The IX (7 page)

“Ware the plain!”

The sudden warning from one the sentries caused everyone to come alert.

As if Mercury were keen to taunt them with his bag of tricks, the mists began to peel back a little. From out of the moonlit gloom, a stream of soldiers could be seen making their painful way toward salvation. Some jogged, more stumbled. Yet others struggled to carry injured comrades.

The same voice announced, “It’s our brothers from the fifth and sixth cohorts.”

“Over here,” someone yelled.

“This way,” called another.

Shapes materialized within the haze behind the fleeing men. The moon’s luminescence added a terrifying perspective to their size.

“Run! You are pursued,” yelled the lookout.

The intervening curtain closed momentarily, muting the cries of pain and anguish that suddenly rang from out of the darkness. A number of heads turned toward Drusus and Marcus, looking for direction. Demanding an answer. Drusus stared coldly back.

Further shrieks of agony stabbed the night. They were joined by howls of delight from the inhumane savages gleefully inflicting their tortures on exhausted and helpless men.

Drusus trotted along the line. Using the unexpected calm to his advantage, he raised his voice and addressed the Ninth. “They’re testing our mettle. They know we are loath to leave our wounded in the field. Our brothers, brave, to the mercies of animals with the scruples of pigs. But if we are foolish enough to underestimate them again, it will be to our cost. We are already reduced. Anyone going to their aid will die a meaningless death. I will not lose more men in such a way tonight. We will live. We will survive. And we will make them rue the day they ever thought to cross the Ninth Legion of Rome.”

Coming to a standstill directly in front of the massed ranks, he raised his sword and yelled, “We are the Ninth!”

“The Ninth,” everyone responded, surging to their feet.

“The glorious Ninth,” he repeated, punching his hand aloft once more.

“The Ninth,” resounded the reply.

“The Ni–”

Choc!

Those nearest Drusus caught their breaths as the new commander rocked forward in his seat. He tried to regain his composure, but started jerking in his saddle as if he were a puppet being tormented by a sadistic fiend. Even in the filtered moonlight, Marcus could see Drusus had turned a sickening white, as if suffering extreme shock. At that same moment, the hairs on Marcus’s arms stood on end. “Drusus?”

Drusus stared back. His lips moved but he was unable to catch his breath. He glanced to one side, mesmerized by the ubiquitous mist that had closed about them to form a glittering, opaque wall. Eyes glazing, Drusus attempted to scrutinize his surroundings. Fascinated, he struggled to focus on the stones and small rocks littering the ravine that were lifting up from the floor in front of them. He finally seemed to remember where he was. His gaze intensified. Latching on to Marcus, he hunched forward and hissed, “Marcus. Look after them for me, will you?”

As he spilled to the floor in a heap, everyone saw the war axe buried in the commander’s spine. Drusus Vergilius Cicero twitched once, then lay still.

Howls erupted all about them.

“I will, brother,” Marcus whispered.
That’s the second promise I’ve made tonight.

Rage coursed through his veins. His heart burning with fury, Marcus ignored the extraordinary events unfolding all around them and wheeled Starblaze about. “Sentries!” he roared, “light up the foreground. Archers! Kill every pale-faced, wide-eyed, naked bastard you see. Flavius! Take your equitata and scour the field clean of scum. Cohorts! Form up and prepare to fight. This night we–”

Thunk!

Marcus experienced the oddest of sensations. He felt both hot and cold at the same time. Lightheaded, but unbelievably weary. Invincible, and yet as fragile as an insect in the beak of a nightjar. For some reason, the world appeared lopsided and out of phase with reality. His perspective tilted and the ground rushed up to meet him. Impervious to the shock of landing, Marcus was more astonished by the spectacle of the arrow protruding from his chest than anything else.

His skin tingled. Sounds began to echo and recede. The world went white. Spinning, he felt himself being lifted from the floor . . . and then the ice cold grip of death closed in on him.

CHAPTER FIVE

Last Stand

Sword in hand, his scarf bound tightly across his face, Lex hunched as low as he dared across the neck of his horse and clung on for dear life.

