Roxana and the surviving Night Blades had so far held off two assaults. The arched entrance had fallen nearly half an hour earlier, but they had managed to halt the Mulacs in the lower level. It had taken concentrated gunfire, and the use of their last few grenades to hold them back.
Jack, Tamara and three stratiotes dragged a heavy container into position. As they moved it, a dozen Mulacs rushed forward. At this distance, their heavy weapons and thick armour were proving extremely effective. Three made it to the container. The rest were cut apart by rifle volley fire. The first rolled over the top and dropped down behind the group. One stratiotes was decapitated in front of Jack, its blood spraying over his face. He lifted his carbine and fired almost a full clip of pulse ammunition into the second one, yet it staggered on and plunged the spiked bayonet into his chest. He stumbled back, crying out in pain.
“Get down!” cried Tamara, but Jack couldn’t hear over his own voice.
She swung her carbine over her head and smashed it down onto the creature’s arm. It barked in some strange alien language and knocked her back with its left hand. A blast of gunfire from Roxana struck it in the face, and the others withdrew to the nearest cover they could find. As Roxana was helping to drag Jack from the container, another wave of Mulacs charged forward. Roxana dropped the wounded Jack and raised her rifle.
“Stop them!” she screamed.
Xenophon crept out from the tunnel into what looked like a massive generator complex. Pipes, cables and machines seemed to be everywhere. The rest of the unit fanned out. They were all looking for the critical machine or item that would shut down the shield.
“What now?” asked Glaucon.
Dekarchos Calum moved out into the open along with most of the stratiotes. Without shields, they were vulnerable but also hard to spot in the gloom of the cold level. An icy chill blew in from the large arched windows running along the outer rim on one side.
“Wait,” said Xenophon as he spotted a series of massive power couplings. They were several metres thick and ran from a point in the wall to a large junction about thirty metres away. Many other similar couplings led to the same place. Above their heads, they could feel the throbbing of the generator. It continued to send out its deadly pulse that shielded the Citadel for kilometres in all directions.
“I see it!” called out the Dekarchos.
He rushed forward and into the centre of the room. Xenophon watched the direction he was moving in and spotted a structure the size of a ship. It was placed behind a dozen thick stone columns and flashed with red energy. In front of the device were dozens of figures busy working on the great machine. One must have spotted them because a line of yellow lights flashed. Dekarchos Calum and five more stratiotes were cut to ribbons.
“Come on!” Xenophon shouted.
He moved off to the right and hugged the wall. Glaucon and another half a dozen warriors followed close behind. The remaining stratiotes in the open were forced to take cover from the withering defensive fire. They were quick, and their accurate rifle and carbine fire proved effective against the small number of Mulacs. The group led by Xenophon made it around the outside and almost to the pillars when a large metal door hissed open. Stood in the centre was the massive hulk of a Mulac, but this one was different. At almost half a metre taller, he was evidently a commander, and perhaps even their leader. Like the other Mulacs, he was encased in armour but his more far more elaborate and much thicker across the neck and chest.
“Get down!” cried one of the stratiotes, but it was too late. The monster of a warrior leapt between them and swung a mace-type weapon. The first impact struck Glaucon in the shoulder, instantly dislocating the arm and throwing him to the ground. He swung again, and this time struck one of the younger stratiotes. Each impact rang out, and almost like a bar of metal striking a gong. The group of Terrans were poorly equipped to deal with such a beast, especially due to the preference for long-ranged weapons. More noise came from the tunnel as another dozen Mulacs, all carrying firearms and edged weapons, surged inside and overwhelmed the Terrans.
“Get to the pillars!” shouted Xenophon, instantly recognising the benefit the cover could provide. He rolled low and stabbed at the nearest Mulac. His Laconian weapon proved its worth and punched neat holes into the alien’s armour plating. Two more Mulacs spotted his success and jumped over to deal with him.
“I don’t think so!” he snapped and lifted both hands. The built-in carbines proved their worth and cut the Mulacs down in a hail of armour piercing projectiles.
