“For the duration of our task, he will.”
A look of relief came over Attius’s face. “My legatus will be glad to hear that, and he will hope your task lasts a very long time. The XXV is on our right, between us and the barbarians in Bospora, and we would be as well off if we had a wall of reeds standing there.”
“Ill trained?”
Attius laughed bitterly. “No, they’re trained. But they’re provincials. And they don’t care about Rome. The original XXV was exiled to Bospora by Vespasian because of their doubtful loyalty. And since then, they’ve filled their ranks with locals. They own no loyalty to the emperor, either the old or the new.”
Falco considered the order that Cassius carried. What was to follow the mission with Kaia?
“I appreciate your words,” he told Attius. “What of the barbarians to the north? Are they a danger?”
Attius scratched his chin. “We’ve had little trouble as long as we leave them alone. But any patrol going north, well, it’s like in the old days when we crossed the Rhine. Sticking one’s hand into a nest of hornets.”
Falco knew what Attius was referring to, having served a few years on the frontier of the Rhine. Every so often it would be the emperor’s whim to cross the river to try to subdue the fierce tribes living in those dark forests. Even though it was over seventy years ago, every Roman soldier remembered what had happened to Quinctilius Varus and the three legions, the XVII, XVIII and XIX that he had led across the river. The Germans had banded together and ambushed the legions strung out on the march, wiping them out and causing one of the greatest defeats in the history of Rome.
“Are you going over the border?” Attius asked as the import of Falco’s question struck home.
“I do not know the wishes of the emperor,” Falco lied. “It’s my job to be prepared for whatever may happen. And we must pass tonight and do our duty.”
Attius reluctantly nodded. “I wish you well then.” He quickly climbed over the side into his boat. Fabatus gave the order for the rowing to resume, and they plunged forward into the darkness of the Hellesponte. The boat with Attius faded into the darkness, and cliffs closed in on each side.
Falco and Kaia stood perfectly still, peering ahead.
“Do you sense it?” Falco asked.
Kaia nodded. “Danger ahead.”
“How can these things — the Valkyries — travel far from the gate?” Falco asked, something that had been bothering him ever since Thera.
“I do not know,” Kaia said. “I was told they are the only emissaries of the Shadow that can do so.”
Falco was looking ahead, where the land on either side closed in, making the narrowest channel in the Hellesponte. There was a mist waiting for them, one that both Falco and Kaia knew was not formed naturally.
“I will wake the general,” Falco said. He went back to where Cassius was slumbering on the hard wooden deck, a thin blanket around his frail shoulders.
“General,” Falco whispered.
Cassius’s eyes were open in a flash. “What is it?”
“A fog ahead. I sense danger in it.”
Cassius was on his feet, heading forward, Falco at his side. The only sound was the rhythmic splash of the oars hitting the water. The fog was now only half a mile ahead of the ship. On either side, the land was rocky and high, not suitable for landing.
“We could turn back,” Falco said.
“There is no time,” Kaia said. “We may well be late to the gate at this rate anyway.”
“The slaves are rowing against the current coming out of Marmara,” Cassius added. “They have enough energy for one try. If we turn and try again, it will take more than twice as long.”
“Then we must fight.” Falco had the Naga staff in his hand.
Cassius called for the leader of the small contingent. The soldiers deployed along the forward edge of the galley, shields and pilum — medium-length throwing spears — ready, as the fog grew closer. Falco stood at the very front, Cassius to the shield side, Kaia just behind the general.
There was a strange noise in the air, and Falco strained to discern it. As they came within a hundred meters of the fog, all on board could hear a keening sound, as if a pack of women were grieving over the loss of their children. It chilled the blood of all on board the ship, and the slaves lost a beat in their rowing before the drum and a few well-placed lashes brought them back on the mark.
“The sirens,” Cassius said.
“It does not draw me in,” Falco said. “Isn’t the siren call supposed to beckon?” Even as he said that, though, the cry changed, women crying for help, for mercy.
They entered the fog. The cries were coming from the right side of the ship and slightly ahead.
“I say we steer away from that side,” Kaia advised, noting that the ship’s helmsman had edged slightly closer to the right where they could faintly make out a cliff.
“Ah,” Falco hissed as he pointed.
A human figure was on the side of the cliff, arms splayed wide, crucified on the rock with metal spikes through her wrists and ankles. Then there was another and another. The sound was coming from them. Woman crying out for mercy, a perverted song of the sirens.
“They need help,” Fabatus said.
“They’re beyond our help.” Falco could feel the despair of the women on the cliff. He looked at a legionnaire. “Do you have a bow?”
The man scurried to the small armory and came back with a bow and quiver. Falco handed the Naga staff to Kaia and notched an arrow. The first figure had almost disappeared behind them when he fired. The arrow flew straight and true, hitting the woman in the chest. Her body slumped back lifeless against the rock. Falco’s hands moved automatically as he had been trained, pulling an arrow out of the quiver, notching it, raising up, aiming, firing. The cries grew fainter as there were less voices to make them.
The legionnaires and Fabatus watched Falco work, aghast at his mercilessness, but he could sense that Cassius and Kaia approved. Cassius had served in Germany, where captives were often used as bait to draw in the unwary, ending in the death not only of the captives but of the would-be rescuers. He knew this was the only thing they could do for the women.
There were only three arrows left in the quiver when Falco struck the last target he could see, and there were no more cries for help. The fog was as thick as ever, the right cliff barely visible, the left masked. Looking up, Falco could make out movement on the top of the right cliff, something white following their progress.
“The staff is keeping them away for now.” Kaia had seen the same thing. “They wanted us close to shore for a reason.”
“They must—” Falco began, but then was struck dumb as an entire section of the cliff where the last bodies were attached exploded outward, spraying the channel with rock and dirt. Several stones hit the ship, but caused only minor damage.”
“If we’d been closer, we’d be on the bottom right now,” Cassius said.
Falco turned and went to the small hatch leading below decks. He climbed down to the oar deck. There was an empty slot near the rear, and he made his way there, ignoring the curious and fearful glances of the slaves. Falco sat down next to a foul-smelling slave and wrapped his calloused hands around the end of the oar and began to pull in unison with the man.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“The Grayback will be surfacing any second now.” Loomis pointed off the starboard side.
Dane and Foreman had returned to the surface on board the Deepflight without any trouble or activity from the gate. The flight back to the Salvor had been made in silence, each man considering what he had seen in the graveyard. Foreman had gone over to the FLIP to coordinate with Nagoya, while Dane reunited with Chelsea on board the ship to await the arrival of his next ride.