Steel Praetorian

By Daniel Ottalini

Emperor Hadrian Appius is dead, and the man responsible is his own brother. Unable to prevent the assassination in IRON TRIBUNE, Senatora Octavia Pelia and her allies flee Rome, leaving the smoldering capital behind them, determined to fight on against their rebellious countrymen. In the east, rightful heir-to-the-throne Constantine Appius faces disaster at every turn, his forces stretched thin against invading Mongols and rebel Romans alike. With the help of new friends and old, a desperate plan is formed. But will it be enough to save the Empire and the throne in STEEL PRAETORIAN?

Steel Praetorian is the 4th novel in the Steam Empire Chronicles, created by award-winning author Daniel Ottalini.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Daniel Ottalini
• Release date: Dec 1, 2016
• ISBN: 9781540718914

Daniel Ottalini

Daniel Ottalini is a teacher, writer, and amateur historian. His interests include reading everything from nonfiction to sci-fi and amazing others with his knowledge of random facts. When not working, he is most likely writing some more or catching much needed rest. He lives in Maryland.

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Daniel Ottalini

Steel Praetorian

Steel Pratorian

Copyright © 2016 by Daniel Ottalini All rights reserved.

First Smashwords Edition: 2016

Cover and Formatting: Streetlight Graphics

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.

For my friends and family,

and for those I love.

Thanks for inspiring me

to be a better person.

Prologue: Alexandros

South of Beroea-Aleppo, Province of Syria

July, 1854

D id they get away? Alexandros asked.

We don’t know, sir. No chance to tell, in the darkness. But I’d wager they were successful. They survived weeks in Mongolian occupied territory. Ulricson shook his head. The sweat beading on the man’s brow shimmered in the weak lamplight.

The meager illumination threw dark shadows across the tilted deck of the Seta. It made Alexandros’s soul cry to see such a magnificent ship damaged beyond repair. Oh, what good we could have done with her, he muttered, lost in thought.

Admiral? Captain? Secondus Valens appeared from the gloom. He saluted his commanding officers. Our lookouts report possible movement to the west.

Fire up the searchlights.

Yes, sir. Valens disappeared again.

Alexandros turned to Ulricson. Get every man we’ve got up here. The Mongols will come tonight, just as we expected. This ship is more valuable than buried treasure to a pirate.

Ulricson nodded. We’ve already got everyone armed and armored. Our arsenal is empty. Tribune Quintus has spread his marines about, each one leading a handful of our sailors. He has also kept a file of them in reserve.

Alexandros nodded. That was the best they could do. The Mongols outnumbered them at least two, and more likely three or even four, to one. That, and we’ve got to hold the entire starboard length of the airship, while they just have to find an open space to get aboard. Once they’re on, we’re finished.

His men shifted along the perimeter, hunched behind the chest-high metal parapet, awaiting the inevitable attack. It wouldn’t be long now.

Valens managed to activate one of the searchlights on the command observation deck that towered above the main deck. The bright beam swung back and forth, instantly illuminating a fur-jacketed horde of Mongols streaming toward the downed airship. Realizing they had been discovered, they shouted in alarm.

Ready, men! Alexandros called out. His men cocked their already loaded repeaters. Pour it on, boys! The sailors and marines stood and fired their weapons down into the darkness. Any Mongol unlucky enough to be caught in the glow of the searchlight was almost instantly cut down. For a while, the whisper of deadly repeater bolts and the snick-snick-snick of their reloading were all that Alexandros could hear. The Mongols cried out as they were struck down in the darkness.

But there were so many.

Ware! Boarders! came the cry from the bow. Mongol grappling hooks clanked against metal walls, throwing off sparks as they landed. Men strived to pick them up and toss them overboard, the smarter ones hacking at the tough rope to deprive the enemy of the hooks. A second searchlight blazed on, illuminating yet more Mongols climbing up the sides of the airship.

A messenger ran up, blood splattered across his once-pristine uniform. "Sir! Tertius Martinus begs to report that we’re close to losing the bow."

All reserves to the bow.

The ten marines left by Marine Tribune Quintus raced off with the messenger. Immediately, the sounds of battle increased all along the wall. The defenders’ fire had slackened off, as too many of the sailors and marines were fighting spatha to sword with their attackers. Breakthroughs were happening all along the deck, including right at Alexandros’s feet. Two Mongols clambered over the wall, right where the last defender had just toppled to the ground, two arrows through his chest. Alexandros drew his spatha and charged. The Mongols called out a challenge in response and raced at the older man.