Glaucon lifted himself from the ground and angrily barged himself into the wall. It was a savage and painful way to set his arm, but it worked. He grabbed a fallen Mulac’s mace and rushed into the middle of the melee. His skills, speed and strength quickly told as he felled the nearest two Mulacs. The remaining warriors in the rest of the level now met, and a sprawling melee spread throughout the structure. With roughly equal numbers, it came down to the speed and experience of the Terrans versus the strength, violence and brutality of the Mulacs.
Glaucon and Xenophon pushed as far ahead as they could but were stopped by the remaining Mulacs who blocked their route to the columns, and the prize that lay behind it. Xenophon used the last of his ammunition to cut down two more Mulacs, but there were enough the fill the gap.
“We have to get through!” he cried out.
One of the stratiotes fell near Glaucon’s feet, a Mulac landing on top and smashing away with a mace. Glaucon kicked the beast over and brought his own weapon down on its face. Blood sprayed up and hit him in the forehead and eyes. He twisted and spluttered.
“I know, get through. I’ll keep them busy.”
He lifted his mace high and roared with every ounce of strength he could muster. The surviving stratiotes fought their way to him to form a close knot of defenders. Gunfire continued, but in this level of close proximity, most of the firearms were discarded once their magazines had run dry. Glaucon extended his arms and rushed the nearest Mulacs. He took a round in the shoulder as he charged, but it was enough to force them to the ground and create a small opening in their line.
“Now!” he cried as he struck the hard stone floor. Xenophon didn’t hesitate and ran forward, throwing himself over and into the open space behind him. In a flash, he was past the pillars and in amongst the cables, machines and computers. It was the control centre of the mountain, and the source of the pulsing red weapon. He looked up at the flashing red lights of the great machine, and then down to the only weapons that remained, his two Laconian Asgeirr-Carbines.
What the hell can I do now? He looked around for any sign of a way to shut the equipment down. He could see a main computer display and system at the end of the room. It was on a raised pedestal with optical cables running from behind it and into the system.
That has it be it. Otherwise, we’ll just have to bring this entire place to the ground. He lifted his arms up to shoot, but nothing happened, only the click of the empty chambers.
“That’s just great!” he muttered angrily.
“You, now you die!” came a familiar voice from behind. He ducked to the right and spun around to find the leader of the Mulacs confronting him. In his left arm he held the still body of Glaucon. A pang of fear ran down his spine at the sight of the monster that had bested his friend. It was stronger, faster and more powerful than him in every way.
He looked down at his inert weapons, and for a second felt a very real sense of despair. If it beat Glaucon, what will I be able to do?
He lifted his head and stared at the face of his enemy. Behind him, the surviving warriors on both sides continued their death struggle. The stratiotes gave as good as they got, but it looked doubtful either side would win decisively. He looked back to the snarling Mulac and spotted the item strapped to the creature’s leg and smiled.
A plasma pistol! Now that is exactly what I need!
He pushed his left leg forward slightly and adopted a strong fighting stance. His left hand pulled close to his body in a punching gesture, but with the Laconian blade sticking out towards the Mulac. He lifted his right hand to the right of his face and extended the blade in the same direction as the first.
“You first, you bastard!” he shouted, and then ran forward.
The Mulac almost seemed to relish the challenged and looked down for a moment to see what it was Xenophon had been staring at. He must have worked it out, as he drew the pistol in his left had to fire. But it was too late, and Xenophon was already close enough to attack. His first slash caught the leader’s wrist and clanged off the armour. The pistol dropped away to the floor, leaving neither of them with a functioning firearm.
“Tissaphernes has plans for you!” he snarled, stomping forward, and at the same time swinging the mace. Xenophon lifted his hand to parry the blow, but the creature’s strength was too great, and he was pushed back.
Remember; use weakness against strength. He was reminded of Kratez’s teachings.
