Vulcan's Fury: The Dark Lands (25 page)

Crack!

Half a dozen crimson streaks appeared in Karan’s back, but he barely flinched.

Crack!

Blood sprayed from the wounds, along with a few bits of flesh.
 

“No, no, no,” Valeria whispered, shaking her head as tears poured from her eyes.

Tiberius leaned over. “Be silent or I’ll add ten more lashes to his punishment.”

Nodding in a jerky motion, Valeria clamped her hand over her mouth, physically holding her lips shut to keep from crying out for it to stop, while biting her tongue so hard it bled.

In slow succession, Haakon landed the short whip on Karan’s back eight more times while the assembled legion looked on. Karan never made a sound, although by the tenth lash his legs were trembling and his fingers were digging into the post so hard that he had torn half his fingernails loose, with blood seeping from the quick.

Finished, Haakon turned back to Tiberius. His face and the front of his armor were specked with droplets of blood. “Ten lashes, sir.”

With a nod, Tiberius said, “Enough. The punishment is concluded. Release him.”

Karan, of course, did not need to be released from the post, for he had never been bound to it. But he still clung to it just the same, his entire body now quivering.
 

To Pelonius, Tiberius said in a quieter voice, “Release the legion from duty for the day. And have the physicians do what they can for Karan.” Then he turned and stormed off the platform, followed by Octavia, who dragged Valeria by the arm.

“Do you need help, Ghost?” Haakon said in a soft voice as he stepped closer to the boy he had just whipped.
 

“I…I am fine, but you have my thanks.” Karan reluctantly let go of the post and stepped away, then almost collapsed to the ground. Haakon reached for him, but Karan pushed his hands away.
 

“Come on, Karan,” Septimus said as he came forward. “I’ll take you to the physicians.”

Karan looked at him with veiled, alien eyes. “I have no need of your medicine,” he rasped. Unable to bend over, his back muscles having been decimated, he slowly collapsed to his knees beside his clothes. Gathering them and his weapons in trembling, bleeding hands, he clutched them to his chest. Then, his face contorting with the effort, he struggled to his feet. In a staggering, shambling walk, ignoring the stares and murmurs from the soldiers who the day before had considered him a comrade, he slowly made his way through the castrum toward the sea.

***

Gritting his teeth from the pain, Karan managed to make his way to the gate that opened toward The Wall and the sea. Ignoring the ever-growing structure of stone, he headed for the beach to the left, where he had spent many a day swimming and spearing fish with bow and arrow to help feed the legion.
 

He reached the wet sand just as his tattered back muscles finally gave way. Collapsing to his knees, his clothes and even his precious sword spilled to the sand. He looked at his bleeding fingers and their torn and ripped nails. One by one, he put those that he knew would only fall off later between his teeth and yanked them out, stifling a scream each time.
 

Looking across the deadly waters at the dark mountains forever spewing smoke and sometimes fire into the sky, tears welled in his eyes. Swords were not permitted to cry, of course. Such undignified behavior was not tolerated by the Masters in the playthings they bred for combat. But he felt so alone, more alone than he had ever been in his life. The pain of it easily eclipsed the physical agony he had endured from the lash, and it was finally more than he could bear. Even when he had been a creature of the Masters, he had never been alone. His fellow Swords were his company, as were the other slaves who served their overlords. Even the Masters themselves, cruel though they might be, were beings that he understood, in whose shadow he had always been content to stand. They could never be considered companions, let alone friends, but in that world across the sea, he had never known loneliness.
 

Coming here, either by chance or destiny, had landed him in this world, which after a time he had come to hope would be a different place, one not ruled by darkness and misery. He knew that it was a world apart when he had first laid eyes on Valeria. He had seen other females after landing here, of course, but none such as she. Valeria had shone like the sun in the night, bewitching him before they had exchanged a word.
 

