Her stubborn look faded, replaced by an insouciant smile. “Well, of course! I had no intention of leading the charge.” A very delicate snort. “The whole idea’s ridiculous. Unladylike.”
Chapter 43
The monster waited. Patiently, with the sureness of eternal life. Not its own—that was meaningless—but that of its masters.
Everything was finished, now, except revenge. The deck of the ship was a carrion-eater’s paradise. Firing from the height of their own huge craft, with those powerful bows, the cataphracts had swept all life away. The kshatriyas at the rocket troughs, and their Ye-tai guards, were nothing but ripped meat.
No loss. The rocket volleys, in the short time they lasted, had been futile. The enormous vessel upon which the monster’s great enemy came had simply shrugged off the missiles. There had not been many to shrug off, in any event. Most of the rockets had been taken into the hold. They would soon be put to better use.
The monster waited, satisfied. Next to it, squatting by the throne, an assassin held the gong which would give the signal to the priests waiting below. The creature, like the priests and the special guards, was a devotee of the monster’s cult. The assassin, when the monster gave the order, would do his duty without fail.
The monster waited. Cold, cold. But, perhaps, somewhere in those depths, glowed an ember of hot glee.
The monster had been fighting its great enemy—its tormentor—for four years. Today, finally, it was going to kill it.
The monster idled away the time in memory. It remembered the trickery at Gwalior, and the cunning which crushed Nika. It remembered an army broken at Anatha, and another destroyed at the Nehar Malka. It remembered the catastrophe at Charax.
Come to me, Belisarius. Come to me.
Chapter 44
Silently, Ousanas crept through the hold, watching for the guards. Listening for the guards, more precisely. The hold was as dark as a rain forest on a moonless night.
Ousanas had waited for the sun to go down before he entered the hatch leading into the hold from the ship’s bow. The horizon was still aglow with sunset colors, but none of that faint illumination reached into the ship’s interior.
There had been guards waiting by the entrance, of course. Two, hidden among the grain-carrying amphorae lashed against the hull. Excellent assassins, both of them. Ousanas had been impressed. Before the feet of the Ye-tai corpse even touched the deck of the hold the assassins had been there, knives flashing. The blades had penetrated the gaps in the corpse’s Roman armor with sure precision.
Excellent assassins. They had realized the truth with their first stabs, from feel alone. They were already withdrawing the wet blades by the time Ousanas dropped the rope holding the corpse upright and leapt through the hatch. But that was too late. Much too late. Ousanas crushed the first assassin’s skull with a straight thrust of his spearbutt’s iron ferrule. The blade did for the other.
He left the spear with them, still plunged into an assassin’s chest. It would be knifework from here on. The hold was cramped, full of amphorae and sacks of provisions. No room there for Ousanas’ huge spear.
He waited for a few minutes, crouched in the darkness, listening. There should have been a third guard somewhere nearby, to support the two at the entrance if need be.
Nothing. Ousanas was a bit surprised, but only a bit. The finest military mind in the world had predicted as much.
Ousanas smiled. It was a cold smile but, in the darkness, there was no one to see that murderous expression. Link’s assassins were the ultimate elite in Malwa’s military forces. And therefore—just as Belisarius had estimated—suffered from the inevitable syndrome of all Praetorian Guards. Deadly, yes. But, also—arrogant; too sure of themselves; scornful of their opponents. Well-trained, yes—but training is not the same thing as combat experience. Those assassins had not fought a real opponent in years. As Praetorian Guards have done throughout history, they had slipped from being killers to murderers.
Ousanas started moving again. Slowly, very slowly. He was in no hurry. Belisarius would wait until Ousanas gave the signal. The Roman general and his companions were perched on the stern, far from the cabin amidships. If the explosive charges went off, they should be able to escape unharmed. Even wearing armor, they could stay afloat long enough for the Axumite warships surrounding Link’s vessel to rescue them.