Black Legion: 04 - Last Stand (7 page)

Glaucon stopped, took aim, and blasted at a position just a metre above the Komes. A body tumbled down, landing next to Tamara. The soldier moved, but she dropped to her knees and snapped his neck without even pausing to check who he was. Xenophon looked at her with a mixture of awe and trepidation.

Gods, what’s happening to her?

The girl was becoming more erratic and seemed to enjoy the violence more and more. Half of them were now climbing the stairs, but Xenophon had located a longer ramp to the right that ran to the top. He moved from the small group waiting their turn on the steps and ran to the base of the ramp.

“With me!”

Glaucon and his comrades were right behind, as well as two of Komes Pasion’s men. It took just seconds for them all to reach the highest level and the waiting dromon. Xenophon and Pasion reached the side door at the same time.

“As if it was some kind of running race,” said Xenophon.

The Komes smirked as he past him inside the craft. He waited outside, checking in their own people until all of them were accounted for. Finally, he stepped inside and slammed his fist on the quick seal button. The multiple-layered door system slid shut, and the engines roared with barely contained power. Dust blew around them, and then they were airborne. The dromon was a tough craft, but still two rounds managed to strike the engine cowlings as they made their escape. Artemas leaned over from her seat near the right-hand side window to look at the damage.

“One engine is down. Can we get into orbit with the others?”

Xenophon looked to Pasion, then Glaucon, and finally to her.

“We’ll find out in a few minutes.”

Roxana groaned at this, but there was now nothing to do but sit and wait. The sound of the pilot’s voice silenced them.

“It’s going to take fifteen minutes plus to get speed and height before we try to break atmo.”

The pilot sounded nervous but continued with a message directed specifically at Komes Pasion, the senior officer on board his dromon.

“The new Dukas of Valediction, Chirisophus has demanded all senior officer to report to his Titan.”

Xenophon was the first to speak.

“I wondered when this would happen.”

Lady Artemas sighed in frustration.

“He’s a hothead. What do you think he wants?”

Roxana shook her head in amusement at the question.

“It is very simple. The Legion is a force of violence that will explode at the earliest chance it gets. With Clearchus gone, the Legion is weak and at a vulnerable point.”

“It’s true,” Pasion added, “All the Komes in the Legion know we are in trouble. The fleet is damaged, we have many wounded, and nowhere near the supplies or fuel to make it home.”

“Yeah, I wonder what Chirisophus’ solution to that problem might be?”

Xenophon knew exactly what the Laconian would want to do, but Tamara said the words all of them dreaded.

“He’s a Laconian, and Laconians always choose the same solution.”

She looked directly at Xenophon and the Komes.

“He will want war and revenge for the death of Clearchus.”

She took a long breath before finishing.

“He will choose a direct assault on the Emperor himself, and the Legion will be destroyed.”

It was a simple piece of analysis, and although Xenophon wanted to refute some, or even all of her allegations, he knew she was correct. Chirisophus would embolden the Legion, based upon their recent successes, and hurl them into a battle they could never expect to win.

Ten thousand Terran mercenaries were certainly capable of great feats, but the Median Emperor could put armies into the field of millions. The Terrans could win a hundred battles and still they would end up surrounded, far from home, and with no reinforcements, supplies, or support. As Xenophon sat there, he imagined the Legion on a barren planet, with their standards flying and bodies all around them.

It will be glorious, that is sure. By the end of it, this Legion will be known on every Terran world, and it will mean all of our deaths.

That reminded him of his last conversation with the leader of the Black Legion, Strategos Clearchus. The mighty warlord had been on the ground with blood pouring from a dozen wounds when he had given Xenophon his final order.

“Protect the Legion.”

It was a simple request, but as Xenophon recalled his old commander’s face, his own turned from fear and worry to that of determination. He looked to Artemas who appeared distant as she waited for their assent to finish. He leaned forward and caught the attention of his comrades, including the Komes.

“We will go directly to Valediction and give them something better than Chirisophus will offer them.”

