The Voyage of the Iron Dragon Read online

  The Voyage of

  the Iron Dragon

  A Novel by Robert Kroese

  Book Three of

  The Saga of the Iron Dragon

  Copyright ©2019 Robert Kroese. All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording or other—except for brief quotations in reviews, without the prior permission of the author.

  Contents

  Contents

  The Story So Far

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-one

  Chapter Forty-two

  Chapter Forty-three

  Chapter Forty-four

  Chapter Forty-five

  Chapter Forty-six

  Chapter Forty-seven

  Chapter Forty-eight

  Chapter Forty-nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-one

  Chapter Fifty-two

  Chapter Fifty-three

  Chapter Fifty-four

  Chapter Fifty-five

  Chapter Fifty-six

  Chapter Fifty-seven

  More Books by Robert Kroese

  The Story So Far

  In the 23rd century, humanity has been hunted to the verge of extinction by an alien race called the Cho-ta’an. The crew of Andrea Luhman, an exploratory ship in the service of the Interstellar Defense League, has been given a weapon that could alter the balance of the conflict: a “planet killer” bomb left behind by an extinct race. Pursued by a Cho-ta’an warship, Andrea Luhman flees through a hyperspace gate to the Sol system, but a fluke accident sends them back in time to 883 AD.

  Its primary thrusters badly damaged, Andrea Luhman limps into orbit around Earth, and a small crew, led by an engineer named Carolyn Reyes, is sent to the surface to fabricate a replacement part. The lander is shot down by a Cho-ta’an ship that followed Andrea Luhman through the gate. The Cho-ta’an ship falls into the North Sea, and the lander crashes in Norway.

  The crew of the lander soon find themselves with a new enemy: Harald Fairhair, the King of Norway, who is determined to acquire the spacemen’s technological knowhow. Befriended by a group of Norsemen led by a man named Sigurd, the spacemen fight back. In the ensuing battle, the lander is destroyed, and Sigurd’s son is killed. Sigurd vows vengeance against Harald. The spacemen, having lost contact with Andrea Luhman, flee with Sigurd and their Viking allies to Normandy.

  The survivors settle in the Seine Valley, where they plan a last-ditch defense against the avaricious king. In the spring, Harald’s ships cross the sea and attack. The attackers, with the help of a Cho-ta’an who survived the crash, break through the defenders’ walls.

  Realizing they are defeated, the spacemen and their surviving allies board a ship and flee to Iceland. In the wake of their defeat, it becomes clear to the spacemen that they need a goal that is greater than mere survival. They re-commit themselves to their mission of repairing Andrea Luhman and delivering the planet killer to the IDL. To do this, they must somehow build a craft capable of reaching space: a ship that will come to be known as the Iron Dragon.

  The spacemen and their Norse allies establish a settlement called Höfn in a remote part of Iceland. While most of the settlers work at building shelters to survive the winter, another group travels across Europe to recruit scientists and engineers. Finding themselves in Frankia at the cusp of an invasion, they are recruited to help with the defense of Paris against Hrolfr and his Viking hordes.

  When the siege of Paris ends, the spacemen and their surviving allies race to Iceland to save their nascent settlement, but along the way they make a troubling discovery: the Cho-ta’an have a second ship in orbit, which they have been using to spy on the humans and thwart their plans. As the spacemen execute an elaborate ruse to return to Iceland without being seen, the Cho-ta’an ship attacks Andrea Luhman in an attempt to get the planet-killer. The crews of both ships are killed, and Andrea Luhman is destroyed.

  Meanwhile, the spacemen arrive at Höfn only to be betrayed by some of their own men. The situation seems to be hopeless when an unlikely new ally saves the day: Harald Fairhair. Harald offers the settlement his protection in exchange for a yearly tribute of silver, and the spacemen agree.

  As it becomes clear that Andrea Luhman is lost, however, the spacemen are faced with the grim possibility that their quest to save humanity may be hopeless. But a final message from their captain offers a slim hope: if they can get to the Cho-ta’an ship, which remains in orbit, they may still be able to retrieve another planet-killer before humanity is defeated. The indomitable spacemen decide to press on, committing themselves to building the Iron Dragon.

  Chapter One

  Rome, Italy: September 18, 904 A.D. (21 years after the lander crash)

  “Is there any truth to the charges?”

  Theo, staring out the second-floor window of his study, chuckled at his wife’s question. “That Pope Christopher takes counsel from a demon locked up in his cellar? Be serious, woman.” He took a swallow from the goblet of red wine he’d been holding against his chest. As one of the most important men in Rome, Theo had no trouble getting his hands on barrels of the best Italian wines, but he preferred the Frankish variety, such as this deep red from Bordeaux he’d recently received as a gift from Hrolfr, the Viking chieftain who now ruled from Rouen. Hrolfr was a canny man, and he certainly knew the way to Theo’s heart.