He relaxed his arm and sidestepped to the left. The Mulac stumbled past him, exposing his back and flank. Xenophon took the opportunity to jab hard into his ribs. The armour was thick, and it took all his strength to form the blade into his flesh. A loud roar of pain signalled he’d been successful. But the injury didn’t slow him down. On the contrary, it angered him and seemed to rejuvenate him into greater violence. With the blade stuck, Xenophon was in trouble. The Mulac spun around and grabbed him around the throat. His grip was like a vice, and in seconds, his vision started to blur.
Have to get my hand free.
He flicked the interior lock switches in the gauntlet and felt it loosen. With all his effort, he pushed hard and felt his hand slip out. His vision faded further until he could barely see the shape of the Mulac. His hearing was the last thing he could discern, and it was the Mulac’s voice that raged in his ear.
“Terrans are weak. We will burn your worlds next!”
He expected the end, but instead felt pain in his arm. His vision started to clear, and he stared up to find himself on the ground and looking at the figure of the Mulac on one knee. Stood next to him was Glaucon, blood dripping from a number of wounds. In his hand, he held one of the Mulac’s maces that ran thick with Mulac blood. Xenophon’s own blade was still stuck in the creature’s flank.
Glaucon swung it down hard, yet the wounded Mulac was still able to parry the attack with his left hand. Glaucon lifted the weapon again and pounded down, one after the other, each hit trying to beat through his defence. Xenophon however was starting to regain feeling in his body.
Get up, you fool!
He lifted up to one knee and almost fell back down. He looked to his right hand, but the blade had all but snapped off. He had no weapon, and Glaucon seemed unable to finish the beast off. Incredibly, the Mulac roared and started to lift up from the ground, its armour creaking as he moved.
Xenophon lurched forward and grabbed the Asgeirr-Carbine gauntlet that still hung from the Mulac. With a quick pull, the blade slid out. He didn’t hesitate and stabbed down into the Mulac’s neck. He managed three heavy stabs before the Mulac even realised what was happening. He turned to try and stop him, but it was too late. Glaucon rushed in, and with a final powerful blow, brought his mace down on the creature’s head. With a sickening crunch, the leader of the Mulacs fell in a lifeless heap.
The two stood like a pair of survivors of some terrible and bloody crime. Both were battered and bloody and barely able to stand. They turned back to help their comrades, but the surviving Mulacs were already running for one of the many archways to escape.
“The generator, how do we stop it?” asked Glaucon.
Xenophon looked about and spotted the plasma pistol lying on the floor. It looked similar to the much more powerful cannons used by the Terrans. He held it in front and flicked the power on. It hummed for a moment and flashed blue.
One of the surviving dekarchos ran up to them. He clutched a mauled arm but was still keen to complete their mission.
“What’s the plan?” he asked.
Xenophon looked at him and smiled. He turned and pointed the weapon at the cooling pipes and electronics of the great machine. With a flick of the pistol, he set the weapon to its maximum setting.
“I think something like this might work.”
Roxana and the small group of surviving stratiotes were in trouble. The lower level had fallen, and the Mulacs had broken through their last line of defence. Jack lay bleeding out on the ground while Tamara did her best to stop the blood loss. She picked up her carbine and aimed it down the corridor where their tormenters were regrouping for yet another attack.
“How many?” asked one of the few stratiotes still able to fight.
“At least thirty, I think there are fresh reinforcements coming in as well. We need to get up to Xenophon and his team. We’re sitting ducks down here.”
“No, we can’t leave the wounded!” replied Tamara angrily.
Roxana shook her head, knowing that the youngster simply wouldn’t understand the decision. She grabbed her arm and pulled her back.
“Leave him. We stay, and we die.”
She moved back and fired several shots to keep the Mulacs busy. The other stratiotes did the same, but Tamara refused to move. Instead, she drew her carbine and blasted away with her remaining few rounds.
Stupid child, what will she do when she runs out of ammo? Roxana watched with a mixture of anger and pity.