“What?” asked Tamara, her tone sarcastic and sharp, “Another battle?”

Xenophon smiled that wry grin Glaucon and Roxana remembered from back when they had spent time together on Attica before any of this had happened. Their bond was unique in the group, and one that had stood even when they had been on opposite sides. Xenophon looked at Roxana in particular as he spoke.

“I will offer the Legion their lives and a way home with wealth and glory.”

Glaucon raised an eyebrow at this.

“Really, and why will they listen to you?”

Komes Pasion seemed to agree with Glaucon.

“More importantly, why will Chirisophus give you even a moment’s consideration? He will want retribution for Clearchus, and I can’t say I completely disagree with that.”

Xenophon looked at Artemas for a few seconds as he considered his points. He was entirely correct, of course. Chirisophus was the natural successor to the Laconian Titan and most likely to be chosen as Strategos by the commanders of the ships of the fleet. Laconians may not be the great space farers, but they were unsurpassed at war and especially ground combat. If it were not to be him, who else would it be?

I will have to do whatever is required to get us away from here and in one piece.

“Somebody else will have to lead this Legion, and Chirisophus himself will help us choose a new Strategos, one with a degree of wit and intelligence.”

Terran Titan ‘Valediction’, Larissa System, Core Worlds

The great hall of the mighty Titan Valediction was packed with all the senior officers of the Black Legion. The surviving Dukas and Komes from the battle of Cunaxa waited at the front. Behind them were a myriad of other ranks, including the leader of the engineers known as the Anticensor and then one Kentarchos for every ship in the fleet.

All the major combat units that had survived the bloody combat on the surface of Cunaxa three days earlier were represented.

Every man and woman wore their full military panoply, including the cloaks and colourings of all their units. As usual, the thick armour and crimson cloaks of the Laconians stood out the most, but it was the Akolouthos and his Epilektoi that put even the Laconian infantry to shame, as the elite personal bodyguard of the Laconians under the command of Komes Artemis. The Laconians waited in silence as the rest of the warriors took their places. The hall itself was an ancient affair, one built as though deep inside a fortress rather than the heart of a massive spacecraft. The Titans were more than just ships. They were poleis in space that contained everything that might be expected in a conventional community.

The Legion had left the Terran territories with four Titans, but after the loss of Olympia, there were just three remaining, and though each was a massive affair, they were all very different. Valediction was far from the most advanced, but it was the most warlike of the Legion with thick armour, layered shielding, and the firepower of an entire fleet. Herakles was a wonder of Boeotians and demonstrated the skills of their diverse peoples. She was the fastest of the Titans, with powerful weapons but the weakest shielding and armour. Then came Poseidon, the smallest yet the most advanced of the Titans and constructed at great expense by the Thessalians. She carried the smallest number of warriors that had been reinforced by the survivors of the destroyed Titan Olympia.

Xenophon waited patiently as each of the commanders approached the open space in front of the altar at the far end of the hall. He was lighter built than the majority of the warriors but still fit and athletic. Although he waited in the front row facing the altar, he still found it difficult to make out the facial expressions of those speaking.

“Which one is this?” whispered Tamara.

He looked over to her, doing his best not to move his body and draw attention from the senior commander. She was the youngest of his companions, no more than a teenager, yet her face had hardened with bitterness over the duration of their campaign deep inside the Median Empire.

“It’s Chirisophus, the Laconian Komes. The other Terrans know him as a Dukas. It’s all a little confusing.”

Tamara frowned. “Dukas, how?”

Xenophon smiled at her complete lack of understanding of the politics and hierarchy of the assembled Terrans. The Dukas was the senior position in each of the Terran contingents, and there was never more than one. Between them they would come together to choose one as the Strategos, the supreme commander.

“The Laconians consider a Komes the equivalent of a Dukas with the other factions, and with Clearchus dead, he’s been pushed up as being his successor.”