Then she had betrayed him. He did not understand why, or really even how. But she must have known that for him to touch her was forbidden, and yet she had still drawn him into her arms. A part of him wanted to hate her, but he couldn’t. Hate was a burden too heavy for his heart. Valeria had no doubt wronged him, but he knew from the tears she shed as he was punished that she felt for him, that the pain he endured for her sake caused pain to her, as well. The warriors he had come to know so well had also favored him with sorrowful looks. Even Caesar appeared sad, as if he were doing something he must do, not something he wished to do.
 

Karan sighed. None of it mattered. He was again alone, just as alone as he had been in the middle of the storm-tossed sea as he had unknowingly crawled his way to these shores.
 

At last, he again forced himself to his feet. Removing the rest of his garments and sandals with clumsy, pain-wracked hands, he stepped forward, naked, into the surf. Once he was waist deep in the water, he took a deep breath, girding himself for the pain that awaited him.

Then he dove into the sea, screaming as the healing salt water flowed over his wounds.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The weeks that followed were a living nightmare for Valeria. She was confined to the Emperor’s quarters, allowed to leave under heavy escort only to take Hercules out for exercise and to allow him to hunt, for it was never a good idea to keep a hexatiger cooped up for very long, and potentially disastrous to let him go hungry. Four praetorians, none of them from her bodyguard, and all of whom met any questions from her with stony silence, stood at the entrance to her quarters day and night. While her mother spent a considerable amount of time with her, much of the time Valeria found herself alone, save for Hercules. They had at least one meal a day together as a family, but little conversation was to be had, for her father was tight-lipped about any preparations to face the Masters, and her mother’s contribution was largely news and gossip from Rome that held little interest for Valeria. The food she mindlessly put in her mouth, and the delicacies that anyone else in the Empire would consider exquisite tasted like ash on her tongue.

Pelonius no longer served as her tutor, and had been replaced by her father with an old Greek who was steeped in the learning drawn from bygone ages but had not the least curiosity about the world that surrounded them now. While she wished the old man no ill will personally, as a teacher she despised him. The greater misfortune was that she had to spend at least four hours each day enduring his droning pontifications.

She had a very short list of allowed visitors, most of whom only rarely stopped by, and only then for occasional perfunctory hellos. Pelonius, of course. Marcus, Septimus, and the other members of her guard (all of whom had now been given positions in
Legio Hercules
) had come by. Even Haakon the Barbarian had made occasional appearances, which had lifted her spirits more than any other by virtue of his outrageous personality. A shallow, vain man he might be, but he had certainly kept her entertained during his visits.

The one who had never come to visit, and whom she missed more than any other, had been Paulus. Despite asking her other visitors to entreat him to come see her, he had stayed away, and it tore at her heart. She wanted to apologize, to beg forgiveness, on her knees if she must, but she could not clear her conscience and make it up to him if he refused to even hear her pleas.

A twin to that pain was the thought of Karan. Every time she closed her eyes to sleep, she saw the whip savage his back, and she remembered the look he gave her just before Haakon began whipping him. The memory still brought tears to her eyes. The only ones who had, with sidelong glances and in hushed voices, answered her questions about him had been Haakon and Septimus.
 

“No one sees him,” Haakon had told her once, confirming what Septimus had grudgingly told her. “I leave some food each night at a spot at the edge of the jungle for him, but he’s gone back to being a Ghost. I’ve even stayed there a few times watching it, waiting to talk to him, but I must’ve dozed off for just a moment. I blinked and the food was gone.”

“It’s probably just monkeys stealing it,” Valeria had said.

Haakon had grinned. “Monkeys wouldn’t bring back the cup and bowl all washed and cleaned.”

“He shouldn’t have to be all alone,” she had whispered, then began sobbing.

Haakon, fearless in the arena and on the battlefield, fled in terror at the sight of royal tears.

Yes, she remembered Karan’s punishment. Or, more accurately, her punishment being inflicted upon him. But she also remembered the feel of his lips upon hers. She had tried to bury the memory beneath an overwhelming mountain of guilt, but like a tenacious flower, it continued to push its way to the surface where it bloomed in her mind. She didn’t understand why he had become such an obsession, especially when contrasted against Paulus.
It is because he is forbidden
, she told herself.
And because he is forbidden, he is more desirable
. He was also a mystery, and she loved mysteries. But did that mean she loved him?
 