For Rome! Alexandros bowled one over, knocking him clean over the railing with his scutum. His partner swung his scimitar low, nearly slicing the Roman’s leg open. Alexandros swung his own sword to parry just in time. He slammed his elbow into the man’s nose, using his momentum to bring his scutum up and into the man’s stomach. With an oomph, the man crumpled to the deck. Alexandros eliminated him with an efficient stab.

The clatter of metal on metal made him turn. More Mongols were clambering over the wall. We can’t hold this. Fall back to the citadel! he shouted. Romans! Fall back!

All around him, airmen and marines moved back, pulling away from their untenable positions. The safety of the airship’s central spire was a steel mountain in the darkness, and the patchwork of light and dark made the retreat even more harrowing. Arrows cut down Mongol and Roman alike as they battled. At one point, Alexandros even saw two groups of Mongols clash with each other, leaving dead horsemen behind before they realized their mistake.

Sir! Captain Ulricson stumbled into view, a handful of marines and airmen behind him. Thank goodness we found you, Admiral. The stern is lost. Tribune Quintus is dead. I saw him thrown over the side. We can’t hold them much longer. His eyes were glazed over, dull and glassy. He’s never been in true combat before, Alexandros realized.

Once we’re inside the spire, we’ll be able to stall a bit longer. Commander Paulos promised aid was on the way. All we have to do is make ourselves too tough a meal for these raiders. You understand? We get as many men as possible back to the citadel, Alexandros said.

Ulricson nodded, gulping. The shadows played across his face as he pulled himself back from the brink. More yells came from the darkness.

Time to go, Captain. Back to the citadel. We’ll be right behind you.

"Yes, sir! To me, Romans! Rally to me!" Ulricson commanded, running for the safety of the command tower.

Rome! Rome! Scattered battle cries came back. He heard faint shouts farther out of "Seta! For the ship!"

For the love of the emperor, rally to me, Romans! Alexandros shouted. Airmen and marines were streaming past him now, as his small rearguard fired repeater bolts into the darkness, targeting the vaguely-Mongol shapes that crossed their view. Then another wave of Mongol raiders slammed into their wall.

Rome! Rome! Now only the men around him gave the cry.

Morindooooooo! came the return howl. A wave of Mongols rushed them.

The small rearguard was forced back, step by step up the tilting deck toward the spire. His airmen fought valiantly, but they were unequal to the combat skill and training of the Mongol raiders. Alexandros parried yet another sweeping scimitar, grunting his satisfaction as the man crumpled and fell back into the semidarkness. A throwing spear lanced from that direction and struck his shield. Alexandros broke off the shaft with a firm slice of his own weapon.

Barely a dozen men were still with him, all bleeding from many wounds. Sir! Sir! We’re almost to the citadel! one of them cried.

Run for it, lads! Alexandros turned to run. Something slammed into his back, knocking him to the ground. Pain flooded his senses.

Admiral! His men cried out and turned back for him. A wave of arrows sliced out of the murk and cut them down.

Come on now, Rufius, this isn’t over yet. Alexandros crawled forward, toward the safety of the citadel. One foot, two, a handful more now.

The sound of footsteps behind him came closer, until they were right atop of him. A boot slammed into his head, and he knew no more.

Chapter one: Felix

Rome, Italia

July, 1854

Boots pounding on the cobblestones, Felix raced toward the monumental bulk of the Imperial Palace, dodging the mid-afternoon street traffic. After maneuvering around one particularly large group of coliseum fans clad in their trademark green tunics and blouses, the ex-legionnaire came to a halt. Is there some special event happening today?

He heard a nearby merchant complain as well: Stupid mobs. Always gathering in the streets for no reason. There’s not another race until Sunday.

Felix froze. Mobs. Streets. An assassination attempt on the senatora. If something’s going to happen, it’s going to be today.

Fortunately, the palace was mere steps away now. Felix handed over his documents to the bored-looking legionnaire, who had just finished ushering another praetorian guard through the checkpoint. "You’re the second person to ask about Legate Praetorius Alper in as many minutes," the man told him, handing back his papers.

What do you mean?

The legate seems popular today. Centurion Parthius just asked if he was busy as well, said a second praetorian, walking out of the small gatehouse to take Felix’s spatha.