He waited patiently and looked at the interior with great fascination. He’d been here several times before, but as part of Lady Artemas’ personal guard was granted more substantial access to the place. There were thick columns running around its flanks, and the walls were rough, as if cut from rock itself rather than the flat, machinelike surfaces on board the other Titans. The artworks on the walls showed the battles of the Terrans, with priority given to the Laconians. The bright colours of the art contrasted with the grim and sombre effect given off by the great hall. This was the heart of Valediction and now both a place of pride and mourning at the loss of the Laconian’s leader Clearchus.

“He’s nearly done,” Xenophon whispered.

He looked about for the reason he was officially there. He and Tamara were inside the great hall while Glaucon and Roxana escorted their charge. Experience had shown him it was always advisable to have one or two people waiting at the destination, just in case anything untoward occurred.

This is a Titan, after all. Stranger things have happened!

Xenophon’s timing was almost perfect, and the man was indeed coming to the final stages of his speech and the long list of casualties. Men muttered and complained as names of those they had known were recalled, but it was when they reached the most significant losses that the agony and pain in the Laconian ranks became clear.

“My brothers,” he started, “it is with a heavy heart that I remind you of the loss of our great leader and warrior, Strategos Clearchus.”

He looked out at the great company of warriors and nodded his head slowly as though agreeing with them. Xenophon could see the genuine sadness on the man’s face, but the speech appeared contrived, confirming to him once more that Chirisophus was no orator. All that remained was to see how the other leaders would see him following the deaths of so many. Technically, the warriors of the Legion would choose their own leaders and then vote for a single Dukas to bear the responsibility of Strategos, the commanding general of the Legion.

“He died along with all our senior commanders in the great betrayal of Tissaphernes and his Medes bastards!”

The murmur turned very quickly into one of anger and reprisal. So many of the Terrans wanted revenge, especially the Laconians who had suffered heavy casualties during the final stages of the battle and evacuation. To leave the field of battle was against every ideal they held, and yet the order apparently came directly from Clearchus’ lips as he died.

“We must elect new officers for the units that have lost so many brothers. Clearchus, Kleandridas, Proxenus, Sophaenetus, Kratez and so many more were murdered and must be replaced, quickly. As is our tradition, the Legion will elect new Dukas and Komes for the contingents we came with. I stand for election to the command of my Laconian brothers!”

A wild cheer roared through the hall as the Laconians howled their approval. Even the idea of a vote seemed something of a joke inside their own warship. The noise continued for almost a minute before he spoke again.

“All senior commanders will then be given the chance to choose a single man to lead us. If I am selected as Strategos, I will turn this fleet back around and send us to the heart of the Medes territory!”

The noise this time was deafening, and Xenophon might have even joined in if he hadn’t been acutely aware of how fragile their situation was. They might be a powerful force, but they still numbered less than ten thousand warriors with just sixty-one ships to their name. The God King Artaxerxes commanded scores of regional Satraps, each one of whom commanded an army the equal of every Terran world combined.

This had better just be a bold boast, Chirisophus. If he wins, this could end us.

Xenophon had missed the next part of his speech due to the noise in the hall, but he could make out the others closer to him as men shouted out names of candidates. It was the Boeotian contingent off to the side that made the most noise. They were armoured much like the others with their helms and cuirass, but every one of them bore a newly painted device on their chests. Some wore helmets taken from the fallen warriors from the other factions, and apart from the club symbols might easily have been mistaken for any of the other groups. Tamara looked at them with a bemused expression.

“The club looks stupid,” she said too loudly.

One of the Atticans off to her flank heard and laughed to himself, but luckily none of the Boeotians unit heard her. Xenophon leaned in closer to her.

“The club is the ancient symbol of Herakles. Proxenus was a pureblood Boeotian, and Herakles is his planet’s patron. Show some respect.”

Tamara shrugged, but the look on her face still showed amusement.

“All of our officers are dead, and our Dukas is gone. We have warriors from the Laconian League as well as some from the Terran Alliance. We need a leader, a warrior.”

