Gontran watched Alexios and Herakleia drift with a curious slowness down from the wall onto one horse. The poor beast’s legs almost gave way, but held. Then Alexios asked Herakleia if she wanted her own horse; she was too exhausted to answer.
Quest completed, the voice said. New quest: escape Konstantinopolis. All main characters must survive.
At that moment, horns blasted from inside the palace. They were sounding the alarm across the City.
Holding Herakleia in front of him on the saddle, Alexios urged his ride on, and Gontran and Diaresso followed, their horses galloping as they hurtled past the dark porticoes and along the dim street.
“Where’s Dionysios?” Gontran shouted.
Alexios glanced at Gontran. Tears were in the boy’s eyes. He tried to speak, but was unable to find the words.
Dead? Gontran thought. The old man died?
Alexios wiped the tears away and urged his horse on again. They could have moved faster if Herakleia—who was covered in scars and bruises—had been able to ride, but if Alexios let go for even a moment, she would tumble to the street blurring beneath them and smash her head on the pavement. At the same time, as they galloped along the Mese toward the Golden Gate, she looked up sleepily at her surroundings as though plummeting through a dream.
The mere sight of her stirred an unusual feeling within Gontran: compassion. Who could treat anyone like this? They had tortured her so badly she’d be scarred for life. It was a miracle she was even alive.
The streets were mostly clear at this late hour, with the few wandering stragglers jumping away from the galloping horses, and the usual tattered beggars sleeping on benches or in doorways, so it took little time to reach the Golden Gate. Yet the fugitives found the doors bolted shut, and plenty of legionaries holding torches and waiting—both on foot and on horseback. The palace must have signaled them.
Without speaking, the legionaries raised their bows and loosed arrows at the fugitives. It was so dark that Gontran could hardly see, and yet he sensed, in that instant, that his life was over. Though he was a rogue, his agility was too low; an arrow would pierce his skull and knock him from his horse; he would die before he struck the ground.
But Alexios drew his sword and knocked the arrows away, missing only a few. Before Gontran could gasp with amazement, the fugitives turned their horses and rode back to the center of the City, Alexios leading with his bright sword.
“Thanks,” Gontran said.
“Didn’t know I had it in me,” Alexios said.
“So where are we going now?” Gontran said.
“They must have closed all the gates in the walls,” Alexios said. “We should go to one of the harbors. We can find a ship and sail it out of here.”
“But who in God’s name will row it?” Diaresso shouted. “There are far too few of us!”
“Go to the Harbor of Eleutherios,” Princess Herakleia gasped. “It’s not far.”
“She speaks!” Gontran exclaimed.
Herakleia pointed to one of the dark streets branching off the Mese to the right. Alexios glanced at Gontran and swung his horse to the side, following her instructions. She had spoken just in time. Waiting up ahead at the Forum of the Ox was a group of mounted legionaries—including one man dressed in black. Spurring their horses on, they galloped after the fugitives, clutching torches in one hand and reins in the other, plunging into the street’s pure darkness.
Gontran shook his head and looked at Alexios and Herakleia. I hope you know what you’re doing.
The harbor was deserted at this awful hour, and no sign of dawn shone over the horizon. Even the sky was black, and the wind was blowing hard. Yet in the city’s fluttering torchlight Gontran discerned few ships moored at the piers.
Still galloping at full speed, Alexios led them past the imperial storehouses and the boxes, sacks, and jars piled on the quay. He was headed toward a ship moored along the mole sheltering the harbor. This vessel happened to be a two-master which must have needed a crew of at least fifty.
“No, Alexios!” he shouted. “It’s too big!”
“It’s our only choice!” the boy shouted over his shoulder. “It’s the only one that can take any horses!”
He dismounted at the wide plank leading aboard. Before Gontran could say anything, Alexios was already leading his horse onto the ship. Herakleia was still on the saddle, clutching the beast in case she fell into the waves splashing in the darkness below.
Once she and Blanco were aboard, Alexios ran back onto the mole.
“Cast off!” he shouted at Gontran as he darted past. “Unfurl the sails! Come on, let’s go! Don’t you two have high sailing skills?”
Alexios is correct, the voice said. You are both Professional Sailors (7/10).
Gontran and Diaresso looked at each other and then dismounted from Phaethon and Musa.
Alexios, meanwhile, had drawn his sword, and was sprinting back toward the mounted legionaries, who had already reached the quay.
One after the other, Gontran led his two horses across the creaking plank to the ship. Somehow Herakleia had climbed out of her saddle and was tethering the horses to the mainmast by their reins. Once Diaresso had brought his horse aboard, the two merchants untied the ship from its moorings. Arrows sailed past them and splashed into the sea while Alexios fought the soldiers in the distance—drawing their attention away from the ship. His sword was glowing again, and the light was so bright, as it swung back and forth almost like a torch with white flames, that Gontran could read the name of the ship written on its hull.
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“Paralos,” he said.
The ship was now unmoored. He and Diaresso jogged back aboard. These men had crewed for so long on ships like this—the Romans called them dromons—that even in the dim light, the merchants could climb up the masts and untie the sails from the crossbeams. The sails snapped into place as the billowing wind filled them, and the creaking ship drifted from the mole and leaned into the waves, their foaming crests glimmering in the light from Alexios’s waving sword.
Two pilots needed to steer the ship; the steering oars were at the stern. Without speaking, Diaresso and Gontran climbed down from the masts and dashed over the deck, grabbing the steering oars and pulling them to the side before the ship crashed into the mole. Gontran turned back to yell at Alexios to hurry up and join them, but Alexios had already taken one of his stunning leaps and was hurling through the night, kicking his legs and pumping his arms. He splashed into the sea, however, and Gontran needed to throw him a rope and pull him aboard.
