There was no answer. He had not really expected one. He reached out toward the Eagle and gripped the polished wood of the shaft. Head bowed, he held it for a long moment, seeking … longing for a closer connection with his god. Releasing the shaft, he leaned back.
Gazing up at the polished gold-painted Eagle, Karus felt better. Yes, it had been good to come here. His visit had been long overdue. He climbed back to his feet and noticed that his joints no longer ached like they had. In fact, he could not remember them aching for several days now. Had Jupiter graced him with additional strength? Karus hoped so.
“I have a job to do,” Karus said in a hard tone, his voice echoing off the walls of the great hall. “I will see it through to the end. On that, great lord, I swear.”
He spared one more look at the Eagle, then, cloak swirling, swung around and returned the way he had come. The six guards, all standing outside the great hall’s entrance, came to attention. So too did his escort.
“Resume your posts.” Karus turned in the direction of the palace gardens and started back down the corridor.
“Yes, sir,” the optio of the Eagle guard said as Karus’s own honor guard followed after him.
Karus made his way rapidly back down the corridor and out to the palace gardens. He stopped on the steps. The day was bright, hot, and humid. So much so, he already felt sweat begin to bead on his forehead.
The dragons were gone. The evidence that they had used the space as their temporary home was in plain sight. When the legion had arrived in Carthum, the gardens had simply been neglected and overgrown. Since then, they had been thoroughly damaged, destroyed even. Pottery had been shattered and dirt strewn about the courtyard. Flowers, torn up from their beds, lay dried and gnarled across the few pathways that had not been ripped up. The beauty that had once graced this place was no more.
“Ouch,” came a cry to his left. This was followed almost immediately by a grunt and clatter.
Si’Cara was standing over Amarra, who had clearly just been knocked on her ass. Amarra was holding her stomach with a hand. Si’Cara held a long wooden staff, which, with a practiced ease, she swung around in a flourish, and placed the butt in the dirt. Amarra’s staff lay discarded next to her.
Amarra was wearing a plain, loose-fitting, brown dress. And her white hair had been tightly bound into a single braid. She was sweaty and red in the face. There was an angry look from her that blazed up at Si’Cara.
“That,” Amarra said, outrage in her voice, “was unfair.”
“Get accustomed to it,” Si’Cara said calmly and tapped the butt of her staff in the dirt. “Life is unfair. Perhaps I was mistaken, but I thought you knew this already. When an orc comes for you, he will do whatever he must to kill you, mistress. You must do the same to him. It is better you take his life than the other way around.”
Si’Cara held out a hand and helped Amarra to her feet. Dusting off her hands, Amarra bent down and picked up her staff.
“You’re beating me up good,” Amarra said, and brought her staff up into a defensive position. “I can take more.”
“And I can do a lot worse,” Si’Cara said. “Trust me. I am taking it easy on you.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“With practice and gained skill, and a few more lumps to chalk up to experience … you will come to learn the truth in my words,” Si’Cara said with a grin. “Now, let me show you what I did.”
Karus stood where he was and watched as Si’Cara demonstrated what she had just done and then slowly walked Amarra through the movement. She offered pointers as Amarra attempted to repeat it.
She sought to understand and learn, asking questions as she walked her way through the movement again under Si’Cara’s experienced gaze. Karus felt a sudden warmth toward Amarra. There was a fierce determination there to be better at anything she did. That was one of the things he loved, her unyielding determination.
For the last week, Si’Cara had worked Amarra literally from suns-up to suns-down. Each night, Amarra had come back to the room they shared exhausted, battered, and bruised. However, in the morning she stiffly rolled out of bed, eager for more.
“Sir.”
Karus turned to find Delvaris behind him. Immediately, the warmth he had felt vanished. It was like a cloud had covered both suns, and with it, a cold feeling slithered down his spine. If it had been a regular update, a messenger would have been sent. Something had clearly happened.