It was always dangerous, riding in such a manner. Not only couldn’t you see where you were going, but you wouldn’t have time to maneuver away from hidden dangers if they suddenly manifested. And that was at the best of times. On occasions like this, when visibility was seriously reduced by inclement weather, or with enemies lurking at every turn, it was near suicidal.

Lex trusted his gelding, Samson, implicitly. The two had ridden together for three years now, and had formed a close bond. He’d always proved a sure-footed mount, and today was no exception. Samson had trampled at least a half dozen rebel warriors who had lain in wait in the long grass, leaving Lex only a handful to deal with directly.

Lex hadn’t trusted everything to blind luck.
Thank God I don’t have a stick up my ass, like the captain. Letting Stained-With-Blood lead the way is the best decision I’ve made in a long time. How the hell he can spot the safest route in conditions like this, I’ll never know. I bet Houston’s already dead. There were hundreds of . . . whoa!

Something moved in the wildly dancing sward below him. Lunging upward at the last moment, the assassin attempted to skewer Lex with a spear. Reacting instinctively, he slashed down with his blade. A shock ran along his arm, and Samson shuddered slightly as whoever it was got bowled over. “Good boy!” Lex crooned.

Soothing Samson’s neck, Lex strained to make sense of the confusing blur whipping by on both sides. He quickly gave up, concentrating instead on Stained-With-Blood’s back. As one born to such savage delights, the Native American forded the wilderness with consummate ease, and Lex couldn’t help but feel a twinge of envy.

Riding bareback, Stained-With-Blood looked completely at home. Tomahawk in hand, long flowing locks streaming behind him in the gale, the brave was a vision of the very land itself come to life. Power, vitality, unity. The stinging hail and driving wind didn’t bother him one bit. Unlike the rest of them.

Crouched as he was, like a hunchbacked invalid across his horse, Lex felt like an old man and jokingly admitted,
I hate him!

The feeling was only reinforced by the sight of Quincy Shelby. The private had tried desperately to keep the colors flying during the first few miles of their flight. But in the end, the battering both he and the pennant had taken from the elements had forced Quincy to demount the guidon and stash it within his saddlebag.

Not that Lex minded. Even though he had the use of both hands, Quincy was only just managing to hang on.
And that isn’t surprising . . . considering.

Glancing behind them, Lex realized that the Cree coalition weren’t the only ones pursuing them. The tornado-like formation that had appeared over the open plain seemed to be grinding straight for them. The billowing clouds had darkened and solidified into a churning vortex of power that filled the air with grit and small stones. All across the savanna, the long grasses were being whipped and thrashed about so mercilessly Lex thought they would surely be torn from the earth.

This weather can’t be natural. The sooner we make it to Skull Canyon, the better. We’ll find some degree of shelter, and with properly placed rifles can start picking a few of them off . . . If we don’t get ripped off our horses first.

Risking a peek toward Small Robes, his awe only increased. Despite her delicately small frame, she epitomized her uncle and sat high in the saddle, challenging the elements to bow before her. She looked glorious, and Lex couldn’t help but think what a fool Snow Blizzard was for spurning the proposed alliance.

His heart skipped a beat as an anguished howl caught his attention. Craning around to his left, Lex saw another riderless horse keeping pace with the pack.
Is that
Chip’s gelding? Chip Walton? Damn! He was our newest recruit.

Flapping reins and empty stirrups taunted him. Lex could feel the itch of impending death worming its way ever deeper between his shoulder blades. He dare not stop to scratch, not even for a second, lest an arrow take him or his fate leap up out of the ground to claim his life.
He was only nineteen,
and engaged to be married
.

Hunching further down, he ground his teeth in mounting frustration.

From somewhere behind, several gunshots rang out in quick succession. The empty satisfaction of knowing Chip’s assailant was probably dead did nothing to stop the bile rising in his throat.
Bastards! We’ve got to get out of here. Soon.

