Zoë Karbonopsina arose in the nude from the foaming ocean and embraced Narses. When he woke, he was erect, but confused.
This is wrong, he thought. She is a pagan barbarian queen, and of royal blood. His Majesty would kill me if I touched her. Why do I have these dreams? Why?
Lusting for her was unnatural. She was also nothing like what a woman was supposed to be: submissive, tending to children and the home, always following her husband’s commands, bringing whatever he needed before he even asked. Yet Narses could not deny her beauty, kindness, strength, intelligence. After all, she had once been a Roman princess, and had not only survived, but thrived in the wilderness, a master of two worlds.
I could become emperor, he thought. She would be my empress. That’s why I dream about her. It’s just for political reasons.
Zoë joined Narses for breakfast, guarded only by Khurlu, who waited outside. The immortal made his obeisance before the khatun, and they sat by the fire to eat and drink.
“I must tell you something, khatun,” Narses said. “Perhaps you can tell Lord Arslan later.”
She nodded. “Perhaps.”
Narses took a deep breath. “I am not what I am. I mean—I’m not who I said.”
Zoë feigned a gasp. “Shocking.”
“My name is Narses,” he said. “I’m a general—”
“Now you are pulling my leg, John.” She spooned yogurt and honey into her mouth. “Don’t make yourself seem greater than you are.”
“It’s no lie, khatun. I was sent here by His Majesty the Emperor Nikephoros himself to apprehend your sister, Princess Herakleia, because she is attempting to teach the peasants how to utilize the divine farr. But I—I can also teach you how to use it, if you want.”
Upon speaking these words, a tiny candle flame of energy kindled inside him. This had happened sometimes before. While training with the immortals in the palace, they could increase each other’s energy by helping one another.
Your farr is at 1/100, the voice said.
Narses almost laughed. This was nothing compared to the energy he would gain from drinking someone’s soul.
In this world, you can either be strong or weak. You can either prey on the weak, or be preyed upon by the strong.
“I’ve heard of the farr.” Zoë waved her golden spoon. “It’s all a bunch of magic tricks, sleights of hand, that sort of thing.”
“No, khatun—”
“If I had known you would waste my time with this nonsense, I never would have come here to join you. I almost thought we could be friends…”
My charisma is too weak. Hers must be stronger.
Growing angry, Narses summoned that inner candle flame of farr, lifting his hand and glaring at Zoë’s spoon. It leaped from her hand and into his own. But he also went further than he had intended, and accidentally opened the top of her shirt with the farr, exposing her cleavage.
She gasped and closed her shirt.
“Ah—excuse me, highness—khatun.” He was still gripping the spoon. “I didn’t mean—”
“How did you…?” she began.
“I—I don’t know,” he said. “But I can show you.”
“You are speaking nonsense, Narses or John, whoever you are. And besides, if you serve the usurper—”
Narses stood and took her hand, but she shook herself free and pointed at him.
“Never touch me without my permission,” she said.
Narses jerked his hand back. “Forgive me, khatun.”
Convincing her to follow, he went outside the yurt to search for a source of farr. Like a fool, he was still holding the khatun’s spoon. Aside from sacrificing a person or animal, it was possible to absorb a little energy from flowing water, or even from particularly dense gardens. But on the edge of central Anatolia’s plains, among the last trees and shrubs of the fertile coastal region, he could gain power from only one source.
He turned to Zoë. “Khatun, is there a sick animal, one close to death? Or is there one your people plan to slaughter today?”
She shook her head. “We kill animals only for feasts or special occasions. They are our livelihood.”
I didn’t ask for a university lecture.
He looked for something he could kill without offending the barbarians. The dry grass underfoot would give him almost nothing. Was anything in the sky? A vulture was circling, tilting in the wind, its feathers outstretched and flickering in the sun.
On the one hand, it was a bad omen to kill a vulture. On the other, God made man Lord of the Earth, and extended his dominion over every beast of the field. Narses also wanted to prove himself to the barbarians. They thought him a fool. He would show them.
“Khatun.” He pointed to the sky with the spoon and covered his eyes with the other hand. “Do you see that vulture? Can you give me a bow and arrow—”
She shook her head. “No.”
“—or have one of your men kill it?”
“What purpose would that serve?”
“Allow me to show you, khatun.”
“Vultures are the most peaceable of creatures, living only on what has already died. Romans may throw life away, but Seljuks do not.”
Tell that to the city of Ani, Narses thought. Tell that to Emperor Diogenes IV.
“The farr—it requires life energy, khatun. We must kill in order to live.”