Another man shouted out with an accent similar to Xenophon’s, instantly marking him out as a man from Attica. He bore the same device as the Boeotians, even though they were historically rivals, and was positioned a short distance from the others. He pointed at them furiously.

“We all signed up to fight for Proxenus, not to fight for the Boeotians. They have voted for one of their own, and we will not be led by a Boeotian noble.”

More of them started shouting, and several of the Attican contingent ripped off their breastplates with the club insignia and cast them to the ground. A blow was struck, and in seconds, a dozen of the spatharii were fighting with hands and feet right in the middle of the great hall.

“Not again,” Xenophon muttered. He looked to his friends nearby. The force commanded by Proxenus had been one of the most reliable. Unfortunately, they came from multiple colonies and worlds, and the Terrans were never more embittered than when in combat with their rivals. Proxenus had been the kind of man that could maintain discipline through their mutual respect. With him gone, there was nothing to stop the old tribal loyalties and grudges coming to the front.

“With me.”

Tamara followed right behind, as Xenophon worked his way through the mass of warriors. Tamara’s blue hair made her stand out more than anybody else there. At first glance, she might have been mistaken for a child; if it were not for the black leather garments and Terran armour she wore. They only made it halfway through the morass when the sirens started to blast out through the great hall. Dukas Xenias and the few remaining senior officers shouted out for silence. It took a few seconds before the only sound that could be heard was the warning siren.

“This is a problem,” said Roxana.

The sound finally stopped, and the assembled officers waited and listened. Dukas Xenias, the commander of the Arcadian contingent lifted his arms to get their attention. A hologram showing a massive formation of warships appeared above him. Chirisophus looked at the imagery alongside him and shook his head angrily at the sight.

“We have been discovered. Zacynthian ships have just jumped into this sector,” explained Xenias.

The fighting between the Terrans was immediately forgotten, and all eyes were on him. Three other senior commanders closed in on him to speak, but he ignored them and pointed at the formation of newly arrived ships.

“They will be in range in less than an hour. We should get to our ships and prepare to continue our withdrawal.”

“Or to fight,” Chirisophus added in a calm, yet grim tone.

The Dukas wasn’t in charge, but not one of the Terrans argued with him. In time of crisis, they could all be counted upon to fight. Few in the Legion would baulk at the idea of exacting revenge upon the enemy they had fought just days before. No matter what decision was made, they could do nothing while aboard this ship. Only a handful of the officers remained as the rest broke ranks and rushed from the hall. The passageways leading to the hangars were minutes away, and every one of them wanted to be aboard their own ships if there was to be a battle. Being trapped on another commander’s ship was the last place any of them wanted to be.

“Zacynthians. What do they want now?” he said quietly, not to be heard by the others. Chirisophus, Xenias, and a small group of Komes waited as well as Xenophon and his comrades while the others marched out. It took less than a minute before they found themselves alone.

“Zacynthian ships? What do they want with us?” asked Chirisophus suspiciously.

Xenias sighed as he considered the news.

“They must be the forces of...”

He stopped upon spotting the beautiful and slender figure of Lady Artemas of Caria at the opposite end of the hall. She moved silently through the great hall, flanked by two spatharii warriors, to her close friends Xenophon, Glaucon, and Roxana. Her face was clearly of Medes ancestry with her tight jawbones and pale white skin. Around her body was a closely fitted dark brown corset inlaid with scale plate that glimmered in a dull russet tint. Her shoulders and neck were protected by Terran armour of some ancient design and decorated with Medes and Terran imagery. Her long black pants were padded by bronzed plates and of a similar fashion to her shoulder protection. At her feet were tall leather boots that continued up her legs to her knees. Even Xenophon was taken aback at the sight of her.

Interesting hair colour
, he said to himself, his eyes moving up from her feet to her head.

The others may not have noticed, but Xenophon instantly recognised she had changed her hair to a bizarre shade of crimson and purple that seemed to shimmer between the colours. Her hair was long and ran down over her shoulders.