Unwilling to wait any longer, she grabbed Tamara and forcibly pulled her away from the fallen Jack. A quick glance showed he was near death, and there was nothing any of them could do. Two of the men grabbed his arms and lifted him, running as quickly as they could up the corridor. Seeing them move, the rest did the same, leaving the defensive position in tatters. Roxana and Tamara ran, just seconds before the Mulacs burst from below and rushed after them. Inaccurate shots fired from the hip clawed at the Terrans as they tried to escape. Most made it, but three were wounded and dropped behind. Tamara tried to turn back to help them, but Roxana pulled her on.
“Run!” she screamed.
They kept moving, doing their best to blot out the screams of the wounded as the Mulacs overrun their previous position, butchering those still left. A mighty roar shook the mountain as something powerful exploded or ruptured above them. It was followed by a powerful shockwave that quickly dissipated. Intrigued, but also fearful for the lives of her team, she continued up the tunnel and through the corridors, the sound of the Mulacs close on their tails.
Xenophon stepped out from behind the pillar to examine his handiwork. The coolant rods were destroyed, as were the control units for the generator. It had stopped working in seconds, and the blast wave seemed to pass in every direction. Incredibly, none of them had sustained anything more than light injuries. He was about to speak when the communicator in his helmet burst to life.
“It’s Clearchus, they are through the shield,” he said with a smile.
“Somebody is coming!” shouted one of the stratiotes. He was standing near the entrance they had all originally arrived from. It could mean only one of two things.
“Take cover, watch for friendlies!” shouted Xenophon.
The stratiotes moved around the entrance, using the fallen Mulacs and stonework to protect them. Xenophon grabbed a fallen carbine and checked the magazine. It was half full. Lights flashed in the dark hall, and voices and shouting marked the arrival of somebody.
“Wait for my order,” whispered Xenophon, eager to avoid friendly fire.
Roxana emerged from the tunnel along with just a handful of bloodied stratiotes. Tamara stumbled forward and fell to the floor. A metal spike from some kind of projectile weapon was stuck in her leg. A few more moved in, carrying the wounded body of Jack. A rocket whistled up the tunnel and struck the wall behind them. The blast of explosion, along with sharp and broken masonry, crashed around the stratiotes and Jack. Xenophon rushed forward and grabbed Roxana. He felt a mixture of pleasure and fear at her bruised and bloodied body. As he pulled her from the ground, he spotted Jack’s broken body. His torso and neck were cut open by the razor sharp masonry. Around him were the bodies of three more stratiotes.
“Poor Jack,” she muttered miserably. Tamara dropped to the floor, despair and fear in her eyes. Roxana held out her hand and Xenophon helped her up. She looked back at the tunnel and checked her carbine.
“There are more coming, behind us!” she called out.
They appeared, almost on cue and charged into the open space. The first Mulacs were cut down by gunfire, but a small number made it through and towards Xenophon and his comrades.
“Not again!” snarled Glaucon, who ran in, swing his captured Mulac mace.
Clearchus watched with anger the battle that was raging outside the Citadel. There were a large number of fires along the perimeter, and thousands of Mulacs were still fighting a close-range battle with a smaller than expected number of spatharii. From his position in his command dromon, it looked like Dukas Xenias had captured the outer wall and part of the lower levels of the Citadel. Kleandridas pointed to a wave of a dozen dromons he had diverted to make a combat landing.
“Strategos, I am picking up a signal from the mountain there.”
“The generator platform?” asked Clearchus.
“Yes, a stratiotes called Xenophon. He says they have destroyed the equipment, but they are under heavy attack.”
Clearchus pressed a button to retask the dromon’s camera assembly. The image changed to show the low peak from which multiple columns of smoke were belching. Halfway up its height were hundreds of the enemy, and even more were working their way up to join them. Clearchus nodded to himself.
“Get me Dukas Chirisophus,” he ordered.
In just a few seconds, the face of the senior Laconian commander appeared.
“Strategos.”
“I need you to redirect your forces. You have all of your seven hundred spatharios with you?”
“Affirmative.”
