David McAfee - 61 A.D.

Theron and Baella left the city by way of the easternmost gate. A pair of armed legionaries let them go without even questioning them, probably under orders from Suetonius. Just outside the gate, two off-duty soldiers played nervously at a game of dice. They stared at the numbers as if they didn’t really see them, then picked them up and tossed them again. Theron recognized the vacant looks on their faces. They had been left behind to die, and they knew it. The scene reminded Theron of the night he killed Ephraim. That night, he’d been forced to kill two legionaries on patrol who’d stopped to play dice. He’d ripped the head from the first one, then turned and stabbed the second.

The memory brought a smile to his face. It was a good night.

They walked past the two soldiers and down the path leading away from the city. Theron didn’t know where they were going, he just followed Baella’s lead. Baella, for her part, said nothing, but she seemed in a hurry to put the city far behind them. Theron couldn’t really argue. Knowing that Ramah was somewhere behind them spurred his legs on, too. He would be only too happy to put as much distance between himself and the Blood Letter as possible. His only real regret in leaving Londinium was that he’d had to leave Taras alive.

“I hope Ramah kills you slowly, Roman,” Theron muttered.

“What?” Baella asked.

“Nothing.” Theron shook his head. His opportunity for revenge had slipped away, but at least he would live another night, which is more than he could say for Taras. “I was just saying goodbye.”

Baella’s lips curved into a smirk. She probably knew what he meant, but she said nothing. Just as well, he didn’t want to talk about it. The memory of his failure in Jerusalem still stung, and the farther he got from those involved, the better. Until he killed Baella, of course. Then he would only have to dodge Ramah long enough to find his way to the Halls of the Bachiyr. Once there he could find Headcouncil Herris and present the renegade’s head to him as a gift.

The two traveled further away from the walls, walking as fast as they could without arousing suspicion. Even this late at night there were travelers on the road, and while under normal circumstances they would provide a welcome diversion, with Ramah on their trail all Theron wanted to do was keep going. They didn’t have time to stop and feed. Besides, he had plenty of blood to do what he needed to do.

One traveler approached them on the road, and Theron thought something was odd about him. As he tried to put his finger on the problem, Baella grabbed his arm.

“Have you noticed anything strange about the people on this road?”

Theron had noticed, but he couldn’t quite figure out what it was. So he kept silent.

“They are all men,” Baella continued. “And every one of them is armed, even though they are dressed like peasants.”

She was right. Now that he thought about it, Theron hadn’t seen a single woman since they left the city, though there had been dozens of people. And every one of them had carried a sword. He studied the next person walking up the road toward them, and caught the unmistakable glint of steel peeking out from under the man’s filthy tunic.

Soldiers.

That didn’t bode well. The only reason there would be such a large number of soldier on the road was if…

“Londinium is about to be attacked,” he whispered.

Baella nodded.

“Looks like we got out just in time,” he said.

“Or maybe not.”

He was about to ask what she meant when the soldier on the path drew his sword.

“Don’t move,” the man ordered.

Theron almost laughed, but then the sound of many booted feet behind him drew his attention. He turned to see a group of soldiers, at least two score of them, moving to surround him. Every one of them was dressed as a peasant, and each one had his sword out and pointed at Theron’s chest.

Stupid! He hadn’t been paying attention to his surroundings. He should have heard the men doubling back on the path and coming up behind them, but he’d been too focused on how to kill his new companion. Now he and Baella were surrounded by forty armed men who were rapidly closing in on them. He turned to Baella to ask what they should do, but the renegade vampire was gone.

Ramah stood in an alley near the city gate, staring at the land beyond the city wall and trying to judge how long it had been since his quarry had left Londinium. Twenty minutes? Thirty? More? A minute can seem like an hour to a man watching and waiting for time to pass, but he felt certain that enough time had gone by to allow Theron and Baella to get far out into the countryside. They should be well beyond the wall by now, and more importantly, out of view of the city’s remaining guards.

Time to get to work.

He strode up to the gate, gaining only a glance from the two guards, and left.

Once outside the city, he walked to a nearby tree and leaned his back against it. Ramah repeated the web psalm, reaching out with the strands of his mental trap, looking for Theron. It required a great deal more effort this time due to the increase in range-for all Ramah knew, Theron could be riding fast on horseback-but he had plenty of blood for the task, he was more worried about the amount of time he had left to work his psalm. With enough time and enough blood, Ramah could cast it over the whole country, if the need arose.

Thankfully, it didn’t. Ramah located Theron easily enough. The former Enforcer stood about two miles to the east, a short distance indeed for a Bachiyr of Ramah’s power, but he was not alone. Ramah had expected to sense Theron’s traveling companion, but instead he found scores of people near the renegade.

They stood around him in a ring of bodies. The net could not differentiate between human and Bachiyr, but Ramah figured the newcomers had to be human. Such a large gathering of vampires in a single place would be so rare as to be unheard of, even for Baella, who reportedly never traveled with more than one or two companions.

Why would Theron be surrounded by so many humans?

Ramah stood by the tree, trying to puzzle out this new development.

He was still standing there when the first flaming missile hit the gate.

Taras stumbled from the building just as the first boulder struck. The noise of the impact could be felt as much as heard, and the entire structure shook with the force of the blow. The outer wall vanished into a cloud of dust and shrapnel. Bits of debris rained down on his head, pelting him with shards of wood, pebbles, and dirt. When the world around him went still again, he turned to look at the pile of rubble behind him that had once been a building. I escaped just in time, he thought.

Londinium was under attack.

Fires were everywhere. As he watched, ball after ball of flaming tar flew over the city wall to land with a sickening splat in the middle of Londinium’s mostly wooden structures. The smell of burning pitch hung in the air, mixed with the smells of burning wood and flesh. The few remaining inhabitants of Londinium ran screaming through the streets. Some of them screamed in fear, but many others screamed in pain. He watched as one man swatted futilely at the flames on his arm, desperate to quench the fire. Taras could have told him it was no use; the man’s arm was covered in burning pitch. He could swat it all he wanted and it would only grow hotter. The man ran back into the heart of the city, swatting at his arm and screaming in pain. Taras watched him go, shaking his head. The man was already dead, he just didn’t realize it yet.

Mixed in with the sound of crumbling stone and people dying were the cries of those who wept for the dead. To his right, a woman in brown homespun wailed over the body of a young man who lay in a pool of blood. Half the man’s face was gone, sheared off by whatever calamity had killed him, but enough remained that Taras could see the similar features of mother and son. If she continued to sit in the street, oblivious to the chaos around her, the mother would be dead soon enough, as well. They would not be the last people to die tonight.