“The enemy has launched an assault against a portion of the north wall, sir,” Delvaris reported. “I have no other details. The message was terse and came in from one of Flaccus’s subordinates. Centurion Flaccus had already left the palace when the news arrived. It was too late to catch him. I imagine he will learn soon enough when he returns to his command.”
“It’s begun,” Karus said.
“Seems that way, sir.”
Karus was silent for a moment. It took at least a half hour for a messenger to reach headquarters from the north wall. That meant the attack had been going on for that long at least, maybe longer. The fight had started and he’d remained ignorant of that fact. He felt an intense wave of frustration at not knowing how things were going. Remembering that his officers were trained professionals, he calmed himself and thought of the larger picture.
“Any word from the other walls?” Karus asked.
“No, sir,” Delvaris said.
“Sound the alarm, then send messengers to the other walls,” Karus ordered. “Alert them to the attack on the north and tell them to be prepared to be hit as well. Instruct them to inform us if the enemy facing their commands so much as sneezes. Got that?”
“Yes, sir,” Delvaris said.
“I am going to the north wall.”
“I thought you might be, sir,” Delvaris said.
Without Amarra and Si’Cara ever having known he had been there, Karus moved past Delvaris and back into the corridor and the shade. Amarra was better off training with Si’Cara and away from the action. She’d be safer that way, for in Karus’s opinion, she had no business being near the fighting. That was his job.
He found four elves, including Kol’Cara, waiting along with his legionary escort. Delvaris had likely summoned the elves.
“Let’s go,” Karus said to them and started down the corridor. He wanted to see the action for himself.
Chapter Eighteen
The sky was clouding over, blocking the two suns entirely. Despite the break from the sunlight, the cloud cover did nothing to lessen the brutal afternoon heat. Boiling and baking away in his armor, Karus stood upon the south wall, his gaze fixed upon the enemy.
He had just arrived a short while before and was watching the enemy attempt to overcome the legion’s hold of the wall. At his side was Centurion Varno, of Seventh Cohort, whose men were directly engaged in the fight. Kol’Cara was with them. The elf was studying the enemy. He seemed almost brooding in his silence.
They were on a portion of the wall that jutted out from the main wall by a few feet and were only yards from the fight. The perch was also slightly raised and gave them a unique view of the entire battle, which encompassed a small section of the south wall, about a hundred yards in length.
Mixed with the clash of arms, there was shouting, cursing, officers screaming orders and encouragements, the animalistic roars of the enemy, and cries of the injured. They were so close, Karus could smell the sweet stench of blood on the air and taste it on his tongue.
Only the north and the south walls had been tested by the enemy so far. Karus had spent a good portion of the day on the north wall with Flaccus before making his way through the city to see the action in the south.
“We’re holding good, sir.” Varno’s eyes were on the fighting, studying it. He was cool, collected, and in control and had been when Karus had arrived, just like a good officer should be. Karus could sense the desire in the man to get back to the fight and his men. He could well understand the feeling, but Karus was not ready to l
et him go yet. Varno’s junior officers could handle things for a short while.
“This is their third attempt at forcing the wall?” Karus asked.
“Yes, sir,” Varno said. “It is. My boys are holding good.”
From what he was seeing, Karus could not disagree with his centurion. Varno’s boys were holding. In fact, they were doing better than that. Seventh Cohort was having no difficulty at all defending the wall. The noise the fight generated was loud, cacophonous even, but Karus had heard noisier battles.
The enemy had thrown at least five thousand orcs with over a hundred scaling ladders forward to attack. They had no artillery support or even, for that matter, any light infantry with bows or slings to give them covering fire.
The orcs simply ran up in ladder teams, shouting as they came with great enthusiasm and energy. The ladders were thrown up against the wall and they began climbing.