“Good. Take them to the peak that is swarming with Mulacs. We have troops on the higher levels. Land on the lower levels, and hit the Mulacs hard. I will send Dukas Sophaenetus with his thousand spatharii to assist you. Take no prisoners.”
“Yes, Strategos.”
He changed the camera to the original forward facing angle and watched with pleasure as the first wave of dromons disgorged their spatharii directly into battle. He could already see them surging through the damaged wall and into the lower levels of the Citadel.
“They are already breaking through,” said Kleandridas in a calm voice.
“Good, change course and bring up to the higher level of that peak. I think our friends need some help.”
“You don’t want to land at the Citadel?” asked a surprised Kleandridas.
“No, our forces will defeat them in a matter of minutes. Land us, quickly!”
The command dromon swept low over the battlefield and past the raging battle below. The odd stream of rounds arced towards it, but they were able to move into position alongside the mountain and near a small landing pad. It was far too small to make a landing, so they were forced to hover in place. A small group of Mulac fighters tried to stop them by firing at point blank range into the dromon. Clearchus released his magnetic harness and moved to the doors. Kleandridas and his heavily armoured bodyguard joined him.
“We don’t stop until the place is secured!” he growled.
The door blasted open and let in the howling wind from this far up. He glanced down to see that the pad sat nearly five metres below them. He didn’t hesitate and leapt out. He crashed to the pad and rolled to the side. Kleandridas landed beside him, and they set to work on the unfortunate Mulacs who tried to stop them. Both men blasted away with their Asgeirr-Carbines. More of the crimson armoured bodyguards joined them, and the pad was clear.
“Follow me!” cried Clearchus who rushed through the nearest doorway. His eyes adjusted to the darkness, revealing damaged equipment and a large melee at the far end. He could make out a small group of stratiotes busy fighting a desperate battle against a growing horde of Mulacs. He powered forward and picked off three Mulacs that had strayed from the group.
Xenophon didn’t even see Clearchus until the crimson shape burst past him. The Terran leader and his bodyguard crashed into the large group of Mulacs. Gunfire and edged weapons tore a bloody swathe through them. It was over almost as soon as it had begun. The Mulacs were quickly halted, and in a blind panic turned and fled back into the tunnel. The bodyguards continued after them, but Clearchus stopped and turned to look at the small and exhausted group of stratiotes. Xenophon approached him and placed his fist across his chest, the traditional Laconian salute. Clearchus smiled.
“You must be Xenophon.”
He nodded but said nothing, physically and mentally exhausted.
“This is one damned good piece of soldiering, son. I commend you.” He looked to the rest of the survivors. “All of you.”
Kleandridas approached and leaned in towards his commander.
“Strategos, there is word from the Armada.”
Clearchus grimaced, expecting the worse. “What is it?”
“Lord Ariaeus, the second-in-command of Cyrus’ Median troops, has arrived. His fleet is, well…it is truly massive, my Lord. Double the size of our own forces.”
The journey back to the Armada was a blur to Xenophon. He must have either passed out or been asleep, because the first thing he remembered was the buzzing sound of the ramp lowering and the door opening. He and the survivors of the Night Blades walked down the ramp of Clearchus’ dromon with a look of confusion and exhaustion. He remembered Roxana talking to him and something about their victory, but most of it was a blur. The exhausted stratiotes were looking forward to the warmth and comfort of their own ship. Instead, they entered the landing bay of the Laconian Titan to the sound of cheers and shouting. News of their exploits must have reached the crew well before their arrival, as hundreds were already waiting in one great mass of people.
“What the hell?” muttered a bruised and battered-looking Glaucon.
Strategos Clearchus had already stepped out onto the ground and waited, along with his topoteretes and the survivors of his personal guard. They stood to attention, and the formality caught Xenophon and his friends by surprise. Roxana reached the bottom of the ramp first and was surprised to see two Median nobles stood waiting.
The taller of the two bowed at her and her comrades. The second merely tilted his head, as though forced to do so out of necessity, rather than by choice.
