“Princess Herakleia is hiding under the floorboards in the Paralos!” the man—what was his name, Andronikos?—screamed. “She has accomplices! I need help!”
Andronikos was sprinting across the pier toward the city, and Gontran was following. But Gontran was so sore from lying under the floorboards that he was having trouble keeping up. Diaresso was behind him, pounding his long legs on the swaying wood. Then Diaresso knelt down, pulled his crossbow from his back, loaded it, wound it, and took aim, shouting for Gontran to duck. His partner obeyed, throwing himself onto the wooden pier just as a crossbow bolt whistled above him and slammed into Andronikos’s back. The Roman soldier gasped and tried to pull out the bolt, but he lost his balance, slammed onto the pier, and then rolled off the side, splashing into the dark sea. For a moment he thrashed and gasped before disappearing beneath the waves.
Gontran looked back at Diaresso and gave him the thumbs-up. “Nice shot,” he whispered.
Diaresso nodded. “That dog was asking for it!”
He remained kneeling, however, and peered into the dark city. Gontran also watched the shapes of those buildings, wondering if the soldiers and inhabitants were drunk and tired enough to sleep through Andronikos’s yelling.
This is the question, Gontran thought. Is that little idealist going to get us killed?
He shook his head, unable to believe that Herakleia had attempted to convince a couple of Roman soldiers to stop being themselves. Did Herakleia have a death wish? Why did she have to drag everyone else down with her?
Torches were moving through the city up ahead. Gontran heard the one noise he despised with all his soul—clanking armor. It was the sound of soldiers running, and it never meant anything good. They must have been moving from the city garrison to the pier.
Gontran stood and ran back to the Paralos. Diaresso, however, had already loaded another bolt into his crossbow and was winding it up again.
“Come on!” Gontran rasped.
“You wish for me to return to that death ship?” Diaresso said. “Where shall we hide ourselves this time? The sails?”
“No idea, but we can’t go that way!” Gontran nodded to the end of the pier, where dozens of Roman soldiers were jogging toward them in rows. Many were clutching torches.
Shaking his head, Diaresso took aim with his crossbow and pulled the trigger, striking a Roman soldier straight through the face. He toppled, dead before he hit the pier, his blood, bone, and brain spurting everywhere, his body tripping the men behind him.
Only then could Gontran pull Diaresso back. Together they dashed to the Paralos and threw the ropes off the mooring pegs. Then, grabbing the ship’s oarlocks, they pushed the Paralos from the pier with their legs, climbing aboard once the vessel had drifted away.
At this point, Herakleia and Alexios were dumping the kentarch’s corpse into the sea. His body splashed into the surf.
“Row!” Gontran screamed, waving his hands. “Row!”
There was still no wind. The oars were their only hope. Dozens of sailors should have been rowing the Paralos, but the ship would have to manage with four.
Gontran sat on the port side, picked up a nearby oar, and used it to push them from the pier. He found the oar long and heavy. But once everyone was rowing, they faced a new problem: the ship was facing the city.
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“Turn her around!” Gontran shouted. “Alexios—sit on this side with Diaresso and me. Herakleia—get back to the steering oars and steer us starboard.”
Although no one had placed Gontran in command, the others followed his orders since he was the only one giving any. At the same time, the Roman soldiers were so close they were hurling javelins at the ship. Gontran ducked as one swooped past his head and transfixed itself into the mast behind him.
The benefits of being a rogue, he thought.
“Heave!” Gontran shouted. “Heave!”
The three men worked the oars while Herakleia, standing once again at the stern, piloted as best she could. But the Paralos was heavy, and with such a small crew and no wind it moved slowly, creaking as it turned.
The Roman soldiers, meanwhile, had piled into another dromon moored nearby. They were already rowing after them.
God damnit, this is just like in Konstantinopolis, only worse, Gontran thought.
It happened faster than he expected. With far more manpower, the Romans caught up and threw grappling hooks onto the Paralos. Gontran and the others tried to dislodge them, but it was too late. The Romans reeled them in, the two hulks thumped against each other, and Roman soldiers hurled themselves onto the deck. Diaresso drew his scimitar, and Alexios pulled from its scabbard that shining green blade he had used earlier, except now he was slow and clumsy with it, and the metal was dark and dull. Gontran kept his oar, while Herakleia only had her short sword. The Romans called her a traitor and focused on her; the three fugitives defended her as best they could, knocking soldiers into the sea as she used the javelin transfixed in one of the masts to climb up and escape.
Gontran found his oar effective at first. It was longer than the swords the Romans were using. He swung as hard as he could, but then they blocked him with their cross-emblazoned shields and attacked. Rogue that he was, he dropped the oar, drew his pistol-sword, and tried to run and hide, but he found himself back-to back with Alexios and Diaresso. The three fugitives now swung their weapons at the Romans, who had surrounded them. Diaresso, strong as an ox, was lobbing arms and heads from bodies, but Alexios and Gontran were less lucky. The former was exhausted; the latter was ill-suited to close-quarters combat. Herakleia, meanwhile, was clinging to a yard and kicking at the soldiers. A man snatched her ankle; she smashed his face so hard he fell to the deck and did not get up. But the Romans would defeat the fugitives soon.
Is this how I’m going to die? Gontran thought.
Something bumped the ship so hard everyone fell down. Herakleia was nearly thrown from the mast. Then, before anyone could react, the depths groaned. A dim shape rose into the night ahead of the prow. In the dark Gontran discerned two glowering eyes set beneath a vast, spreading pair of antlers. The head alone was at least the size of the ship.
Gontran's heart sank.
It’s a ketos.
Rarely encountered in Pontos, these ancient monsters kept to the Ocean Sea, where they preyed upon whales. The Paralos and the Roman fleet must have drawn this one toward land. Gontran had heard of them from other sailors—the few who survived encountering them.
The ketos leaned into the torchlight. Its snout was long and almost porcine, and it had long purple eyebrows and whiskers, though its skin was green, and its yellow teeth were sharp.
Everyone aboard the Paralos stared in awe at this enormous monster. Then it lunged forward, seized the nearest Roman soldier in its jaws, and swallowed him. The outline of his body slid down the creature’s throat.
Everyone screamed and ran. In their terror men hurled themselves off the ship—in full armor—and sank into the depths like boulders. Diaresso fled belowdecks along with a few other soldiers and resumed fighting there, while Gontran and Alexios backed away to the stern. Herakleia, meanwhile, was forced to grip the mast, even as she stared at the ketos—which was glaring at her.
“No!” Alexios shouted.
The beast butted its head against the mast—which creaked but did not split—knocking Herakleia to the deck. Then, before Alexios or Gontran could do anything, the creature swallowed her.
Screaming, Alexios ran forward and swung his sword at the ketos. Backing away, it almost seemed amused. Lazily it opened its jaws and swallowed him.
Gontran clutched his head, unable to believe it, as the ketos swung away from the ship and dove into the sea, sending a plume of white roaring water high into the night, its wake almost capsizing the two dromons.
“Alexios,” he said.
Swords were clanging against each other below. Gontran jumped down belowdecks to help Diaresso fight the last Roman soldiers, shaking his head at his friends’ terrible fate.