And? Felix asked breathlessly, craning his head around the man to try to get a look at the departing Parthius.

And the legate is busy. Meeting with the top brass in his office. A page can take you there. The guard waved him through, before turning to yell at a group of actors behind him, No, no, you can’t bring your baggage through this gate; you’ll have to go around back!

Felix moved on, walking quickly over the crushed gravel pathways. No runnin;, I can’t look like I’m in a panic. As he entered the building, he caught a glimpse of Parthius as he ducked around a corner to the left. I feel as though I’ve seen him before; he moves the same way as… Never mind, Felix thought. I must be losing my mind.

A page stepped up. How can I help you?

The Legate Praetorius’s office, and quickly. He tossed the boy a half-denarius for his trouble.

The boy saluted him, fist to chest. Right this way, sir.

I’m no sir, Felix thought, then paused to reexamine that. He was wearing a new indigo silk tunic atop a pair of new black wool trousers, complete with golden patterns down each side, and new knee-high black leather boots with a matching belt and scabbard for his spatha. All paid for by the senatora, who had claimed that if he didn’t look the part, no one would take him seriously as a bodyguard.

Which Felix was perfectly fine with. The less I look like a bodyguard, the less people pay attention to me until it’s too late. But the senatora had insisted, which is how Felix Scipio, ex-legionnaire of the IX Britannia, had ended up being saluted and called sir by a palace page.

Lead on, he said.

Several twists and turns, a flight of stairs, and several more passageways later, the page stopped outside a door. The boy opened the door a crack and slipped through, reappearing a moment later. I think you’ll have to wait here, sir. The legate praetorius is in a meeting right now.

I have a message directly from Senatora Pelia. Please inform him immediately. I will wait.

A minute passed, then five. Finally the page opened the door and Legate Praetorius Alper followed him out.

Greetings, legionnaire…

Felix, sir. He saluted. I’ve come from Senatora Pelia, who sends me with grave tidings. She has just barely survived an assassination attempt on her life. Several other senators on the Industrial Oversight panel were less fortunate. They’re dead.

Alper raised one eyebrow. His visage, normally stern, grew grimmer. Thank you for informing me of this. Have you let anyone else know?

That’s not all, my lord. The assassin was a praetorian.

Alper clasped his hands behind his back at this news before looking at the page. Go to the throne room and request the emperor’s presence, immediately. The page scampered away. Come inside. You’re lucky we were already planning a drill to see how long it would take us to respond to such an assassination attempt.

Felix entered the room. It was some type of armory. Stands held ranks of pila and spathas, quivers full of repeater bolts, and sturdy scuta emblazoned with the royal Imperial Seal. About a dozen veteran praetorians occupied the room, already armed and heavily armored. They looked expectantly at Felix and Alper. The legate introduced him to the other men. Felix here is a member of Senatora Pelia’s bodyguards. He’s brought us news that someone is making a move on the Senate. They’ll be making a move here, as well. We’ll execute Plan Testudo. Felix, arm yourself.

The guardsmen lined up at the door, ready to leave, as Felix quickly rearmed himself.

Legionnaire, the plan is simple. Get to the emperor, and escort him to the emergency bolt-hole. It will take him right to the Praetorian Castrum, our fort, where he can be protected until we sort out everyone’s loyalty.

Felix nodded. But I’ll have to get back to the senatora, Legate.

The legate nodded, seemingly unconcerned. We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. In the meantime, you’re with us.

They stepped into the hallway. The sounds of combat reached their ears.

Seems we’re too late, grunted one of the praetorians, voice full of dread.

Until I see the emperor’s body, he lives. Am I clear? Alper ordered. No one spoke. Then to the throne room.

They jogged through the hallways, passing several bodies of dead servants and guards. Several legionnaires seemed to have died fighting each other, while others lay crumpled over civilian bodies. Those are members of the theater troop I saw outside when I was coming in! Felix noted. Someone’s plan is much deeper than the senatora realized.

There was a sudden scream from a side hallway. This way! Alper ordered, turning their small band down the hallway.

Praetorian guards clashed with green tunic – and lorica-clad legionnaires, fighting and dying amongst the fluted marble columns.

For the emperor! Alper shouted. Emperor Appius! The shout echoed among the columns as the praetorians fell on the attacking legionnaires.

Felix hefted his shield and slammed into one of the legionnaires, cracking the man in the skull. The man collapsed to the floor, sword clattering out of his grasp.