  Theo’s wife, improbably named Theodora, stepped up next to him, putting her hand on his arm. “You drink too much when you’re anxious, love,” she said.

  “I always drink like this,” Theo said, pausing for another gulp.

  “You’re always anxious.”

  Theo sighed, acknowledging the truth of her statement. Anxiety came with his position. He’d been born Theophylact, Count of Tusculum. Tusculum itself was a small town comprised of estates clustered on a hill to the southeast of Rome. Historically of little importance, Tusculum had long been a quiet community where those of means could escape the hubbub and political machinations of Rome. Cicero himself had once kept a villa there.

  But recent events—helped along by Theodora’s talent for whispering the right words into the appropriate ears—had conspired to create a power vacuum in Rome. Rome’s government was in disarray, its officials pulled in a thousand different directions by competing factions, each of which attempting to make the most of Rome’s fragile state at
the nexus of power between the Franks, the Lombards and the Saracens.

  The real power in Rome, however, lay in the papacy, and as a result, that office had been in a state of near-constant upheaval for the past twelve years. Since December in the Year of Our Lord 882, there had been thirteen Popes, not including a few pretenders to the title. The average length of papal tenure since the assassination of Sergius VIII was ten months. The current occupant of the throne, Christopher, was by all accounts pious, competent and well-liked, but he was too impartial to be of much use to any of the factions in Rome. Today was his ninety-second day as Pope. He would not make it to his ninety-third.

  That Christopher would be replaced was not in doubt; the only question was by whom. Theodora had selected her preferred candidate, a priest and nobleman named Sergio, while Christopher’s predecessor still held the throne. Sergio’s family was from Tusculum, and Theodora believed him to be sufficiently malleable and disposed to Theo’s interests. All that remained was to gin up a pretense for disposing of Christopher. That had turned out to be surprisingly easy: Christopher was such a singularly righteous man that it was a simple matter to convince the Roman aristocracy that he was hiding some horrible secret sin.

  Theodora had employed her usual tactic of whispering vague insinuations into the ears of well-connected people in the circles of the Roman aristocracy. She had found it was better to allow rumors to grow organically rather than make specific claims; she was, in fact, surprised at both the content and the intensity of the whispering campaign that was now on the verge of ending another papacy. She had guessed that it would be charges of pederasty that destroyed Christopher, but she was quite pleased to shake her head disapprovingly when whispers of the Pope consorting with demons reached her ears. She didn’t know where the rumors of demon worship had originated; she suspected one of Theo’s rivals, who had his own designs on the papacy. In the end, though, it didn’t matter how the rumors had started. A secret committee of citizens ostensibly concerned about the influence of malevolent supernatural entities on Pope Christopher had been formed, and Theodora had arranged for Sergio of Tusculum to be put at the committee’s head.

  Theo and Theodora had received word not an hour earlier that Sergio was on his way to Christopher’s house with a phalanx of the city guard. The men would break into Christopher’s house, Sergio would find an old book or totem of one of the pagan deities inherited from an ancestor that he would display to the mob as evidence of demon worship, and Christopher would be dragged off to prison, where he’d suffer an unfortunate accident involving a damp rag stuffed down his throat. Sergio, now a champion in the fight against the dark forces attempting to corrupt the Church, would ascend to the throne of Peter.

  “I was speaking of the more mundane charges,” Theodora said. “Studying forbidden books, the veneration of heretics, that sort of thing.”

  Theo shrugged. “I doubt it. What does it matter? You think the charges won’t stick?”

  “Anything will stick,” Theodora replied. “We could accuse him of having an illegitimate child who is half-goat, and the mob would eat it up. It’s just that…” She trailed off in the way that she did when she wanted Theo to press her for more information.

  “What is it, love?” Theo asked. “Don’t tell me you’re growing a conscience in your old age.”

  Theodora punched him in the arm, causing wine to splash down his tunic. “That’s for calling me old,” she snapped.

  “Easy now,” Theo said. “It was a joke, love. What’s bothering you?”

  Satisfied she’d made her point, Theodora shook her head. “Something about this just doesn’t feel right,” she said.

  “It’s too easy, you mean.”

  “Yes.”

  “You think we’re being played? That someone got to Sergio?”

  She shook her head. “No, Sergio is loyal, as far as that goes. But something else is off. I’m not one to underestimate the credulity of the Roman aristocracy, as you well know, but usually it takes longer for the rumors to catch fire. This time it was like dropping a match into a cauldron of oil.”

  Theo shrugged again. “No one expected Christopher to last, except perhaps the naïve fool himself. The campaign to bring him down started before he even came to Rome.” He swallowed what was left of the wine and went to get more. When he had refilled the goblet, Theodora was still staring out the window, a troubled look on her face. “Go lie down, love,” he said. “It’s out of our control. No point in getting worked up about it. I’ll wake you if there’s any news.”

  “Shh,” Theodora said. “Someone is coming.”

