Alexios was on a new quest: rescue Princess Herakleia. Although he and the three other fugitives were exhausted from battling Roman legionaries, they rode all night, heading north out of Abydos and Troas and through the Opsikion Theme toward Konstantinopolis. They used no torches, instead relying on the moon and stars to see the road, which was like a speckled band of snakeskin beneath the sky, while the surrounding fields, forests, and hills appeared as black whirling blurs that rushed in the wind. Towns along the way were so dark and silent that the travelers were sometimes unaware that they were approaching one until they were already inside—at which point they dismounted and led their horses through the fields around the houses in order to muffle their clopping hooves. If a dog barked, they would jump onto their rides and gallop away. Dionysios sometimes wanted to stay and fight—out of boredom or over-eagerness, who could say? But Diaresso reminded him that the farmers living here were not the enemy.
“Besides,” Diaresso whispered, “if we kill anyone here, the Romans will pick up our trail.”
“Fine, good, okay,” Dionysios whispered back. Then he pointed at Alexios. “Just remember, if you’re going to learn how to use that sword I gave you, you’re going to have to fight, sooner or later. Your class is fighter, right? So you’re probably already a natural.”
I’ve never killed anyone, Alexios thought. I don’t even know if I’m capable of killing.
But because he was tired and uninterested in arguing, he answered Dionysios with a vague nod.
“It’s kill or be killed in this fucking place,” Dionysios added. “If you don’t build up your XP, your enemies will!”
“The old guy’s lost his mind,” Gontran whispered to Diaresso later on, when Dionysios was out of earshot—though Alexios could hear them. “I don’t even know why we agreed to this gig.”
“Because we ran through all of our money!” Diaresso whispered back.
“Hiding’s just as good as fighting,” Gontran said, half to himself. “There’s no need to fight everyone at the same time out in the open. That’s suicide.”
Dionysios turned back and looked at them, his eyes flashing in the dark. “I gotta say, I disagree. Sometimes I feel like I could destroy every soldier in Rome all at once on my own. But then I remember that we have to work together. That we can’t let the farr fade.”
Dionysios rode on without waiting for their answer. Gontran and Diaresso exchanged looks.
“No one shall say of him that he lacks confidence,” Diaresso said. “One day he shall perish for it. Now come, an ka taa! Let us go!”
They continued onward, passing small cities built along the Propontis coastline—Lampsakos, Pegae, Kyzikos. Starlight shone into the bright striped walls which stood out from hilltops in the gloom among the glimmering leaves of the olive trees and the needles of the black pines.
Suddenly Gontran, at the front of the line, stopped his horse. He waved for the others to do the same. Alexios was so tired his stamina was almost gone, and he was falling asleep; the stop woke him. Everyone listened to the darkness.
Hooves were clopping on the stone road up ahead.
The fugitives urged their horses to either side of the road. Unable to see anything, they crashed through the brush and into the trees. A branch pushed Alexios from his horse, Blanco. Crying out, Alexios fell to the ground, and because his foot was still caught in a stirrup, his mount dragged him for a few paces; he had to claw at the earth and roots and shake himself loose.
The life of an Apprentice Rider, he thought.
Struggling to his full height, Alexios jogged after his horse, reaching ahead into the blackness to keep from running into any obstacles. It was so dark that Blanco—a massive white charger—didn’t even appear as a gray blur. But Alexios grabbed the horse’s reins before he got lost in the woods.
Alexios stopped and listened over the blood throbbing through his ears. The wind soughed through the pine needles. Should he risk shouting for his friends? The others should have made a sound at least—there were five horses for four people—but Alexios heard nothing.
How long should I wait?
He listened, counted the passing seconds. Had he gotten too far from the road? Was he lost? Only the stars above the pines were visible. His heart beat harder and faster, but he took deep breaths and held still. Running around and screaming wasn’t going to help anyone. At the worst, he could wait for daybreak, find his way back to the road, and catch up with his friends.
Then the horse clopped through the darkness. It must have been that lone traveler Gontran had noticed earlier. The clopping was slow, steady, confident. He was in no rush, whoever he was, and comfortable riding on his own at night. Who could it be? Maybe it was a Roman patrol. Alexios rubbed the neck of his tense horse, though he did this to calm himself at least as much as his mount. His other hand he kept tight around the hilt of his Gedara sword. Though he was unsure if he could even hold the weapon properly, it was better than nothing.
The clopping stopped. Something metallic smashed against the stone road. The rider was armored.
The man’s heavy boots crashed through the brush, crunching over the leaves, coming nearer. Alexios bent his knees, tensed his legs, and held his breath.
Dionysios, where are you? Alexios thought. He’s always talking about fighting. Well, now’s his chance!
Soon the rider was so close Alexios heard the man breathing. Then the rider stopped. He, too, was holding still and listening.
God I hope Blanco stays quiet, Alexios thought.
“Fuck,” the man grunted.
He must have been close enough to touch. Alexios almost yelped, but he kept silent and still. His lungs were burning. As a swordsman, his stealth skill was low. Only the darkness could conceal him.
