Antioch Burns (11 page)

“For the love of Christ Almighty, open this door!” came a muffled call in Latin.

Regillus recognized that voice.
Definitely not Mongolian!

“Quick, help me open this door!” he ordered.

“But sir,” balked his
signifer excubitor,
Alexa Daedalus. Regillus ignored him, and pushed through his men to start clearing a path through the barricade bracing the doorway. It took only a minute to clear, but it felt like an hour. All along, the sounds of battle outside became more intense. As they were about to open the door, his
excubitors
pulled him back.

“Let us do this the right way, sir. Form ranks!”
Signifer Excubitor
Daedalus ordered. The score of men formed tight ranks, locking shields and
spatha
ready. Two men stood at the doorway. “When the doors open, we let our men fall back, and we take the fight to the Mongols. But do not leave the formation, stay inside the doorway, or none of us will survive,” Daedalus instructed.

“And when I say get down, get down,” Monventus interjected. The legionnaires gave him a curious look.

“Just do it,” Regillus ordered, his brain predicting what type of ‘surprise’ Monventus had rigged. He nodded to Daedalus.

“Open!”

The men pulled the crossbars apart and pulled levers that swung the doors in. Instantly, the fighters outside spilled into the atrium. Roman fought Mongolian with sword and shield, spear and dagger, even with gauntleted fist. Regillus spotted the brown cloaks of Ioannes’
bucerelli
.
The remnants of the breach defenders were bloodied but unbroken as they clawed tooth and nail against their attackers.

“Romans! Fall back!” Regillus ordered. In desperation, the defenders flung themselves to the side, running past the general’s small party. Not all were able to extricate themselves from the melee, but Regillus had to act.

“Charge!”

It was only a few short strides before the legionnaires struck the disordered mob of Mongolians and Romans. Regillus stood in the second rank, stabbing over the head of the first rank with a spare
pila
, the sharp tip gouging unprotected eyes and necks. The surprise assault threw back the unprepared Mongolians, many of whom fled rather than face the disciplined Roman formation.

It was then that Regillus got his first look outside the gates in several hours. The
aerodome
and massive
coliseum
were both aflame. Although Regillus could not see the breach from this vantage point, he could see the trail of dead Romans and barbarians leading off to the east between the massive palace walls and the
coliseum
.

A large party of Mongolian horsemen cantered through the taken gatehouse, its defenders slain or fled. They immediately made for the palace, spotting the last Romans. Indeed, even the Mongols the defenders had just scattered were quickly regrouping out of bow range.

“General, sir, it is time to go,” Daedalus stated, his arm supporting a wounded comrade recovered from amongst the slain Mongolians. The Romans retreated back inside the atrium, securing the door behind them.

Ioannes held out his hand to Regillus. The two clasped forearms.

“By the grace of God, could you not have opened the door earlier?” he complained.

“I was simply testing your fighting skills to ensure you belong in the Syrian IV,” Regillus replied. “But I am truly relieved to find you alive. We thought all had perished holding the breach.”

“It was awfully close. This is all that remains.” He motioned to the half score of men around him.
Such sacrifice and bravery I have never seen before, and may not see again
. Regillus thought, as he ordered his men to evacuate.

“Monventus, could you stall our attackers?”

“My pleasure.” He walked over to the bundle of cables painstakingly gathered by the wall. Regillus knew that Monventus and his assistants had spent many hours planning and preparing for this very moment.

“Are you sure we cannot open this door to get the full effect?” he asked.

Regillus shook his head as he sheathed his sword.

Sighing slightly, Monventus twisted one handle, then the second. For a moment, there was nothing, then a rumbling wave of thunder.

“Those easterners won’t be using that gatehouse again anytime soon!” Ioannes exclaimed as they left the room, racing to catch up to the rest of their party. Their feet pounded on the marble floors, their steps echoing as they ran through the columned halls. They took a sharp turn into a side passage, only to come face to face with an equally surprised group of barbarians.

