Mac scanned the length of the passageway before them.
Nothing?
The nausea continued to build.
Reaching behind, Mac grabbed Saul by the arm. “Stay with me as I move. Sam? I’ll check forward, you cover our asses. There’s a Horde portal nearby. I can feel it. Remember?”
“Yes, I bloody well do. Nice one, Boss. Do you think it’s our friend, or one of the other buggers?”
“We can only—”
Mac was overcome by a wave of dizziness. His vision swam, seeming to ripple like a corrugated roof. He staggered, and a translucent image loomed before his eyes. Is that Stained-With-Blood’s tomahawk? His sight shifted, and the perspective of his surroundings appeared to zoom away from him, as if falling into a receding tunnel. A familiar mental voice echoed within his mind. Cryptogen.
The sensation faded, and Mac found himself on his knees, slumped against the wall.
Voices crowded him.
“Boss. Are you all right?”
“What’s happening? Are we under attack?”
“Where’s the danger?”
Shaking his head, Mac struggled to his feet. “It’s okay, we’re safe. I’m all right.”
As his eyes came back into focus, Mac knew what he had to do.
“I’m sorry, guys, I can’t go with you.”
His announcement was met by stunned silence and looks of utter disbelief.
Turning to Saul, he said, “Follow Sam. He’ll get you away from here.”
Mac handed Sam two sets of locator beacons. “Place these on the guns and then enter this code.” He paused to transmit the appropriate cipher. “You will find the sentinels ensured there’s sufficient power available within those units to transport several people, as well as the emplacements themselves. Activate them, and get the commander away from here. Once you’ve succeeded, join Andy and Bob in the First Magister’s courtyard. It’s going to get real busy there. Soon.”
“What about you, Sir?”
“Me?” Mac snorted. “I think I’m finally going to dis
cover the key to a longstanding puzzle.”
*
Never in his life had Marcus felt so helpless.
For the last fifteen minutes, he’d been forced to watch a fellow officer and personal, long-term friend fight a losing battle that made his heart burn with pride and grief.
Amelius Crispus never stood a chance of winning. The intervention of the Controllers saw to that. Despite that fact, Amelius had clearly been determined to make the enemy pay dearly for every inch of ground the 4th Cohort was forced to concede, for he inspired his men to fight a rearguard action that answered the death of every legionnaire with at least two of their enemy’s.
Adopting tactics similar to those employed by the Horde Masters, Amelius ordered his troops to form a double-layered, thirty-man wide defensive box. Once ready, he arranged the remaining soldiers into smaller bands of ten fighters each, and positioned them behind the protective line. Every time someone died, waiting archers peppered the Horde wedge with arrows while one of their comrades stepped forward to fill the breach. Even when a number of grunts were slain at once, sending stunned warriors sprawling to the floor, prepared snatch squads ran forward and dragged the survivors to safety, so other valiant brothers could take their place.
It was as glorious to watch as it was devastating, for attrition and sheer exhaustion eventually took its toll.
When the shield wall collapsed, the spooks surged forward, baying for blood. Yet still the legionnaires refused to run. Holding their ground, they grouped together, raised their swords high, and charged the advancing ogres.
The resultant explosion engulfed the area in a storm of anguish, and shook the inner wall to its foundations. Once the glare died down, less than forty men of the four hundred and fifty that began the fight remained.
They died as they lived. Fighting.
Marcus watched as the survivors limped and crawled toward the safety of the secondary moat. Artfully crafted, it served as another line of defense in front of the inner wall. Now, only the scorpios and the guns stand in the way of our enemy.
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