“Welcome back to the Armada, my friends. I am Cyrus,” said the man as he turned to his comrade. “This is Tissaphernes, Satrap of this region and the Lord of the Cilician Gates.”
The second noble nodded again before speaking.
“I thank you, all of you, for your part in clearing my domain of these Mulacs.”
Clearchus stepped forward and alongside them.
“These are the survivors of the Night Blades, an Arcadian unit who have almost proved themselves worthy of fighting alongside Laconians,” he said in jest. Those near enough to hear him, chuckled with amusement at the sarcasm, but it appeared to be totally lost on the Medes.
A loud hiss from the second dromon to land announced the opening of its doors. From the steam and dust moved the figure of Dukas Xenias. He walked down the ramp, assisted by his personal guards. A medical team rushed up to assist him, but he brushed them aside and continued down to reach the line of senior officers. He started to kneel before Clearchus, but the old General reached out and grabbed the man’s arm.
“Really, Xenias, that will not be necessary,” he said with a genuine smile, something that was rare between rival nations such as theirs. Lord Cyrus approached and placed his hand on the man’s arm.
“Thank you, Dukas Xenias. Your forces have cleared the Cilician Gates and removed a great evil from these lands. Neither Satrap Tissaphernes, the commander of this region, nor I will forget your service.”
Xenias nodded politely and turned to the medics, speaking quietly to them. It was clear he was in great pain, and with the help of his guards he was able to continue onwards and away from the dromons. Clearchus looked back to Xenophon and the other Night Blades.
“Lord Cyrus has offered to pay all those involved with the action at the Cilician Gates double the offered salary. This is intended as compensation for your struggles and for your great efforts to preserve his domain. Tissaphernes had also offered to make an offering to the fleet of fifty ships, as well as a large contingent of his own automatons to our project.”
Xenophon smiled as best he could, but the news that such a contingent was being given to them rankled.
Why could they have not been used to stop the Mulacs to start with?
The two topoteretes moved around them to speak with the other members of the group. Clearchus, however, stayed where he was. He seemed particularly interested in Xenophon and Glaucon.
“Your efforts were impressive, very impressive. You destroyed the wall, eliminated the shield generator and held, when all hope seemed lost. It is clear to me that with these kinds of skills, we will be able to breach any defence and crush any fleet that opposes us. For your efforts, you are all to commended.”
A dekarchos stepped forward with a box, and he lifted the lid to reveal a series of stripes. He held up the first two to Clearchus, who took them and then handed them to Xenophon and Roxana.
“For your efforts, you have been promoted to Dekarchos. This is a position you have both earned and already acted under. You will be responsible for a full ten-man unit in the Night Blades.”
He then took more insignia from the box and moved to Glaucon.
“You and your new Dekarchos are inseparable. I cannot see how a pair of warriors could be any more effective. You are immediately promoted to his side as Pentarchos. This is an important and honoured position in the unit.”
Glaucon took the stripes and smiled at Xenophon and Roxana. Clearchus stepped back but noticed the look on Tamara’s face. She looked both disappointed and anguished at being left out.
“Child, you are not yet ready for the rigors of command. What is it that you wish?”
Tamara looked at him, dumbfounded at the request.
“I want my own unit,” she spluttered.
Clearchus laughed, amused at her comment.
“Not yet, perhaps after a few more battles!” he added with a laugh.
The Strategos walked away along with his entourage, leaving the members of the Night Blades to the still cheering crowd. Dukas Sophaenetus, a man they had never even met before, approached.
“Come with me, please. We have somewhere for you to rest before your victory meal with the Strategos later this evening.”
Xenophon nodded and glanced to the others. They all looked equally exhausted to him. The bulk of the Night Blades followed the Dukas, but Glaucon, Roxana and Tamara stayed back for a few more seconds. Roxana spoke quietly in his ear.
“So, what do you think about being a mercenary?” she asked him with a coy expression.
Glaucon interrupted him before he could speak.