Regillus cursed, slamming his
scutum
into the nearest Mongolian, then floundered on the wet floor.
They must have come in the harbor gate after all
. His opponent tried to strike back, but was penned in by his comrades in the hallway. Recovering his balance, Regllius drew his
spatha
and stabbed in short, economical motions. He drove down the hallway, Monventus and Ioannes right behind him.

“Rome and the Fourth!” he screamed, the Syrian IV battle cry coming naturally to his lips now. The marble floor was coated in blood, and his boots struggled to find traction. Another Mongolian went down, his flailing arms entangling Regillus’ legs. Overbalanced, Regillus fell forward, slamming into their attackers. Spears and daggers stabbed out, reaching around the metal rim of his shield to strike at his vulnerable arms and shoulders.

Monventus and Ioannes quickly dispatched the wounded assailant, then came to Regillus’ rescue. By the time they had pushed back the Mongolians, Regillus was bleeding from numerous small cuts and gashes. They pulled him to his feet, and he promptly collapsed again without their support.

“Those barbarian
whores,
” Regillus cursed loudly, as he stopped to examine a nasty wound in his thigh. Monventus gave it a cursory examination while Ioannes reloaded his repeater, the quarrels making a
snick-clip
sound as they locked into place.

“How does it look?” the councilman asked.

“The blade went through the meat of the muscle. He will not be able to put much pressure on it. We will have to help the general up the stairs.” Quickly, Monventus ducked around the injured man. Regillus put his arm over his shoulder and they began to move, slowly but steadily, up the winding staircase. Ioannes barricaded the door behind them.

“Couldn’t we have taken the gods damned lift?” Monventus grumbled as they reached the fifth story.

“No, we hadn’t the manpower to operate the boilers and run the machine safely. Those men have all been evacuated by now,” Regillus grunted out between painful steps. Each one lanced fire up his leg, and he could feel the blood pooling in his boot.

Monventus paused for a moment, leaning over and allowing Regillus to rest. Ioannes ripped off part of his tunic, tying it around the wound in an effort to staunch the bleeding.

“Sorry, General, should have done this earlier.”

“Not to worry. How much longer do you think we have until they leave without us?” Regillus grimaced. Monventus looked up at the ceiling, the marble staircase twirling its way upwards.

“There are only two or three more floors before we reach the roof. They should remain until they are certain we are not coming. Probably until they see Mongols.” He placed his head against the wall. Regillus opened his mouth to ask what he was doing, before the engineer silently held up a hand in response.

A moment went by, then Monventus spoke.

“I can feel the hum of the engines still running, so they are still there.”

Ioannes sighed.

“Thank God for small mercies.” He crossed himself in prayer. There was a moment’s uncomfortable pause as Monventus eyed the pious Christian. A sudden sound from far below reached their ears. A loud crash followed by the tell-tale clatter of boots on stone.

“Mongols.” They all looked at each other. Monventus grabbed Regillus, hauling him up. Ioannes followed close behind, helping carry the general. It was a race against time. One door passed, then two. All along, the footsteps grew closer. They could hear the guttural tones of the Mongol soldiers behind them now. No doubt they had discovered their ambushed comrades and were now following the trail of blood left by Regillus.

“Stop! Here!” Regillus called out, his voice cracking with pain. The men paused, panting. To their left, a doorway stood with the word
Tectum
outlined by a black border. Monventus threw open the door. Bright sunlight greeted the men. The large open top of the battlements spread around them. The tower staircase stood in one corner of the battlements, continuing up into the air behind them. At the opposite corner of the tower rested a magnificent Imperial Airship, the name
Scioparto
emblazoned on the side. A cordon of men stood around it, airmen in light leather armor and armed with folding stock repeating crossbows. They instantly braced at the sight of the three newcomers, several kneeling down to steady their aim.

Ioannes waved frantically, hoping to avoid a tragic mistake at their moment of triumph. Several of the men began to run towards them. At that moment, Monventus tripped. Whether through exhaustion or simply a misstep, the trio collapsed painfully to the ground. All three muttered curses as they tried to disentangle themselves.

