They walked on for a few more moments, the silence of the snow-covered fields fast giving way to the noises of the fort.
“Would you like to return to Rome, Domina? The fleet and I shall withdraw south tomorrow. The weather and winds are preventing us from continuing onward safely. It would be an honor to count you among our guests.” Accept the offer and do not suffer out here like I am sure these men will. This whole expedition has taken on a bad vibe.
“Thank you, Captain Alexandros. I fear I must decline. Duty and expectations leave me no choice. I do appreciate your offer, though, and would love to travel upon your magnificent airship sometime soon.”
They had arrived at the compound’s gate. Alexandros showed their passes and they were waved through. Not that there is anyone else out here to wander in, he thought sardonically. They said their goodbyes just inside the gate. Alexandros offered to walk the senatora to her quarters, but she declined. He bade her farewell and watched her disappear into the crowds of soldiers and camp followers. Hopefully this is not the last time I see her alive.
Chapter 11
Corbus
Corbus walked quickly through the tunnel-like hallways of Midgard. The warrens could be claustrophobic at times, but Corbus had long since mastered his own fear, facing it with grim resolve. Reaching the doors of Prince Santoruk Lokus’s chambers, he lifted gauntleted fists and shoved them open. The solid wood panels slammed into the wall on either side, startling the occupants of the prince’s waiting room.
Reclining half naked upon a chaise, Lokus had been watching slave girls dancing seductively before him. They scrambled away at Corbus’s entrance.
“What is the meaning of this, Outlander?” Lokus stood, face flushed with anger and alarm. “You’ve ruined my afternoon’s entertainment.”
Corbus scooped up the pleasure girls’ clothing and tossed it at them. “Out,” he said gruffly. The comely women grabbed their garments and fled the room. Corbus shut the doors behind them, then turned to Lokus.
The prince made to repeat his demand, but Corbus clamped his hand around Lokus’s neck, silencing him. “You are late. There is a war meeting, and you are not present.” He pushed the noble back onto the couch.
“That’s all? You want to take me from this for a meeting?” Lokus laughed, slowly sitting up on the chaise. “You are such a southerner. Do you never take pleasure in women or wine?”
“No, and while your country is invaded by those southerners, neither should you,” Corbus snapped. He turned away as Lokus stood and pulled on his clothing.
“Okay, we can go to the meeting,” Lokus said sulkily as he pulled the royal emblem on its chain from under his wool shirt. He placed the glittering copper sphere atop his vestments.
Corbus sketched a brief bow, then followed a pace or two behind the prince as he marched haughtily out of the room. Servants and warriors alike moved out of their way as they strode through the hallways, Lokus muttering that they’d take “a fløte; it will be faster.”
Corbus looked up as they boarded one of the strange, half-lift, half ferry-like contraptions. Wires suspended it from long, moving arms high overhead. These people are backward as the Hibernian hill tribes yet as technologically advanced as the Romans. Confusing. The fløtes were an ancient creation, and he wondered how old this one was. We might fall at any moment. An ignoble way to die. They arrived safely at their destination a few moments later. The operator opened the doors and the prince and his companion stepped into the palace quarter.
They passed the king’s chambers and several offices on their way to the war room, where a single armsman in livery bearing the royal insignia-two blue wolves charging each other on a copper background-pushed the doors open for them and stepped aside. At the end of a short hallway, they entered the circular war chamber, where grizzled advisors clustered around a large wooden table strewn with maps and paper reports. Tiered seating rose around them, and the air in the central well where they stood was close and heavy with the smell of smoke and sweat.
“I still say we haven’t done enough to harry the Romans. They march up our roads with impunity!” one of the nobles was saying. In Nortland, leading troops to war was a noble’s prerogative. It is still mostly that way in Rome, but I suppose even they have to accept sometimes that being descended from great men doesn’t make you a great man. Corbus supposed it was different here, where a man had to be a proven warrior before he was accepted into the nobility.
“Greetings, Prince Lokus and Outlander Corbus. Welcome to the war meeting.” One of the lords beckoned them closer.
Corbus elbowed the prince, who flashed him a glare before responding to the invitation. “Thank you, we. . apologize for our lateness. We were just discussing the current situation.”
“Ah, then come to our table.”
King Gustavus Bismark II, an older man with a nearly bald pate, looked up at them from his seat of authority farthest from the door. “We’ve been trying” he said as the prince pulled up a chair and Corbus stood respectfully behind him, “to figure out a way to trap these Romans against the river. But the terrain just doesn’t seem to support it. They are too well drilled and their formation too tight. If they were more strung out. .” He left the rest unsaid.
Another lord spoke up. “What if we tried to drive a wedge between their legions?”
“There isn’t enough space for that. We’d be surrounded and decimated.” The king stood, moving closer to the table for a better look. His crown sparkled in the lantern light.
Corbus pulled at his collar, unobtrusively loosening his cloak. While the mountain itself might be freezing, the rooms here were toasty warm. Cooler air crept under his shirt and the assassin muffled a sigh of relief. The king was still talking.
“At least their fleet has disengaged. But the weather is making it impossible for us to launch our own airships, as well. We’ll have to use the militia and our raiders to try to bleed off some of their men, or at least slow them down. We can’t take them head on right now, but we can harry them and hurt their logistics.”
The prince did not agree. “We are Nortlanders, Father. We should be striking them hard, not waging this ‘small war’ you speak of. We must bring them to battle and annihilate them man to man.”
His father looked across the table, smiling indulgently at his son. “Lokus, you may have earned the right to be prince, but you have not yet earned the right to be a war leader. I wanted you here to learn. There is value in not fighting right away. Let them come to us. When they try to lay siege, we can surround them and trap them. The winter shall be our ally.” His tone was patient.
Corbus glimpsed looks passing between various nobles at the table, but they were too fleeting for him to be sure of the message behind them. The prince was clearly not happy, but he shut his mouth and listened.
“Lord Therodi, you shall lead our raiders. We just need you to slow them down. Save every man you can, for we shall need them once we are besieged.” The king order.
“Aye, my lord. I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve. I’ll get my men to work on it right away.”
“Excellent. Lord Dirmlor, how stand our mecha-wolf packs?”
“Our engineers report they are ready, and we have about twenty-five available for combat now. More are in production, but they are expensive and time-consuming to build. The Romans have too many of the things we need for their construction. We can’t build both the mecha-wolves and our airships. Both machines require similar parts and people,” Dirmlor replied grimly.