Narses and Philippikos were already exhausted from marching all day, but they shoved and hacked through the forest regardless. The Skythioi might attack the column that evening, so Narses needed to know how many stadia lay between them and the dry plateau in the interior, where the march might be easier. There the Romans could see approaching armies hours before they arrived, rather than seconds.
And who knew? While cutting through the woods Narses and Philippikos might also stumble upon Skythioi en route to ambushing the immortal century. Maybe Narses could stop the bloodthirsty pagans or at least draw them away.
I must protect my brothers. He tore through the brush with his Almaqah blade. His farr was fading, and he was so tired he even considered taking communion with Philippikos to replenish it. Philippikos always stayed behind him, however, and watched his movements.
Narses’s hackles tingled. He stopped to listen, gesturing for Philippikos to do the same. Blood throbbed through his ears, and breath wheezed through his nostrils. Even the insects and birds were silent.
A breeze kicked up, ruffling the leaves and cooling the sweat that soaked his face and stung his eyes.
The Skythioi are an extension of the wild. They don’t blend in with the woods. They are the woods. Unholy barbarians conjured by God to punish us for our transgressions. Men who can turn into plants, and plants who can turn into men. Demons.
He mopped his brow and continued onward, making sure to mark the trees with his sword every few paces. It would be easy to get lost here, where the sunlight penetrating the canopy grew fainter, the bands of light filled with whirling moisture, dust motes, and mating mosquitos. Sometimes the wind gusted and the leaves blocked the sun, plunging the two immortals into darkness.
Narses lit his blade with the last of his farr as the sun set beyond the endless forest. At some point—maybe an hour after nightfall—his flesh refused to continue. The voice said his stamina was exhausted. He looked at the dry foliage lit by his dim blade, unable to take another step.
Rare to push myself so hard, he thought. Running out of farr makes me feel even more exhausted.
Philippikos was gasping behind him. The terror of asking to stop for the night must have been greater than his fatigue.
Narses sat against the nearest tree trunk and placed his sword on the ground so he could see. Then he took out his supply bag and ate the usual ham and cheese and bread, and drank the usual watery wine. Philippikos sat against a nearby tree trunk and did the same. He was a ghost in the murk. His farr also must have been depleted.
Even now my labors do not end. Narses munched his food like an animal, hardly tasting it, his stamina replenished a little. Who will watch over us in case the heathens choose to cut our throats tonight? I cannot depend upon this man. He will fall asleep. I will wake up surrounded by a chasm of fire in the Hell of the Damned.
Narses looked at Philippikos and said: “I’ll take the first watch.”
“Oh, thank you so much, sir.” Philippikos stuffed the rest of his dinner into his bag, lay down on the earth, shut his eyes, and snored. It was so comical Narses almost laughed. But his mirth soon faded, along with the light from his sword.
I must stay awake, he thought as he stared into the dark.
Shapes gathered and moved through the woods. A wolf howled in the distance, and was answered by its companions’ devilish laughter. Narses gripped Almaqah, and his heart beat harder. For a while it was easier to stay awake, and he was almost thankful for the wolves.
Wolves I can handle, he thought. One heathen is worse than ten wolves.
But now the wolves were silent. Soon Narses relaxed. His eyelids stung and their lids drooped as if drawn down by heavy ropes tied to the ground.
If only I could be back in Konstantinopolis, he thought. I would do anything for that. I would give up the farr. I would marry, become an official, another soft family man forced to bow to his superiors for fear of losing his job and depriving his children of bread. I would become weak, fat, old, pathetic. Anything to sleep. I might even surrender to the Skythioi…
He considered waking Philippikos. How would the outrider even know the time? The man would feel exhausted regardless of when Narses woke him. And if Narses fell asleep before his watch ended, the outrider would find out. Then he would lose all respect for his general. If they survived and returned to the century, the outrider would tell everyone. Narses would become a joke to them. What little discipline that remained would vanish. They would cease to be a century and become a roving mob of bandits.
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Exasperated, Narses looked up. Stars shone between the swaying treetops.
We should have climbed the trees, he thought. Then maybe we could have slept safely.
He cursed Princess Herakleia and her friends for driving him out of the palace like this. They would suffer the slowest and most painful deaths he could imagine the moment he captured them.
Fuck Herakleia.
But anger could only sustain him for so long. As he forced himself to remain awake, he grew almost tired enough to cry. His emotions were all over the place.
No one is here. No one can find us. It’s safe. I’ll just rest my eyes.