She nodded to him. “Spoken like a good Christian.”
He bowed. “That is how it is done, khatun, if you wish to learn how to use the farr yourself.”
“Somehow you tricked me,” she said. “You moved your hand faster than I could see.”
“There was no trick, khatun. The strong can do such things, and much more besides, but not without taking communion with the life energy of a host.”
“Again you disrespect that which is holy. This is a pattern with you.”
“Khatun,” Narses growled. He was growing frustrated, and noted that it would be simple to break her neck and take her soul before anyone in the camp could stop him; Khurlu was standing several paces behind them and looked bored. Maybe she was right when she claimed that Nikephoros had sent him here to die. But serving an imperfect boss was better than swearing fealty to some heathen queen, no matter how beautiful she was. At times he even suspected that she was seducing him with her barbarian wiles in order to steal his virtue.
As he looked around the camp for something nonhuman to kill, a distant trio of Skythian horsemen galloped over the grassland toward them. The sight made him forget what he was doing. Once again, he was awed by the Skythians’ skill.
Roman horsemen can’t ride like that, he thought. Skythian raiders seem almost like birds or even mirages, like they don’t touch the earth. Even on Xanthos I can’t ride so well. I miss my horse so much…
Lord Arslan was leading them, with Tuğrul riding by his side. Passing Zoë and Narses, the lord shouted in Seljuk at the camp, and dismounted from his weary mount. Attendants removed the saddle and placed it on a fresh horse, onto which Arslan leapt, still shouting while waving Narses’s Almaqah blade. Men were emerging from the yurts and tents, strapping on their armor and weapons, kissing and hugging children and women goodbye, and getting on their own horses to join him.
“What’s going on?” Narses said to Zoë.
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She walked, jogged, and then ran away, jumping onto her own horse and galloping after Lord Arslan. All the warriors in the camp—several dozen total—were riding back the way he had come, leaving Khurlu, Narses, and the women and children.
Frustrated, Narses could do nothing but watch the Skythioi ride over the hills, trailed by a dust cloud.
Maybe my charisma isn’t strong enough to change the khatun’s mind, Narses thought. But it might work on Khurlu.
He turned to his guard, who was crestfallen at having been left behind.
“What happened?” Narses said.
Khurlu held up his hands. “Yunanca no,” he said.
Narses pointed to the horsemen, then raised his shoulders at Khurlu.
“Ah,” Khurlu said. Then he spoke Seljuk.
“Seljuk no,” Narses said. He pointed to himself and Khurlu. “Me and Khurlu.” He pointed to a nearby horse. “Go.” He pointed to the riders. “There.”
“Lord Arslan no,” Khurlu said.
Narses raised his shoulders once more. “Why?”
Khurlu pointed at him, then held his own wrists together.
He means I’m a prisoner, Narses thought.
“I swear I’ll be good,” Narses blurted. He pointed to himself, then raised his thumbs and faked a smile like a fool. This bewildered Khurlu, however. Body language was not always universal.
Your attempt to change Khurlu’s mind has failed, the game voice said. There is risk of losing charisma XP.
Ignoring the voice, Narses turned back to watch the horsemen, who were vanishing in the distance.
I have to join them, he thought. I can’t just stay here. Never in my life have I been left behind when I wanted to ride off on some adventure.
“Khurlu.” He turned back to his guard and clasped his hands together. “Please.”
Khurlu looked at his hands, then walked toward Lord Arslan’s yurt, gesturing for Narses to follow.
Charisma succeeds, the voice said. You have changed Khurlu’s mind. You have gained 5 XP.
I guess the dice roll succeeded this time, Narses thought.
That is correct.
Inside Lord Arslan’s yurt, Khurlu found a rope and tied it around Narses’s wrists. Then he brought the immortal to the horses, saddled one, and helped Narses on, climbing in front of him. Khurlu grabbed the reins and whacked the horse’s rump with a crop, at the same time making that “shush” sound which meant: “let’s go!” The horse whinnied and almost leaped into the sky, so fast did it bolt after Lord Arslan and his riders. Narses dropped Zoë’s spoon and almost fell off. This forced him to grasp Khurlu’s pants with his bound hands, since there was nothing else to hold. Khurlu looked back at him and laughed.
While Narses gained riding XP, they hurtled over the grassland with the horse gasping beneath them, rising over one rocky hill and then descending. Narses gripped the beast with his legs, terrified he would fall. Sometimes the rocks grew so frequent that the horse needed to weave around them. And yet only minutes passed before they found the other horses waiting behind a low mountain. Lord Arslan and the barbarians were huddled behind the boulders on the peak. They turned and scowled at Narses and Khurlu.