“Up, up, UP!” Regillus ordered. The first Mongols were just now making their way through the tower gate. He grabbed at his personal hand repeater, brought it up from his seated position, and began shooting. One, two, three bolts lanced out. The short ranged weapon was not very accurate, but still two Mongols went down, one with a bolt through his eye and the other one through his shoulder. By now, Monventus and Ioannes had managed to get to their feet, dragging the general behind them as they ran for the safety of the airship.

Regillus reloaded his repeater. His aides each had a hold of his cloak and armored
lorica
, their tenuous grip jostled by the rough stone pavement of the battlement surface. Regillus brought up his repeater again, took aim carefully at the closest charging Mongol. Now half a dozen men had made their way through the doorway, tripping over the writhing body of their wounded comrade.

Shung
. His first shot passed so close to his target it actually knocked the man’s buckler aside. Undaunted, the man gave a piercing war cry and launched himself at the fleeing Romans.
Click, shung
. This time his shot hammered home, the barbarian tripping and collapsing to the ground.

Bolts began to fly around them as well. Regillus estimated they were almost halfway across the platform now, and several of the airmen were opening up with their own
repeaters
. Another two Mongolians went down. Behind them, another fur-clad attacker threw a dagger at Regillus, the deadly blade sparking off the ground less than a foot from him. Regillus flinched, then fired one of his last bolts at the attacker. The man ducked, but the quarrel winged another easterner behind him, knocking him off his feet.

Regillus could hear rapid fire Latin being exchanged behind him. Never before had he felt so happy to hear his own language. He could now see additional airmen flanking them, driving off the Mongol vanguard. Only a few determined or lucky men remained, and all pressed home their charge. They sliced into the lightly armored airmen, screams and warcries mingling.

“Hurry! We cannot hold them for long!” a voice cried behind him. The airmen were already falling back, dragging several of their wounded as well. Regillus fired his last bolt at a particularly determined barbarian, squinting to see through his blurry vision. The bolt hit him in the groin, the man doubled over, his sword clattering to the ground.

For a few moments, his vision went black. He came to, feeling the hard wooden deck of the airship below his body.

“Sir? Sir?” Ioannes and Monventus leaned over him, supporting his head. A
medico
had ripped open his pants leg, and was tending to his wound.

“Yes?” His mouth felt fuzzy and odd.

“We thought you gone for a moment, sir.” Regillus shook his head slightly.

“Water,” he croaked. Ioannes uncapped his canteen and held it to his lips. The warm, flat water tasted like the nectar of the gods, and he instantly felt better.

“Did we escape?”

“See for yourself,” Monventus said, a broad grin splitting his face. Regillus turned his head to the side, in time to see the tower shrinking away behind him. A feeling of relief swept over him, and his breath came in a ragged burst.

“Legate General Marius Regillus,” a voice said. It was a powerful voice, one that dripped with command and authority, but lacked the spite and condensation that was common amongst many of the Empire’s leading officers. Regillus wrenched his head over and was able to see a tall figure striding towards him, the wind making his cape billow.

“My lord…,” Regillus whispered, trying hard to salute.

“Relax, legate general.” Constantine Tiberius Appius, General of the Germania XIII, Heir to the throne of the Imperial Roman Empire and overall commander of the relief fleet stood before him, the sunlight creating a halo around his body. Regillus almost expected to hear the royal trumpeters announcing his arrival. Appius stepped forward, blocking the sun to kneel besides Regillus.

“I am truly honored to have you aboard my airship. Your defense was masterful, particularly in the face of such unexpected weapons. Of which I will expect a full report. We must discuss at length your strategies for defeating the Mongols. For this war is not over. Not until
we
decide it is.” Regllius nodded, his heart swelling with pride from the praise of such a noble figure. The man held out his hand and hauled the exhausted officer to his feet.

“But there is time for that later. In the meantime, lets get you patched up.” The
medico
nodded to General Appius. “The doctor here thinks you will be alright, so in that case, I am glad to inform you that you are a nominee for the Order of the Crimson Laurel. As you know, it is only given to those who demonstrate exceptional service to the Empire and its people.” He smiled.