The praetorian he had been fighting dispatched him with a neat stab to his neck. Thanks! The man — boy, really — smiled, before frowning. Blood dribbled from his mouth and he fell forward, landing atop his enemy, a spear protruding out of his back.

Felix felt his blood boil as he charged with his allies to lay into the enemy legionnaires. Felix pushed ahead, hamstringing one opponent here, pinning another against the wall there. In one instance, he tipped a marble statue over several rebels sheltering behind a shield wall.

A female voice cut through the din. Legate Praetorius! Over here, quickly!

Felix turned. A beautiful, dark-haired woman in an elegant dress stood framed in a doorway. He turned again to see the legate bounding toward her. Felix, cover us! he ordered.

Felix brought his shield up and retreated toward the doorway. He was close enough to overhear their conversation.

My lady, you must hide. There are assassins here in the palace! Alper insisted. Come with us; we’ll get you to safety.

"I cannot, Legate. You see, my father is the assassin. He has had Emperor Hadrian murdered in his own throne room. I saw the body myself. I know that he means to kill the primus caesar. You must get word to my cousin before my father can eliminate him." Her voice was clear and calm, her fright kept under tight control. Felix glanced back to see her hands gripping her dress tightly, knuckles white. Maybe not as controlled as she wishes.

But why help us then, Lady Aurelia? Your father will be emperor and you, the empress one day, Alper replied in a guarded tone.

Doesn’t trust anyone now, does he?

"My reasons are my own. But I know that man works for Senatora Octavia. She can get word to the primus caesar, and keep him and his men safe. Constantine will be a better emperor than my father could ever dream of being. My cousin must be warned, Legate. Forget your attempt to retake the building. The streets are chaos. You must get to the senatora and rally the loyalists."

Alper mumbled something. Aurelia mumbled something back, then gave a low laugh. Felix strained to hear what was being said, while keeping his eyes open for enemy soldiers.

One of Alper’s veterans arrived. Felix nearly disemboweled him as he ran around the corner. They’ve got reinforcements from somewhere, sir. We can’t keep pushing ahead and they’re wearing us down.

May the gods watch over you, Lady Aurelia. For the record, you would make a strong empress, Alper said solemnly.

Let it never come to that, Legate. I pray it will not.

Alper turned back to his men. We need to get out of here. To the east gate — that will put us closest to the senatora’s house; correct, Legionnaire? Felix nodded.

Alper and Felix moved out, the legate shouting orders to his men to fall back. The Praetorians obeyed, using their hand repeaters to slow the pursuing rebels.

Sir, we’ve got a heavy repeater at the next hallway intersection. We can hold off the enemy until you get out, another veteran, this one injured, reported.

We won’t leave any men behind, The legate said.

The man tried again. Sir, you don’t understand. You are important. We can hold the hallway, but if you can’t disengage, you can’t escape. We’ll stall them long enough, then get out ourselves, sir. Don’t worry.

I always worry about you, Linus. Ever since you fell asleep on guard duty as a new recruit. Very well. If you insist on leading the rearguard, I will not stop you, Praetorian. Keep them off our backs, Alper said, his voice heavy.

The praetorian saluted with his uninjured left arm. With pleasure, my legate. It has been an honor to serve you.

Alper turned to the rest of his men and motioned them on, leaving the forlorn rearguard behind. The deeper snick-snick-snick of the heavy repeater firing its large bolts matched the cadence of their footsteps on the marble floors. As they wove their way back through the hallways toward the east gate, the sound of fighting behind them gradually faded.

We’re almost there, sir! one of the men called. They burst through the heavy palace doors and onto the gravel path Felix had walked down what felt like hours ago. Before them, Rome smoldered and burned; the sounds of battle engulfed them like a tidal wave.

Lead on, Legionnaire Scipio.

Felix led them forward past the gatehouse, where at least a dozen bodies sprawled, including the guards who had ushered Felix in earlier. Civilians ran this way and that, some injured, all plainly terrified at the explosion of violence in the capital. Down a side street now, Felix stopped as several members of the Urban Cohort blocked their path.

Give way, Alper ordered, in the name of the emperor.

Which emperor? sneered one of the men. The dead one or the real one?

The real one. Emperor Constantine Tiberius Appius, Alper retorted.

"Wrong answer, Praetorian. Get ’em, lads. Show them what real soldiers fight like."