The rider walked back through the woods, mounted his horse, and urged it along the road. Soon the clopping faded. At that point Alexios gasped—releasing the breath trapped in his lungs.
Your stealth skill has increased to novice (3/10), the voice said.
This had the odd effect of making Alexios want to spend more time sneaking around.
You are a fighter, the voice added. But you can become a Jack of All Trades if you want.
“Alexios,” Dionysios whispered somewhere in the darkness, sounding almost like a voice from a dream.
“What?” Alexios whispered back. He wanted to act as though he was annoyed—and tough—rather than relieved.
“Come to the road,” Dionysios said. “The rider’s gone.”
Alexios followed Dionysios’s voice. All the fugitives had gathered there.
“You need to be more careful,” Gontran said in the darkness, presumably addressing everyone but himself.
“We must plan in case we run into anyone else,” Diaresso said. “May God forbid it!”
“I don’t know,” Dionysios said. “Everything seemed to work out alright. If you hear anyone coming, run!”
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
“I thought you wanted to fight them?” Alexios said. He was frustrated that no one had helped with the rider.
“What would have been the point?” Dionysios said. “You’ve got to be strategic about these things. If that guy disappears, and if he’s a Roman soldier, his commander is gonna think something’s up. He’s gonna think that bad people are out and about. So he’s gonna send even more people out to check. You’ve gotta think about these things, kid!”
Alexios frowned.
“It’s every man for himself I guess.” Gontran mounted his horse.
“Speak for yourself,” Diaresso said. “We must all of us work together if we are to survive.”
“We did work together,” Dionysios said. “We ran for our lives in opposite directions together.”
Alexios laughed, and this released more tension in his body.
Soon they were all riding once more. At dawn they found a safe place to camp away from the road—a thick grassy dell obscured by pine trees. Breakfast consisted of the bread, ham, cheese, and wine they had found in bags hanging from the three mounts the legionaries had stolen in Abydos. Alexios thought the food was getting a little monotonous, but what could he do?
After feeding their horses and watering them at a nearby stream, the fugitives slept as best they could, covering their faces with their cloaks to guard against mosquitos and sunburn, taking turns keeping watch, replenishing their health and stamina. They made Dionysios promise that he would refrain from fighting unless it was necessary. He agreed, though he was sad to do so.
“What’s the point of going on adventures if you aren’t going to fight any of these Roman pieces of shit?” he said. “They all signed up for this in the first place. They know the risks. Plus, all of us need to grind for experience—”
“Shouldn’t we try to be focused or something?” Alexios said. “Like, if we get into a big fight, won’t that endanger the entire quest? Saving Herakleia and helping the people and everything?”
“That’s what I told you last night,” Dionysios said. “I’m just used to going off on my own, I guess. It’s been awhile since I’ve worked on a team project.”
“Get used to it,” Gontran said. “If you blow this, we’re out of here. I’m not dying for you.”
“We agreed to this job to get paid,” Diaresso said. “Not to get killed.”
Dionysios raised his hands. “I didn’t mean to piss you all off. I’ll respect the will of the majority and shut the fuck up.”
“You’d better.” Gontran turned away and rolled himself up in his cloak.
Dionysios raised his eyebrows at Alexios, then also went to sleep. Alexios soon joined him. Diaresso was on watch.
When they woke in the evening, they had dinner, fed and watered their horses again, and then went into the night, talking little, wary of making noise. During the previous day they had sometimes been awoken by legions tramping by—still chanting Roma, O Roma!—or by galloping horses or creaking carriages. Since the road kept close to the sea, they occasionally heard sailors heaving and hoeing as they rowed galleys back and forth along the waves. The trees were full of chattering sparrows when the sun was up, and after dusk wolves howled at the moon that was floating across the stars.
The second night took them past the cities of Apameia, Kios, Pylae, Helenopolis, and Nikomedeia, all so close to each other you could almost see one from the other. The last city, Nikomedeia, was the largest they had yet encountered—so large that torches were burning in the watchtowers rising from the thick walls. Behind them, the dark shapes of round cupolas and cubical buildings obscured the night.
The fugitives moved off the road to discuss whether they should enter the city. They wanted to find a caravanserai with soft beds and hot food. Nikomedeia was famous for its beauty and comfort, but Diaresso cautioned against going in.
“The Romans cannot lightly take the loss of even one soldier,” he whispered. “They must have sent riders ahead warning the city watchmen about us.”
“The real question is how they even found us in the first place,” Alexios said. “How did they know to look for us back in that tavern?”
“Their spies are all over the fucking place,” Dionysios said. “Anyone looking even a little weird would have attracted their attention.”
“What were they looking for?” Gontran said.
“It’s on a strictly need-to-know basis,” Dionysios said.
Gontran frowned. “I’m pretty involved here, so I think I need to know.”
Dionysios pulled the manual from his pocket. “They’re looking for this fucking thing. It’s a manual that teaches you how to kick ass. I’ve been meaning to use it to teach Alexios, but we’ve been so busy hiking through the woods that we haven’t gotten a chance.”