The mole was swarming with legionaries. They loosed a few more arrows at the Paralos, but Alexios—gasping, drenched with seawater—managed to bat them aside with his sword. The dark figure screamed out new orders, his voice making Gontran’s spine tingle with fear, and then the legionaries piled into their own dromon and rowed toward the Paralos. One legionary even beat the rowing drum to keep time. With all these advantages, the Roman ship lunged toward the fugitives.
“There’s no way we can outrun them,” Gontran said to Alexios, who was standing beside him with Herakleia and Diaresso.
“We must pray,” Diaresso said. “Allah is merciful.”
“I was never much of a believer.” Gontran worked his steering oar again to keep them from the mole. “My piety skill is pretty low.”
“These ships are equipped with naphtha, aren’t they?” Herakleia said.
“Naphtha?” Alexios said.
“Greek fire,” Herakleia said. “It burns even on water. There must be a launcher at the front of the ship.”
“Don’t you mean the bow?” Gontran said.
“Whatever.”
Alexios glanced at Gontran, then followed Herakleia as she limped to the bow past the four horses tied to the mainmast. There Alexios and Herakleia found a bronze spout shaped like a dragon’s head. It was connected to a metal tube that extended belowdecks.
“Do you know how to use this?” Alexios said.
“Let’s hope my high education level isn’t for nothing.” Herakleia pulled a lever back and forth. As it clanked, it opened and closed the dragon’s mouth. “You have to pump the naphtha into a kind of firing chamber down below. Once you’ve built up a lot of pressure, you seal off the chamber and light the wick—”
“I’m not sure I trust myself to do that,” Alexios said.
“Do I have to do everything around here?” she said. “This has been quite the rescue thus far!”
“Oh, come on, we’ve almost made it!” Alexios said.
She looked over his shoulder. Torches were glowing on the deck of the pursuing ship. The legionaries were lighting their remaining arrows on fire.
“Alright.” She looked at him. “I’ll take care of it. All you have to do is open the valve. See?”
She showed him how, then told him to do it himself. He closed and opened it.
“Keep it closed until I say so,” she said. “Got it?”
“Got it.”
She disappeared into the hatch that led belowdecks. Alexios caught Gontran’s eye.
“Once we’re clear of the harbor, turn the ship around!” he shouted to the two pilots.
Diaresso glared at him. “Have you gone mad? We must make our way—”
“Point the ship to one side of the harbor entrance!” Alexios shouted. “When I tell you, start turning the ship toward the other side of the harbor entrance. We’re going to try to block it with naphtha!”
“What?” Gontran shouted.
Before Alexios could explain his instructions, orange stars fell from the night. Most shot into the water and vanished, but one struck the mast just above the horses—which whinnied and tried to bolt free. Fire whirled from the wood, glowing like a flower petal in the wind.
Gontran told Diaresso to take both steering oars—which was so difficult, only a character with high strength levels could do it. Then Gontran rushed to the burning mast, desperate to find a bucket of water to douse it. He could barely see anything in the dark, and he was terrified that the frantic horses would kick his skull. Finally he found a bucket of seawater and soaked the flames.
He gasped with relief. But more burning arrows were falling. The meteor shower continued.
“Alexios!” he shouted. “Can’t you deflect some more arrows?”
“I can’t be everywhere at once!” Alexios yelled back.
There was another problem. If they didn’t take in the sails when they turned the ship around, the wind could tear the masts from their sockets. Then the Paralos would be adrift. Gontran needed to get the two mainsails in.
As the Paralos cleared the harbor entrance, he shimmied back up the mainmast and began the arduous task of tying the sail into the crossbeam, even as the canvas flapped against him. Diaresso, meanwhile, was grunting as he worked one massive steering oar with each of his long arms, his muscles bulging.
As the ship came about, the wind fought harder against Gontran, and the mast shuddered. Yet he managed to roll up the sail. Sliding down the mast and dashing to the next one, he got to work just as the ship finished turning. When he climbed up the mast, the wood groaned and trembled as the wind shrieked in his ears.
“Are you ready, Alexios?” came Herakleia’s muffled voice from belowdecks.
“Ready!” Alexios shouted.
“Ramming speed!” came that deep voice from the pursuing Roman ship. “We must board them! Take no prisoners!”
“No prisoners!” the legionaries shouted in unison.
The enemy oars were beating the sea harder and faster as the drummer bashed his drum. Gontran finished rolling up the second sail, leaped down onto the deck, and joined Diaresso at the steering oars.
As the enemy ship was clearing the harbor entrance, Gontran watched the dark figure with the glowing blue eyes. He had unsheathed his sword and was getting ready to jump aboard the Paralos.
“Fire!” Herakleia shouted.
“Gontran and Diaresso, start turning!” Alexios yelled.
Before they could answer, the bronze dragon clanked, and blinding flames roared out of its throat and poured onto the sea, rising into the night like a curtain made of sparks. Diaresso and Gontran worked the oars, turning the Paralos toward the pursuing ship as the soldiers there tried to row backwards. But it was too late. The blazing vomit poured over the enemy, and the men shrieked and dove into the waves, where they writhed under the water’s surface—each of them still covered in glowing fire.
The dragon ran out of fuel, but the enemy’s hull had already split, and its masts were slamming into the ocean. Just as the ship was plunging beneath the surface, the dark figure leaped away and landed on the mole. The man stood there, wiped the fire from his shoulder, and watched the Paralos escape.