The men charged at the praetorians, who had quickly formed up into a ragged line. They absorbed the first smashing blows of the charge, slamming their shields back in unison. "Push, push!" Alper commanded.

Felix forced his scuta forward, knocking over his opponent before stabbing him twice as he marched over him. Hacking and slashing, the attackers soon realized the futility of their attack and broke, the handful of survivors fleeing before the organized defenders. A few moved to pursue, but Alper quickly called them back. Civilians were already running into the street to loot the bodies.

Urbanites attacking praetorians. By Jupiter’s bolt, what on earth is happening here? Felix mumbled.

Alper turned to stare at him. A rebellion. Well funded, well entrenched, and well supported. This will not be a short civil war. And we will not survive unless you wake up and get us to the senatora’s house. Now, Legionnaire.

Felix led them down the street, then scrambled through a deserted shop that opened onto the street behind the senatora’s villa. A sudden clanking sound brought them to a halt just inside the shop’s doors. The massive thud of heavy footsteps shook the building. Dust sprinkled down around them.

What is that? A praetorian asked.

Felix peeked out from behind the shop curtains. There is an autogladiator in the streets, he whispered.

Ours or theirs?

Considering that Emperor Constantine’s brother, Lucius, was killed by an autogladiator a few years ago, I would place my money on the rebels. Unless anyone wants to try walking up to one and asking? Alper stated coldly. Also, do we use autogladiators for combat?

Not that I know of, replied Felix.

Why not?

The deserted shop was silent, save the sound of men shifting their feet and the echoing clang of the autogladiator as it marched away from them down the street.

Shhh! Everyone down! Felix whispered as he spied a mixed file of urban cohorts, praetorian guards, and cudgel-armed civilians moving down the street.

The soldiers scattered, hiding behind banks of merchandise and counters. Felix himself ducked down into the corner, pulling a barrel in front of him. He held his breath as the men passed. He could hear them talking, bragging about wiping out groups of loyalists. They continued marching down the street, laughing and chatting. A few were obviously kicking in the doors of some of the residences, and the loud crashes and screams of the homeowners told him that they were sacking.

If we had more men, we could ambush them, a small voice told him.

Why not wish for a full, loyal legion while you’re at it? he retorted.

A few minutes later, harsh words were yelled down the street. The crashes and bangs of the looting stopped and the noise of the occupying soldiers lessened. Someone with authority realized they shouldn’t be ransacking their own capital.

Releasing his pent-up breath, Felix peeked from behind the barrel. The street was mostly empty; the rebels must have moved to the extreme ends of the via. Now’s our chance, he told Alper.

The legate motioned to his men and they knelt close to him. He looked expectantly at Felix. The ex-legionnaire sighed and began. Get to that alleyway across the street. There’s a set of boxes that lead to the roof. Climb the roof and we can reach the senatora’s residence from the upper deck. We’ll avoid the soldiers in the streets. Go quickly and quietly.

Alper gave him a considering stare, then nodded his approval. The other veterans quickly formed up.

Ready… Go! Go! Go! He patted each man on the back in intervals, letting them run across the street into the safety of the dark alley. Felix could see the men climbing up the conveniently placed boxes.

Soon it was only him and the legate left. Don’t worry, boy, I’ll be right behind you, the older man said, giving him a half-smile. Felix nodded, checked his gear, looked both ways, then ran across the street.

What felt like a mile but was only twenty long steps later, he sheltered in the damp alleyway, leaning against the wall. His heart pounded in his chest, and his breath came in ragged gasps. He watched as Alper looked both ways, then jogged across to join him. The damn man’s acting like it’s a stroll in the forum! Felix was annoyed, but a small part of him couldn’t help but be impressed.

With the arrival of the legate, Felix moved to join their squad squatting on the roof of the villa. He and Alper clambered up the boxes and were pulled up by the other praetorians.

This way. Felix led them over the narrow walkway, neatly following the steps of Marciena, the senatora’s page. Thank goodness that girl told me about her shortcut home; now it’s our way back in. The soldiers were clumsier than the young girl, but decades of training kept their movements sharp enough. Finally he vaulted one last wall and dropped onto the upper deck of the senatora’s villa.

I assume we’ve arrived, Alper said, slightly out of breath as he dropped down beside him. Felix nodded. Until we know what’s happening downstairs, we act as though there are rebel forces in the vicinity. The men murmured