Of course not
, a sensible voice told her.
You love Paulus
. Paulus was the logical choice, and would be considered a golden catch by any young patrician woman. He was of a proud, upstanding family (patrician, of course), handsome, well-mannered and good hearted, brave, intelligent and thoughtful. She could never ask for a better match in a husband. Never.
 

And yet…Paulus had never ignited a spark in her. He had always been her closest friend and confidant, her partner, and often savior in misadventure, and her protector once he had become old enough to don the uniform. But his eyes had never looked at her in the same way as Karan had that terrible, wonderful night, when she felt as if they had both been struck by a bolt of lightning.

Valeria felt as if her head was going to explode. She was sick to death of thinking about the whole thing, and half-wished for Jupiter to simply banish all men from the world and put an end to the agony of love and relationships once and for all.

“Ugh.” She tossed aside the scroll she had been reading, one of the innumerable Greek works forced upon her by her tutor, and thumped her head back against Hercules’s warm, furry flank.
 

Hercules, reacting instinctively, reached out with a paw and batted the scroll so hard it went skittering across the room, coming to a stop just in front of the doorway.

“You’d better not let Kyros see what Hercules thinks of the speeches of Demosthenes.”

“
Paulus!
” In what she knew was a completely unacceptable breach of etiquette for the respectable Roman woman she was supposed to be, Valeria shot to her feet and sprinted across the room, throwing herself into his arms so hard she nearly knocked him off his feet. “I’m so sorry, Paulus,” she said as tears welled in her eyes. “I beg you, please forgive me. It wasn’t what you think, what you saw in the forest that night, but you never gave me a chance to explain. Please…”

He gently disengaged her arms and pushed her away slightly. “It doesn’t matter now,” he told her. In the weeks since she had last seen him, he seemed to have grown much older. He smiled, but his eyes still held a trace of sadness. “It’s good to see you.”

“I missed you,” she said simply. That, no matter how her deeper feelings were muddled, was certainly true. “Paulus, we need to talk and—”

He put a finger to her lips and shook his head. “There’s no time for that now. Perhaps later. Your father sent me to fetch you, and we’d best be going.”

“Why, what’s happened? What’s wrong?”

He lightly took her by the elbow and guided her from the room, and Hercules bounded to his feet and followed after them.

“I’ll let your father and the others explain,” was all he would say.

***

For one of the few times in her life since she had learned to talk, Valeria stood speechless. Her father, who sat on his field throne at the head of the central room of the praetorium, regarded her with narrowed eyes over steepled fingers. Her mother sat to his right, her posture reflecting more than passing discomfort at the topic of the discussion. The senior officers of the legion stood to one side, facing her. Pelonius had the courage to hold Valeria’s gaze when she looked at him, but the other uniformed men had suddenly found their sandals to be objects of intense fascination.

“I don’t believe this,” she said, trying to control her anger. “You accuse Karan of something he didn’t do, strip the flesh from his back in punishment and turn him out…”

“No one turned him out,” her father interrupted with a wince. “He simply chose to go off on his own.”

“And why wouldn’t he, after being treated so?” She glared at him. “You did those things to him, and now you want me to go crawling back, begging for his help on your behalf?”

Her father sighed. “Yes,” he said simply. “And it’s not on my behalf. It’s on behalf of the Empire. If the plan Pelonius has in mind is to have even a modest chance of success, and it’s vital that it succeed, we’ll need Karan’s help.”

Shifting her burning gaze to Pelonius, Valeria said, “And what is this daring plan, may I ask?”

“My apologies,” Pelonius said, “but you may not.”

That was all she could take. Pointing a finger at him, his eyes widening at her rudeness, she said, “Out! All of you, out!”

As one, they looked to Tiberius, who nodded and made a gesture of dismissal with his hand. Without a word, they filed out of the room.