Daniel Ottalini - Copper Centurion

We’re losing time! Constantine’s brain cried as the berserker wielded his remaining axe two-handed now, cleaving through those careless enough to get too close to him.

Sheathing his sword, Constantine pulled out his hand repeater, firing the miniature bolts into the man from just a few feet away. Bellowing, the man turned, his eyes tinged red and his mouth frothing in battle madness. Holy Hera .

The man bore down on him like an enraged bull. Constantine’s bolts seemed to do nothing against the man, until there was a small explosion and a blast of heat and smoke.

Constantine had ducked down behind his shield, bracing for an impact that never came. He peeked over its edge to find the man on the ground before him, blown nearly in two, guts scattered. The commander looked up to see his savior.

Gwendyrn wiped his hand across his bloody face. “Dat stupid git bwoke my nose. So I bwoke his back wit dis,” he said angrily, pinching the bridge of his crooked nose with his thumb and forefinger. In his other hand he held a plumbata .

“Well, Centurion, you certainly have the best aim I know of. Perfect hit,” Constantine commended. “Now, does anyone know how we can open these doors?”

Julius

The slamming door, followed by heavy footfalls, announced the return of the king and his cronies. Julius heard cruel laughter and grunting. Finally, Julius was hauled to his feet. His boots scrabbled for purchase on the stone floor, and he leaned heavily on his captor. The scene that greeted him made his stomach sink.

On his knees within a circle of the king’s henchmen, Duke Laufas huddled under the pummeling of their fists, grunting in pain with each meaty blow.

“Enough!” The king held up his hand and his men stepped back. Looking exceptionally pleased with himself, he spouted a guttural stream of Norse.

I hate not knowing what’s going on, Julius thought. As if he’d heard, Corbus appeared next to him. “The king is telling the rebel leader that he must order his men to submit. Assuming there are any left willing to fight for him,” Corbus sneered. Julius remained silent.

“By the way, did you know that your Roman brothers appear to be fighting amongst themselves? There used to be four legions out there, now there are just two.” Julius looked up at that information.

A haggard-looking militiaman ran into the hall. Julius had learned to distinguish them from their better-equipped professional allies. The leather helmet and simple armored jerkin stood in stark contrast to the steel helm and chainmail-reinforced tunic of the king’s soldiers and raiders. The man blurted something in Norse that seemed to alarm everyone in the hall. Julius caught the flicker of a smile on Laufas’ blood-streaked face. The king stood and began shouting orders at various lords. Soldiers raced in all directions, some even blundering into each other in their haste.

Corbus’s hand grabbed Julius’s hair, yanking him around. “Roman! Your compatriots must wish for death, as they assault our walls directly. But worry not that your time with us will be short, for we intend to deny them. Even now, our men are mustering to the wall to crush your pitiful war machine and your puny countrymen.”

Julius laughed in his face at the end of this tirade. “Very typical of you, Corbus. Why aren’t you out there fighting?” he jeered.

Corbus hit him in the stomach and marched away in a fury. The door slammed shut behind him.

“That’s one bad man to anger,” Laufas said quietly through gritted teeth.

“We’re already prisoners and probably going to die anyway; what’s the worst that could happen?”

A short while later, Julius watched another militiaman rush into the throne room. I hope it’s more bad news for this so-called king.

“Seems your fellow Romans have discovered the tunnels and have invaded the residential quarter. Excellent timing, I might add,” Laufas translated.

“Well, I hope they get here soon. I’m awfully tired of being tied up.”

Another file of soldiers marched through the room. Just outside the large iron door they began to build a barricade. Chairs, tables, even the benches from the throne room went into its construction. “Seems your Romans are closer than they thought,” Laufas noted as they watched.

Another one of the king’s cronies slammed the door shut with a resounding boom. Julius felt the vibrations through the floor as the man slid a long metal brace into position across the door. Things are probably about to get interesting . He began working surreptitiously at returning feeling to his bound hands, rubbing his palms together and wriggling cramped fingers until he felt the sharp tingle of pins and needles. Trying hard to maintain a look of calm nonchalance, he flexed and relaxed his arms, hoping to loosen the bonds.

“Use this,” the duke whispered. He tapped his boot hard on the floor. The sound went unnoticed by the king and his cronies, who were having a heated discussion around a command table at the back of the room. A short blade shot up out of the back of his boot.

One eye on the few remaining guards who huddled together, apparently gossiping about the Roman attacks, Julius inched closer to the duke then crouched, carefully shifting to position himself over the blade to slice the tough leather cords, and not his hands and fingers. I’m sure we look absurd. A five-year-old should be able to catch us, Julius thought, waiting for a guard to glance their way and cry the alarm. But it must have been his lucky day, for his bonds were shredded almost to the breaking point when the duke hissed, “Stop.

“You don’t want them to know you’re untied, and with the bonds still on, it looks more convincing,” the duke explained. Nodding, Julius wiggled a pace or two away from the captured general who, looking back over his shoulder at an awkward angle, went to work on his own bonds.

With his task complete, the duke tapped his toe hard again, and the heel blade slid back into his boot.

“Nice contraption,” Julius said.

“It definitely has its uses.”

Tearful cries and the sobs of women and children alerted Julius. He craned his head around, trying to find the source of the sound. Corbus came around the edge of the dais, smiling triumphantly as he led a roped line of women and children. Julius felt the duke stiffen next to him as he, too, saw the prisoners. Not prisoners, hostages, Julius thought as he saw the senatora in the group as well. At least she’s awake now .

Swaggering, Corbus brought them before the king. The line bunched together, women and children drawing close for comfort. Bowing low, Corbus cleared his throat to get the man’s attention. Scowling, the king returned to the dais and settled on the throne to listen to the assassin.

Unable to understand Corbus’s Norse, Julius focused his attention on the duke. He saw the duke’s eyes narrow, then his brows came down in a frown. “Sir? What is going to happen?” Julius whispered.

“They want us to give an oath of loyalty. If we don’t, those hostages will die. I cannot swear; it violates my blood oath to the rightful king, sacred above all others.”

Julius looked back to the dais, where the king appeared to be considering Corbus’s idea. “What about your wife?” Julius asked quietly, turning to the duke. Tears were rolling down the duke’s face as he stared at the floor.

There must be another way out of this! “Can you stall him?” Julius asked urgently. “Delay him as much as possible? The legions will be here, I know it. We just have to give them more time.”

Laufas turned to look at the centurion. “That is our only hope. A drowning man grasps at any branch, no matter how thin.” He wiped his face on his shoulder, his face hardening with a look of steely determination. “We shall stall, Centurion Caesar, we shall stall.”