As the enemy climbed, the men above threw rocks and broken pieces of stone and masonry down on their heads. They tossed sand, baked near the melting point, over the wall, along with buckets of boiling oil and water. The oil was particularly nasty, because it got under the armor and burned whatever skin it touched. A handful of auxiliaries armed with bows moved along the wall and shot arrows down at the orcs, more of a harassing fire than anything else.
The fighting at the top of the wall was ugly, brutal, and unforgiving. Teams of legionaries worked together to dislodge the enemy ladders. They used long poles, shields, and their bare hands to push them off the wall and away. While their fellows climbed, hundreds of orcs on the ground struggled mightily to keep the ladders in place.
Time and time again, the legionaries won the struggle, throwing ladders thick with the enemy back and off the wall. These crashed to the ground, outright killing or seriously injuring those unfortunates who had been clinging to the ladders.
Several who had been waiting their turns below were not quick enough to get out of the way. Karus had seen a number crushed as their fellows came down atop them. The few orcs who managed to make it to the top of the ladder and wall found short swords, shields, and grim-faced men waiting for them. They had no chance of making it off the ladders and over the wall.
It was an unequal fight, one balanced heavily in the legion’s favor. The story had been the same on the north wall. Karus did not understand the enemy’s thinking. Just beyond the assault waited another ten thousand orcs. These had been employed in constructing siege works, the purpose of which was to seal the gate in so the defenders in the city had no hope of sallying forth. Those works consisted of three deep trenches, backed up by a steep-faced earthen wall.
Instead of supporting their fellows, these orcs stood on their newly constructed wall and simply watched the attackers make what Karus considered a futile assault.
For the life of him, he could not think of what the enemy was doing or hoping to accomplish with their attack. It must be a test of some kind or a distraction, for his men were slaughtering the orcs with near ease.
Frustrated, Karus stepped up to the edge of the wall. The stone of the battlement, under the direct light of the two suns, almost burned to the touch. Karus rested his palms upon it. He barely noticed the heat as an unconscious man was hurriedly carried by on a litter. The legionary had taken a savage cut that ran from his lower cheek to the bridge of his nose. Exposed cartilage and bone could be seen.
As the litter party hurried toward the gatehouse to find a surgeon, they left a trail of splotchy blood behind them. It had not been the worst wound Karus had ever seen, but it pained him no less seeing one of his men in such a state. He never enjoyed seeing his men injured or suffering.
“Gods.” Varno shook his head at the sight of the injured man. “I’ll never get used to this side of the job. Fucking Fortuna, Kenvaanes is one of my best men. He was on track to be promoted to optio once a vacancy opened. If he survives, he’s gonna be seriously disfigured.”
“Any idea on how many casualties you’ve taken so far?” Karus asked, glancing over. He had seen many a promising man die before his time or become permanently disabled. It never got any easier.
“If I had to guess, about ten,” Varno said as he expelled a slow breath. “Besides Kenvaanes, none have been serious wounds so far. Light injuries only, cuts and smashed fingers mostly.”
A man a few yards to their right stepped up to the wall with a javelin. In a smooth motion and grunting with the effort, he threw the heavy weapon at an orc hanging on the side of the nearest ladder. The orc was waving his sword in the air with one hand, pointing it up at the legionaries above while yelling at those below, seeming to encourage them onward.
The javelin flew true and took the creature in the side, punching right through the leather armor. So powerful had the missile been thrown that he was snatched from the ladder. He fell to the ground thirty feet below and, still gripping his sword, moved no more.
“Good throw, Jaxus,” Varno shouted to the legionary.
“Thank you, sir,” Jaxus said, after he’d surveyed his handiwork. “Centurion Kellon asked me to take him out, sir. Thought he might be an officer.”
Karus turned his gaze skyward. He spotted Cyln’Phax as she circled above. He could see none of the other dragons, but he knew they were nearby. A moment later, the red dragon disappeared into the clouds and was lost from sight.
