Read Online The Centurion's Empire by Sean McMullen - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Sean McMullen
Tags: Fiction, General, Science-Fiction, Science Fiction - General, Fiction - Science Fiction, Science Fiction & Fantasy, High Tech, Science Fiction - High Tech
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the bottom of the rope his hands and wrists were so badly wrenched that he could barely hold on, yet he landed safely on the torn wickerwork of the great hand. Barely pausing for breath, he staggered off through the snow. His way was lit by the glow from the burning venendarium reflected against low clouds.
Sextus, the slave that Lars knew as Lacerna, arrived at the edge not long after the thief was out of sight. Behind him was the glow of the fire and the shouts of those fighting it. Only one set of footprints was visible in the snow, so one of the thieves had been left behind. Alive or dead? The question troubled him. The thieves had seen his face by lamplight, even though he had given them a false name. He came to the disabled crane, its mechanism still locked but its rope chopped free and dangling over the precipice. He touched the severed ends of the ropes that Lars had cut, quivering with fright. Two slaves had been scourged to death for merely allowing the rope to fray more than the overseer would accept, and Sextus himself had been given thirty lashes for allowing the pulley wheels to develop a squeak. The crane was the Temporians' only link with the world below, and they took a dim view of anything that endangered it. If one of the thieves had escaped down the rope, then he could too. With his hands trembling, Sextus crawled out along the crane and began to climb down the slick rope. The clouds above still glowed red from the fire; blackness yawned below. He was dressed for the heated interior of Nusquam, he wore only sandals and a tunic, and had no gloves. Voices grew louder above him, they were coming for him. His weakening hands began to slip as he tried to move faster. No food, no map, nobody to guide him through the yawning blackness down there. He had come to the Temporians as a child fifteen years earlier. Even that had involved traveling for ten days wearing a blindfold. Burning torches appeared at the edge of the cliff.
"There! On the rope!"
"I see him."
A bowstring twanged and something swished past the slave's head.
"Don't! We want him alive."
"You on the rope! One move and you're dead."
Sextus lowered his gaze from the torches to the blackness below. Why cling desperately to a rope with aching fingers in order to face death by torture, he asked himself. The rope trembled as a guard began to climb out along the crane. Sextus let go and fell without screaming. The distant thud that obliterated his life echoed up the cliff to his pursuers.
"Shit," sighed the archer, and he spat into the darkness below.
"Climb down the rope, follow me," said the tesserarius of the watch.
Namatinus and his horsemen arrived at the altar only a few minutes later. The reflection of the fire from the clouds was so bright that they could ride without torches now.
"Too late, too damnably late!" shouted Namatinus, looking up at the fire. He turned to his men. "None of you will ever mention this again under pain of death. Understood?"
The riders chorused agreement. Namatinus and Vitellan dismounted and walked to the altar where the wicker hand had crashed. The tesserarius and his guards had already descended from the clifftop by the rope and were examining the body of Sextus.
"Centurion Namatinus of the Furtivus Legion, Primus Fort," Namatinus said as he reached the altar and the guards confronted him.
"What is your business here?" asked the tesserarius war-ily.
"I discovered a conspiracy to breach the security of Nusquam, two thieves were to smuggle themselves up the cliff amid the supplies. I came as fast as I could, but—"
"But you are too late, Centurion—or maybe you are just in time with your men and horses. Did you see anyone on the trail as you approached?"
"No."
"You're sure of that?" "Positive.
"You mentioned a conspiracy, Centurion. What can you tell me about the thieves?" Namatinus beckoned Vitellan forward. 'Tell him your story, Legionary Bavalius."
"I was with Gallus, escorting some mules to meet
Sextus, the slave that Lars knew as Lacerna, arrived at the edge not long after the thief was out of sight. Behind him was the glow of the fire and the shouts of those fighting it. Only one set of footprints was visible in the snow, so one of the thieves had been left behind. Alive or dead? The question troubled him. The thieves had seen his face by lamplight, even though he had given them a false name. He came to the disabled crane, its mechanism still locked but its rope chopped free and dangling over the precipice. He touched the severed ends of the ropes that Lars had cut, quivering with fright. Two slaves had been scourged to death for merely allowing the rope to fray more than the overseer would accept, and Sextus himself had been given thirty lashes for allowing the pulley wheels to develop a squeak. The crane was the Temporians' only link with the world below, and they took a dim view of anything that endangered it. If one of the thieves had escaped down the rope, then he could too. With his hands trembling, Sextus crawled out along the crane and began to climb down the slick rope. The clouds above still glowed red from the fire; blackness yawned below. He was dressed for the heated interior of Nusquam, he wore only sandals and a tunic, and had no gloves. Voices grew louder above him, they were coming for him. His weakening hands began to slip as he tried to move faster. No food, no map, nobody to guide him through the yawning blackness down there. He had come to the Temporians as a child fifteen years earlier. Even that had involved traveling for ten days wearing a blindfold. Burning torches appeared at the edge of the cliff.
"There! On the rope!"
"I see him."
A bowstring twanged and something swished past the slave's head.
"Don't! We want him alive."
"You on the rope! One move and you're dead."
Sextus lowered his gaze from the torches to the blackness below. Why cling desperately to a rope with aching fingers in order to face death by torture, he asked himself. The rope trembled as a guard began to climb out along the crane. Sextus let go and fell without screaming. The distant thud that obliterated his life echoed up the cliff to his pursuers.
"Shit," sighed the archer, and he spat into the darkness below.
"Climb down the rope, follow me," said the tesserarius of the watch.
Namatinus and his horsemen arrived at the altar only a few minutes later. The reflection of the fire from the clouds was so bright that they could ride without torches now.
"Too late, too damnably late!" shouted Namatinus, looking up at the fire. He turned to his men. "None of you will ever mention this again under pain of death. Understood?"
The riders chorused agreement. Namatinus and Vitellan dismounted and walked to the altar where the wicker hand had crashed. The tesserarius and his guards had already descended from the clifftop by the rope and were examining the body of Sextus.
"Centurion Namatinus of the Furtivus Legion, Primus Fort," Namatinus said as he reached the altar and the guards confronted him.
"What is your business here?" asked the tesserarius war-ily.
"I discovered a conspiracy to breach the security of Nusquam, two thieves were to smuggle themselves up the cliff amid the supplies. I came as fast as I could, but—"
"But you are too late, Centurion—or maybe you are just in time with your men and horses. Did you see anyone on the trail as you approached?"
"No."
"You're sure of that?" "Positive.
"You mentioned a conspiracy, Centurion. What can you tell me about the thieves?" Namatinus beckoned Vitellan forward. 'Tell him your story, Legionary Bavalius."
"I was with Gallus, escorting some mules to meet
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