The sound of gravel underfoot indicated they must be near a watercourse or an outcrop of some kind. Lex strained to look ahead again. Without warning, Stained-With-Blood leaned heavily over on one side of his mustang. Swinging savagely, the blade of his tomahawk bit home. Rising once more, it left a scarlet spray in the air. Flashing past, Lex only had an instant to recognize another skin-covered body spiraling to the floor, this one with a gaping wound across its face.

How on earth are they managing to get so far ahead of us?
he thought, concerned he was missing something important.
Have they been here all along?

He was about to call ahead to ask Stained-With-Blood’s advice, when the brave waved furiously toward their right flank. Changing direction, he charged off, shouting, “This way, quickly. Follow me.”

Lex gave the signal to follow, and the platoon wheeled in pursuit.

The wind dropped as they descended a stony track. The trail widened and the gradient became steeper, getting rockier with every step. Hanging back, Lex encouraged the stragglers to make haste and counted them off as they rode in. Peering back out toward the plain, he realized the depression would be totally hidden from view.

Is this the entrance to the hidden canyon Captain Houston referred to? Already? We might just make it after . . .

Lex gasped as he caught sight of the storm. It was only now, while he wasn’t running, that he was able to look at it properly. And
feel
it!

A huge, anvil-shaped cloud formation spread out for miles in every direction. Turning from gray at the edges to midnight-blue at the center, it seethed as if some inner conflict were threatening to tear it apart. Unseen reverberations made Lex’s teeth and nasal cavity throb. He was reminded of the feeling he had once experienced as a boy, when his parents had taken him to see the Philharmonic Society of New York. He had been sitting in the front row and as the orchestra had prepared, the combined resonance produced by over a hundred tuning instruments had given Lex a headache. He was experiencing that exact same sensation now, but on a much grander scale. And the pit from which these vibrations issued was vast. It bit into the ground with a savagery that blotted out the horizon and made him gawp in wide-eyed horror. And it was altering course, to correspond with the new direction they were taking.

That can’t be right.

“Have you ever seen anything like this before?” Stained-With-Blood asked.

The warrior had approached silently. Startled, Lex was nevertheless unable to tear his eyes from the monstrosity growling toward them.

“No. Never. You?”

“In all my seasons under the care of our creator, Napioa, I have never witnessed the likes of this. But . . .”

“But?”

The old Indian narrowed his eyes as he considered the tales of his ancient people. “. . . But we have stories. We are reluctant to speak of them outside of our tribes, for such law does not concern the white man. What you are about to hear has never before been spoken of, to one such as yourself.

“Legends from the birth of time, when Chaos still contended with his brother, Balance, for dominion of the earth, tell us of the unleashing of the storm wind. Napioa, our father, found two skin sacks on his journeys one day, containing summer and winter. He was determined to gain possession of those bags, for then he could bless our people with two perfect seasons of equal months. However, Chaos interfered, and the sacks proved to be most elusive, so Napioa sent a little animal to retrieve the skins for him. The creature was successful in capturing the summer bag, and made haste to return it to his creator. However, the guardian of the sacks, at the behest of Chaos, chased after the thief and decapitated it. In the turmoil that followed, the bag burst apart, opening a doorway to the celestial powers . . . and through it, the storm wind was unleashed.”

The older man eyed the tempest in front of them before concluding, “I fear we may be looking at such a doorway now, for never do the cycles of nature act like this.”

Lex shivered. “Not wanting to appear rude, Stained-With-Blood, but how dependable are these legends?”

“Our ancient law comes from histories handed down from chief to son. From shaman to apprentice. We are not prone to the exaggerations of your race, and pride ourselves on truth.” Turning to look the young officer in the eye, he smiled, and admitted, “But of course, we are only human. And sometimes we lack the words to properly describe the events experienced by our forefathers.”

Gawking at the leviathan before them, Lex could appreciate how such fables could be born, for the maelstrom had an ethereal quality to it that made it appear like a herald of doom from another world.

The last riders began their descent into the canyon, and Lex made haste to follow.

“How many of your company have survived, young soldier?” Stained-With-Blood asked.

“If I counted right? At least forty-four.” Cocking a thumb toward the towering clouds, Lex added, “But I did get a little distracted. I’ll find out soon enough once I get the princess safe and the men deployed.”