  Theo moved to the window and followed his wife’s gaze to the cobblestone street below. A lone man, wearing a faded yellow tunic and cotton trousers, was running down the street at a near-sprint.

  “It’s Caius,” Theodora said. “Come!”

  She ran to the stairs. Theo took two quick gulps of the wine, set it down on the sill and ran after her. By the time he got to the first floor, the door was open and Caius was inside. He was trembling and out of breath.

  “All right, then, out with it!” Theodora snapped.

  “Give him a moment, love,” Theo said. “He must have run all the way from Christopher’s house.” Caius was an agent of Theodora’s who had been instrumental in getting Sergio appointed to the head of the committee tasked with ousting the Pope. A candlemaker by trade, he had a surprising knack for politics. Theo had no idea Theodora had found him; he was a tall and ruggedly handsome man, and as a rule Theo didn’t ask questions about the tall and ruggedly handsome men Theodora knew.

  “Something… at the house,” Caius gasped at last.

  “Something?” Theodora said. “Something good or something bad?”

  Caius raised his palms helplessly, still gasping for breath.

  “Has Christopher been arrested?” Theo asked.

  Caius nodded.

  “And Sergio is all right?”

  Caius nodded again.

  “Then all is well,” Theo said.

  Caius shook his head. “Something at the house,” he said again.

  “Were you struck on the head, Caius?” Theodora demanded. “You’re talking like an idiot.”

  “Best if you see,” Caius said.

  “We shouldn’t be seen in public,” Theo said. “People are going to figure out soon enough that Sergio is ours, but the longer we can delay that moment, the better.”

  “Street cleared,” Caius said. “Best if you see.”

  “Damn it all,” Theodora said. “Let’s go.” She was out the door before Theo could protest. He ran after her.

  *****

  The house belonging to the now-ex-Pope was nearly a mile away, across the maze of narrow streets that crisscrossed Rome proper. Theodora, always buzzing with energy even when she was standing still, traversed the distance in less than half an hour. Theo and Caius, now both panting, came up behind her. A contingent of twenty or more of the city guard loitered in front of Christopher’s house, which was at the end of a wide, tree-lined street. No one not wearing a city guard uniform could be seen.

  “What is this?” Theodora demanded. The men had orders to arrest Christopher and escort him to prison—preferably with an angry mob as witnesses. She hadn’t approved a score of city guard standing around in the street for an hour afterward.

  “Madame, you need to stay back,” said one of the men, holding up his hand. In his other was a pike. Theodora continued to approach as he leveled it toward her.

  “Do you know who I am?” she snapped.

  Clearly he did not, but the sheer force of her tone caused him to take a step back. She came to a halt with the tip of the pike half an inch from her sternum. The pike trembled in the young man’s hands. He couldn’t be more than sixteen years old.

  Before Caius could intervene, a burly, mustachioed man wearing captain’s insignia rushed out of the house. “Marcus,” he shouted, “let her pass!”

  The young man let his pike drop and
he stepped aside, casting his eyes to the ground. Theodora stomped past him. Theo and Caius followed.

  “Where is everyone?” Theodora demanded, as she approached the captain. “How is word of Christopher’s depravity supposed to spread if there’s no one around to hear about it?”

  “There were several hundred people here half an hour ago,” the captain said. Theo had met the man before; his name was Galen. “I ordered reinforcements and had the street cleared.”

  “On whose authority?”

  “Mine, madame.”

  “You don’t—”

  “If you please, madame, I think you will understand when you see what is in the house.”

  Theodora glanced at Caius, who nodded. She caught Theo’s eye, and he shrugged. He was as much in the dark as she was. It was hard to imagine what might be in the house that was so dangerous that the street had to be cleared. Perhaps there was something to the rumors of pederasty after all. A vision of a harem of young boys chained up in back room flashed through her mind. But debauchery of that scale would only serve to bolster the case for Christopher’s removal and the righteousness of Sergio’s cause. It would be another blow to the moral authority of the Church, of course, but that was of little concern to Theo and Theodora.

  “Take us inside, then,” Theodora said.

  “Yes, madame,” Galen said. “Come with me.”

  Galen escorted them inside the house. It was large and opulently decorated, although certainly no more so than the typical Roman aristocrat’s home. Motivated either by a misguided effort to eschew politics or to avoid assassination, Christopher had refused to take up residence at the Vatican. Several more of the city guard stood around in the main reception room.

  “Well?” Theodora said. “Is the mouth of Hades in the next room?”

  “This way, if you please,” said Galen. The three followed him down a hall and then down a spiral staircase leading to a large cellar, which appeared to be empty except for a few stacked crates and several barrels of wine. The cellar was dimly lit by two lamps hanging from hooks in the ceiling, and after Theo’s eyes adjusted to the light, he noticed a wooden trapdoor, about three feet square, in the center of the room. A rug that had recently covered it had been rolled to one side.