He shifted his gaze outward to the fields before the city, searching for wyrms. He saw one had landed perhaps a half mile away. The dragon appeared small, but he knew that was only an illusion created by the distance. Though much smaller than taltalum, the wyrms were still huge and deadly.
Some type of camp had been erected around the creature. Karus could make out tents and smaller figures moving about. He supposed they were tending to the wyrm’s needs, whatever that entailed.
Movement caught his eye, and he spotted another wyrm. This one was swooping down from the sky in a leisurely glide toward the ground and the camp. Wings outstretched and wobbling slightly on the wind, the creature was coming in for a landing. Watching the dragon, Karus was reminded of geese he had seen back in Britannia as they came in to land on a pond.
Interestingly, a figure rode on the wyrm’s back. Karus wondered if it was someone important or just how the dragon was controlled. Cyln’Phax had told him repeatedly that wyrms were no smarter than horses and needed control.
As the creature neared the ground, it began flapping mightily, slowing its speed to a near hover. Almost gently, it landed behind the wyrm already on the ground.
“At least the dragons have not attacked us,” Varno said, having clearly followed Karus’s gaze. “That’s something at any rate.”
“Agreed,” Karus said, “and with ours flying cover, that’s not likely to happen.”
“I hope you’re right, sir,” Varno said. “Those beasts are unnatural. I am sure glad we never had to face anything like that back in Britannia. I’ll take the Celts any day.”
Grunting his agreement, Karus turned his gaze back to the fighting. He watched it for a time. The battle’s outcome was a foregone conclusion. The wall would remain in the legion’s hands.
“Have you called up the reserve cohort yet?” Karus asked. He knew Varno had not. But still out of courtesy he posed it as a question.
“Not entirely, sir.” Varno shifted almost uncomfortably at the suggestion. Karus knew Varno now felt compelled to defend his actions. “I have a section or two with bows,” Varno explained, “but nothing more. There seemed no point. The enemy’s assault is on the light side. Should they push those others out there forward, I will have fatigued our reserves for no good reason. I would prefer to save them, sir, until we really need them.”
Karus considered the centurion’s thinking, his gaze shifting back to the other orcs who were watching the fight. Most were standing on the new wall to get a better view of the assault. Many still held shovels or pickaxes. They were not formed up and stood loosely about.
There was, in Karus’s estimation,
simply no way in the short term they could be organized sufficiently and brought forward to attack or reinforce. He judged they would need at least half an hour to a full hour to get their act together. By then, the fight at the wall would likely be over … sooner if Karus had anything to say about it. Varno’s decision to withhold his reserve had been prudent and well thought out. Karus could not and would not fault him for that.
“The Second Vasconum CR is your reserve, right?” Karus asked. When they had left their garrison at Eboracum in Britannia, the CR had originally been an overstrength light infantry cohort, one with a long and prestigious history, dating all the way back to the days of Caesar and Pompey. After fighting the Celts in the final battle before they had been magically transported to this world, the formation had been whittled down to a few hundred. It was commanded by Varno’s brother, Gordian.
Varno and Gordian had enlisted together more than fifteen years prior. They were some of his best officers. More important to Karus, the two men worked well together, which was one of the reasons why the CR was Varno’s immediate reserve and fire brigade.
“They are, sir,” Varno confirmed. “They can be up on the wall in short order.”
“Right then,” Karus said, “order up your brother’s cohort. Make sure they bring enough javelins for five tosses, understand?”
“Five? That will eat into our ready supply, sir.” Varno pointed down the wall. “We have only five thousand of the weapons for the defense of the entire southern wall. I was trying to conserve them for when we need them.”
Given the lack of the enemy’s efforts against the wall, that was only sensible. But Karus had different ideas. The enemy had no idea how many javelins the legion had, and he wanted to set an example. By throwing forward an unsupported force in a confined area, the enemy had made a mistake and he wanted to make them pay for it.
The First Compact: The Karus Saga (The Karus Saga: Book Book 3) Page 28