“A manual that teaches you how to kick ass,” Gontran repeated.
“I mean really kick ass,” Dionysios said.
“Listen to me, you demons.” Diaresso looked at all of them. “We must focus upon the matter at hand. A city like this is not so big as it appears. It is really just a glorified town. Everyone knows everyone. They will attack us as outsiders if we enter. Only Konstantinopolis is large enough for us to disappear.”
Gontran sighed. “I guess we can sleep in Konstantinopolis tomorrow.”
They proceeded around Nikomedeia and continued along the road, but soon found that the cities in this part of Rome were really just Konstantinopolis’s suburbs. This made it difficult to stay out of sight. Farmland, villages, orchards, and buildings were everywhere, and traffic along the paved road’s rough uneven timeworn stones was almost continuous during the day. Since it was becoming difficult to go around obstacles, and since the fugitives would attract attention by traveling at night, they decided to rest until daybreak and then to enter Konstantinopolis in the morning.
At sunrise they came within sight of the sparkling Propontis, then took a ferry across the sea to Konstantinopolis. The fugitives arrived in the Prosphorion Harbor on the northern edge of the peninsula along with an armada of vessels so laden with food—piles of cabbages and carrots and legumes and beets, bushels of grain to be ground at the city’s mills, mounds of silver fish—that seawater was sloshing over the sides. Hundreds of ships were going back and forth even this early in the morning. They had formed two columns—one heading into the city, the other heading out.
“The great belly of the world,” Dionysios said.
During the ride Alexios kept thinking of a strange, bouncy song with nonsensical lyrics that went something like: “Istanbul not Constantinople.” The words sounded a lot like Konstantinopolis, but he couldn’t place them. “It’s no one’s business but the Turks!” Who were the Turks? Had Dionysios mentioned them once? These questions bothered him, so he pushed them out of his mind.
Gontran, meanwhile, stared at the City as though he had never seen it before, paying particular attention to its Latin churches, which might have reminded him of what he had abandoned in France. His almost religious awe was out of character for a merchant who cared only for money. Alexios thought that instead of Gontran, it might have been Helena—the woman from the other world—staring at these towers, battlements, and architraves. This was a beauty she had never conceived of in all her long days of studying and working. Never had she even thought about the ecstasy of being in the Holy City of Byzantium.
To Alexios, on the other hand, the city reminded him of pictures of Venice—if Venice was bigger, packed with residents dressed in radiant silk tunics (instead of being crowded with tourists), and lacking in canals. The domes above black and pink marble architecture supported by thousands of white pillars and arches, the level of wealth absurd to quantify, the wide open squares free of cars—this was what Venice and Konstantinopolis had in common.
Diaresso was the only fugitive unmoved by this place. Gontran’s attitude toward the City also vexed Diaresso, since they had traveled here many times. It was difficult to trade in the Inland Sea without passing through Konstantinopolis.
Dionysios, on the other hand, eyed the City’s defenses like he wanted to leap off the boat and battle the crews of the naval ships which were guarding the merchantmen. He had rested, eaten his breakfast, and guzzled some water: he was ready to fight. No Roman soldiers were riding the galley, otherwise Alexios might have had to restrain Dionysios.
Everything in the Prosphorion Harbor was sturdy and made of stone. Alexios had almost gotten used to the countryside elements: dirt, mud, wood, thatch, forest, grain. Stone was the exception there, sometimes found in buildings or roads, but here it was the rule. The walls extended around the entire City, giving the impression of an endless impregnable fortress, while ahead was an array of storehouses huddled over the sea like pigs at a trough. These were stuffed to bursting with goods and reeked of the usual Byzantine smells—incense, cinnamon, and fermented fish oil, all so strong it made Alexios cough.
Mooring alongside one pier, the four fugitives led their horses off the boat and into the City. They passed stevedores who were hauling sacks, boxes, and jars off the ships and into the storehouses, their bodies trembling under the heavy loads. These thin young men were clothed in loincloths and sandals. Sweat drenched them and dripped onto the stones underfoot as they grunted and gritted their teeth.
Alexios spotted two children covered in filth and dressed in rags devouring bread crusts behind one storehouse. He stopped and stared at them. Never had he seen such poverty with his own eyes.
Leading Blanco to the children, he removed what remained of the food in the saddlebags and handed it to them. They took it and ran off without speaking.
He sighed, and stared up at the buildings rising into the sky. XP was added to his already high empathy skill, leaving him 30 points from leveling up to Journeyman Empath (6/10).
“That was wrong,” Dionysios said, standing beside him.
Alexios turned. “What?”
“Individual acts of charity change nothing. We need to work together if we’re going to destroy poverty.”
“What was I supposed to do? We couldn’t take them with us!”
“Maybe.” Dionysios shrugged, lost in thought.
“This is ridiculous. I should be the one teaching you.”
“We teach each other.” Dionysios eyed the working stevedores. “All of us teach each other.”
“Whatever, man.” Alexios rolled his eyes and caught up with Diaresso and Gontran. Dionysios soon followed them into Konstantinopolis.