“I think he likes it quite enough. Now, I don’t know about you lot, but I need a shower and then food, a lot of food.”
Tamara nodded feverishly in agreement. “And drink!”
Glaucon and Tamara moved off, leaving Xenophon and Roxana amongst the last few near the dromon. Xenophon looked to her and beckoned towards the others.
“Can I buy you a drink?” he asked.
Roxana said nothing, but she simply nodded and pulled him forward and towards the rest of the unit.
“That will do for starters!” she laughed.
The briefing room chosen by Strategos Clearchus had been cleared so that only he and Lord Cyrus were present. It was an intricately detailed room, often used to entertain high-ranking dignitaries. It operated as an antechamber to the great hall that was embedded deep within the heart of the Titan. Sculptures and trophies taken from scores of defeated enemies covered the walls. In one cabinet was a complete set of armour taken from the fallen Mulac commander. The hole created by the pulse rifle and wounds caused by Xenophon and Glaucon were still present. The room was designed to remind the Laconians of their past, just as much as to remind their friends and enemies as to their power. Clearchus smiled to himself as he looked at the Mulac.
We have the trophy even though the victor was actually a previous member of the Terran Alliance. Ironic that the trophy falls to us.
In the centre of the room was a lavishly decorated wooden and stone granite table. It was excessive for a starship, even more so for a Laconic ship. Floating above it was a detailed star map. It was more than ten metres wide and coloured with all the stars and nebulae in the known galaxy. The Cilician Gates were prominent to the left, and the remainder taken up by the vast realm of the Median Empire. The small amount of space taken up on the far left showed up markedly compared to the vastness of the Empire.
“You realise that Tissaphernes must have had a hand in what happened at the Gates?” he asked.
Cyrus looked at him, surprised that the Terran had thought that far ahead.
“Yes, I agree. He is no friend of mine, and I am suspicious that this was an attempt to weaken or discredit me.”
Clearchus said nothing for a moment, confused at the Medes suggestion.
“You think he did this as a trap, to corner and kill you?”
“Perhaps, at the very least to weaken me so that I would not be a threat to him. It can hardly be advantageous to his position or ego to have the brother of the Emperor running about doing his dirty work. If I had been defeated and humiliated by raiders, it would have left me isolated.”
Clearchus shook his head in confusion.
“And yet you let him leave in one piece?”
Cyrus laughed loudly and stepped forward, placing his hand on the Strategos’ shoulder.
“My friend, you have much to learn about politics. He feels safer, and we can go about our business. It will be worth bearing this in mind when we next have to deal with him though. Median politics has always been a little, well, how do you day it?” he asked, pausing as he tried to think of the words. “Yes, there is much cloak and dagger in my lands.”
He smiled at the Laconian commander and then turned back to the map.
“So, as you can see, our Empire contains hundreds of races and incorporates many domains and empires. There is nothing else like my lands in the known Galaxy. At the centre lies the old Median worlds, and these are the oldest, richest and most heavily defended planets you can imagine. It is also the home of the Royal Fleet, commanded by none other than, the Emperor.”
Strategos Clearchus smiled at the hubris, but chose to ignore it. He gazed at the map, and the vast disparity between the hundreds of smaller Terran worlds and the great collective Empire of the Medes. They were so different, yet the Terrans had much strength, something he had so far failed to see in the Medes.
“I appreciate the breadth of your brother’s domain, but I do not see why I need to know this to continue our operation to clear the borders of pirates and raiders.”
Cyrus looked at the star map and then back to Clearchus.
Is he ready for what I must tell him? he thought. Would he rise to the challenge, or demand his money and return to the Terran world, an exile of Laconia, but a rich one?
He pressed a button and altered the map to show the centre of the Empire. He brought up the Imperial capital, the ancient world and centre of the Galaxy to his people. Clearchus was busy examining a series of reports from the fleet concerning the new arrivals from Arcadia. Cyrus looked back to the Capital world and smiled to himself.
My brother, Emperor of the Medes. I am coming for you.