The column formed up and continued, this time at a pace quickened by fear and adrenaline. Everyone knew it was only a matter of time before the scout found some opportunistic Nortland leader with enough troops to pursue the small Roman force. Hopefully they won’t be able to catch us.
At another tight turn in the road, Orestis halted the column and turned to Octavia. “Ma’am, with your permission I’m going to leave a squad behind to try to ambush and slow any pursuers. They could buy us the time we need to get you to safety.”
Octavia nodded, knowing deep down that these men would probably die to save her. They hadn’t asked for it, she didn’t even pay them; they were doing it simply because it was their duty. Senatora or not, courage like that required gratitude. So before the party moved on, Octavia thanked each man in the ambush party, committing their names to memory so that she could honor them later.
The escort moved on. The commander of her bodyguard, the veteran file leader Melius Jonus, pulled out his map. “We should be only about two miles or so from the Imperial lines. If we can make it there, then we should be safe.” Heartened by this news, Orestis increased the pace. They soon left the ambush party behind, as they retreated toward the safety of their fellow Romans.
Then a whistling sound and a loud explosion cut through their gradually lightening mood. “That’s the ambush party’s signal. It means that they are either overwhelmed or have sighted enemy forces,” Orestis said.
“But we’ve got at least half an hour head start on them, and our men could still be fighting, Centurion,” Octavia answered. “Don’t we have enough of a lead?”
“Not if they’ve got those accursed mecha-wolves. And if they do, the ambush party won’t last more than a few minutes at most.”
“Then I guess we’d better get a move on.”
The next clearing they reached proved to be their last. As the party made a break across the field, they heard the unmistakable screech of metal upon metal behind them. Octavia turned, and saw death approaching.
Three mecha-wolves burst out of the woods. Clinging to them were a host of Nortland warriors. I never knew they’d use them as transports! That was Octavia’s last coherent thought before full panic wrapped her mind.
“Senatora! Run for the line! It’s just beyond those trees! We’ll hold them off!” Orestis called. He turned to deploy his men, forming a ragged line three men deep facing the charging Nortland vehicles.
Spurring her horse, Octavia fled, her bodyguard forming a wedge behind her. The horse’s hooves kicked up snow and old grass behind her, and the wind from her passage tore at her fur parka.
They were nearly into the forest when the first screams reached them. She turned and glimpsed the mecha-wolves blasting through the thin line of legionnaires, dropping Nortland raiders in their wake. Then, leaping gracefully and looking like their namesake predators chasing down prey, they closed in on the senatora’s party.
“We’re so close! We have to lose them in the forest!” cried Jonus as they entered the band of trees separating them from their hope of salvation. Octavia leaned forward, her head along her horse’s neck, urging it onward. Faster, faster! she cried inwardly as branches splintered and trees crashed behind her.
“They’re nearly upon us!” someone screamed.
Up ahead, daylight penetrated the thick boreal forest. We’re through! Octavia thought gleefully, just as her world spun. She lost all sense of direction as her body hurtled through the air.
Octavia landed in a heap. Her horse was screaming somewhere behind her. Dazed, she tried to pull herself up, her fingers scrabbling against the rough bark of a pine tree, seeking purchase. She succeeded in resting her back against the tree, and tried to come to terms with what had just happened.
Her bodyguard was scattered. The mecha-wolves had blasted a path through much of the forest in their pursuit of the senatora. They had not escaped unharmed, and Octavia felt a flicker of pleasure as she saw one vehicle collapse onto the ground, with what looked like half a tree trunk rammed through its innards. The other two mecha-wolves had killed at least four of her bodyguards; Octavia could see their mangled bodies. The rest of her men must have abandoned their horses, as she could count far more dead horses than men. One horse had even been tossed up into a tree, and now hung like some macabre trophy over a thick branch.
“Psst! Senatora!”
She saw Jonus, looking definitely the worse for wear but still on his feet, sword in hand. He knelt behind the tree, out of sight of both patrolling mecha-wolves. “Have you seen any of their infantry?”
“Not yet,” Octavia whispered back. She took a deep breath, and a sharp pain flared up her side. It took nearly all her willpower not to scream. Definitely something broken, she thought as her eyes watered.
“Can you move? We’ve got to get you out of here. Queris and Draxe will help you up.”
“But what will you do?” Octavia asked weakly.
“I’m going to go distract them a bit, and see if I can’t take down one of those machines,” Jonus whispered conspiratorially to her as the two legionnaires he’d named ghosted out from behind the same large tree. They gathered her up and immediately began snaking their way through the woods.
“What is he going to do? He can’t stop them with a sword,” Octavia mumbled to her rescuers, peering back.
The younger of the two men grinned fiercely. “Jonus is one of the craftiest men out there. He’s got access to some of the new toys the high command’s been handing out this mission, including some of those new igniculum. Those explosives are enough to take out one of those mecha-wolves, with luck.” He grunted slightly as they maneuvered the senatora over a particularly large root.
“Plus, Queris, you know that Victoria is Jonus’ patron saint. Although his grandmother would always say that it was Nike, not some Roman upstart goddess, who looked over her grandson,” the legionnaire who must have been Draxe responded. The man had gray in his hair and the scars to show many years of service.
“You know Jonus?” Octavia’s eyelids felt heavy. Her voice was barely above a whisper as she fought to retain consciousness. I will not pass out like some wimpy peasant girl, she scolded herself.
“Since we were small boys. He got me into the army, and I’ve been making his life a living Hades ever since!” the man joked.
Behind them, another loud explosion erupted, followed by much shouting and the clashing of swords.
“Sounds like they got one of the bas-erm. . bad guys,” Queris corrected, remembering the rank and respect due the person they carried between them.
They went another few yards, then stopped abruptly.
“Ahh, Senatora Pelia. Such a pleasure to finally meet you face to face. I’ve heard so much about you.”
Octavia lifted her head. Before her stood a rough-looking man clad in an odd cut of Nortland furs. It almost looked as though someone had tried to infuse Roman style into the Nortland material. “I’m sorry, we’ve never met,” Octavia managed. Her shell-shocked brain struggled for more awareness. One thing she could sense was that this man was dangerous.
The stranger slowly unsheathed his sword. The wicked-looking weapon was a good three or four feet long. He held it casually in one hand while running a whetstone over its edge. “Ahh, but I can soon rectify that. I am Corbus.” He waited a moment for Octavia to register this.
“The Butcher of Brittenburg? You’re way too young to claim that title, I think,” Octavia scoffed. She immediately regretted poking fun at the man, as his dark eyes lit with a cold fury.