The last time he had done this, he lost Kentarch John, the century’s only good man. Father Kosmas, too, he should have searched for. The priest might have still been alive when Narses had fallen asleep in the dead doux’s kastron. Maybe Kosmas had been close to Nikaia at the time.
I failed them.
He imagined himself propping open his eyelids with twigs and then sleeping that way. In his agony of exhaustion he saw Erythro, glowing with light, approach him in the nude after taking a hot bath, her long orange hair clinging to her gleaming skin. She sat on his lap and kissed him, and in gratitude he fell before her and kissed her feet.
“You are so beautiful!” he cried. “You are so beautiful!”
She raised him up and hugged him to her breasts, and he kissed them.
“Domestikos,” Philippikos said.
Narses’s bleary eyes opened. Daylight shone everywhere. He was lying in the leaves on the ground. The outrider stood over him.
“Sorry to be waking you, sir,” Philippikos said. “It’s getting late.”
“Did I—did I say anything just now?”
Philippikos cleared his throat. “You told me I was beautiful, sir.”
Narses was so embarrassed he was unable to think of anything to say.
“The century sounds like it’s close, sir,” Philippikos said.
Narses listened. Thwock, thwock came the axes echoing through the woods. Carriages creaked, oxen lowed, men shouted, land trembled. Rabbits and deer were fleeing the noise and running past Narses and Philippikos. And yet the century’s shouts were hoarse; the axes chopped slowly. Everyone was growing more exhausted.
Narses looked at Philippikos. The outrider offered his hand and pulled Narses up.
“I fell asleep,” Narses said.
“All’s well that ends well, sir. No harm done. Looks like the savages missed us.”
“You would be whipped if you were caught sleeping through your watch,” Narses said. “At the very least.”
Philippikos winked. “I’m not a general, sir.”
Soon Narses and Philippikos were on the move. The outrider had already eaten, but the general guzzled his water and tore into his ham, cheese, and bread while he walked as fast as he could manage, finishing his rations without feeling full in the slightest. He thought of two words, over and over again:
Tired. Hungry.
Soon they had put so much distance between themselves and the column that they were unable to hear it. The land was rising, the valley was narrowing, the mountains were closer.
Lord, please tell me we’ve arrived. I would give anything to go back to the column and lie down in a carriage.
He still felt hungover from the loss of farr. Even if he could have seized a squirrel and drunk its energy, that might have helped, but the little beasts were too fast. Narses must have looked absurd enough to Philippikos by sleeping through his watch earlier; he would look even worse if he spent the afternoon chasing squirrels for their spirit energy. He cared about the outrider, but it was foolish to do so. Every man Narses had cared for on this mission had died. To think well of them guaranteed their deaths. But Paul would have called Narses superstitious if he spoke this thought aloud.
They came upon a stream in the woods, dipped their heads inside, replenished their water flasks. Leaping over the stream, they climbed the incline, and the forest grew more sparse. Blue sky and green fields shone ahead between the conifers and broadleaves. Narses and Philippikos began to run and stagger despite their weariness. They burst out of the forest. Grasslands, cliffs, clouds, and sun surrounded them. The two men looked at each other. Narses almost hugged Philippikos, but he restrained himself.
“Looks like we’ve done it, sir.” Philippikos smiled. “Should be easier from here on out. And the road’s in better condition, too.”
“Then we’ve done it,” Narses said.
The grasslands extended into the horizon and were interrupted only by cliffs, hills, and mountains. Narses rebuked himself for never finding an excuse to come here. After all their troubles, Anatolian beauty was welcome.
And yet as he shaded his eyes and narrowed their lids to take a closer look, something moved toward them from the distance. It was like a vision from forgotten dreams which now suddenly came back to him. They were riders, and bound to their horses like the kentauroi of pagan tales.
I can’t catch a break, Narses thought.
Though dozens were galloping toward him—and though Philippikos was now grasping the general’s arm and begging him to return to the woods so they could warn the century—Narses was transfixed by a rider on his horse, the muscles of man and beast gleaming together as they galloped over one hill after another, a composite bow in the man’s hand, a white cotton caftan over his loose trousers, his only armor a turban plated with gleaming steel.
This man struck his horse with the crop he held in his other hand, and came closer, unstoppable, his sheathed scimitar bouncing against his side.
Narses had neglected to replenish his farr. Now he was just an ordinary soldier, and so weary that he was unable to resist the need to surrender. It came from deep within like the hunger of a starving man.
As Philippikos fled into the woods, the Skythian riders thundered around Narses, whooping and cheering. One clubbed his skull, and he fell to his knees. As the voice announced that he had taken catastrophic damage, the world vanished.