Khurlu stopped the horse by its fellows, dismounted, and helped Narses down. Then the guard and his prisoner approached the warriors at the mountaintop. Lord Arslan shouted something in Seljuk at Khurlu, and the guard stopped and lowered his gaze. Then Lord Arslan sighed and gestured for him to come closer.
“You were not supposed to join us!” Zoë said to Narses. “You will ruin everything!”
“Forgive me, khatun.” Narses bowed.
“All you do is make mistakes, then ask to be forgiven!”
“You’re right, khatun. But seeing as how I’m here…”
Before Zoë could answer, Lord Arslan said something to her and gestured to Narses. Zoë snapped at Lord Arslan, who winced and looked away.
“Should you cause trouble for us, we will kill you,” Zoë said to Narses.
“Very well, khatun. Now can I ask what you are doing here?”
“Your century is besieging Ankara.”
“Already?” Narses said. “But I thought they were days away…”
“It seems they made good time.”
“But the camp,” Narses said. “Your camp was this close to Ankara the whole time? I didn’t know…”
“You weren’t meant to,” Zoë said.
The barbarians permitted Narses to peak over the mountain. Below, in a green valley surrounded by hills and watered by an irrigated river, the walled city of Ankara shone with all the usual Roman splendor. As always, a straight paved highway led past tombs and refuse mounds to the gates, which were guarded by dozens of towers. Behind the walls were jumbled church domes as well as old Greek temple pediments. Mansions had been built on a few hills—some outside the walls—while a fortress guarded the city center.
The immortal century was drawn up before the main gate, and the engineers had assembled the Basilik. As Narses watched alongside the barbarians—who were lying flat on their chests, allowing only their eyes to rise above the mountaintop’s edge—the Basilik puffed a silent cloud of black smoke and sparks, and the city gate exploded into rubble and dust. A moment later, when the boom-crack struck the barbarians’ ears, some screamed, while all ducked and looked to the clear blue sky.
The beauty of our weapons, Narses thought.
“What was that?” Zoë asked Narses.
If I tell her, I’ll be committing treason.
“It’s called the Basilik,” he said. “It’s a new weapon. It breaks city walls within minutes or hours.”
“I can see that,” she said.
As the immortals swarmed inside Ankara, Zoë translated Narses’s answer to the barbarians. Almost before she had finished speaking, they responded with more questions, repeating the word “Basilik” to each other.
“They want to know how it works,” Zoë told Narses.
“It uses a flammable black powder to propel a large stone at high speed.”
She translated. In response, some barbarians leaned back and said: “ah.” Others asked more questions. Narses answered as best he could. Lord Arslan watched with his arms crossed, then spoke with Zoë.
Her coal-black eyes flashed at Narses. “Can it be captured?”
He nodded. “Only about one hundred Roman soldiers guard it, khatun.”
She translated to Lord Arslan, then added to Narses: “I think we need more men.”
This was the moment Narses realized he could escape captivity, though the idea must have been brewing inside him for some time, and even competing with the temptation to surrender body and soul to the Skythioi. Less than fifty barbarians were assembled here. The immortal century outnumbered them. The Romans therefore had a decent chance of victory, even if the barbarians surprised them. Narses might be able to break free if he could convince Lord Arslan to attack. These barbarians would be destroyed, with any survivors either executed or enslaved. Then Narses could return to saving Romanía.
It was hard to imagine how the barbarians could have treated Narses better, and yet they allowed a woman to control Lord Arslan, and were pagans who menaced Christendom. It was every citizen’s duty to destroy or sabotage them whenever God granted the opportunity. On top of that, he imagined himself returning to Konstantinopolis with Lord Arslan in chains. His Majesty Nikephoros would be so proud, he might even grant Narses a triumph through the Golden Gate and into the Hippodrome. Lord Arslan was the Seljuk sultan’s brother, after all. And who knew? Maybe Paul the Chain would die in the Seljuk attack. Then nothing would stand between Narses and victory.
“You can beat them, khatun,” he said. “They are as weak and tired as I was when you captured me. If you take them by surprise, you will be doubly likely of victory.”
She eyed him skeptically. “You seem eager for us to attack your old friends.”
Her intelligence is too strong, he thought.
“This may be your only chance, khatun,” Narses added. “Once the Romans are inside the city, it will be much harder. Are you prepared to besiege Ankara for months?”
Lord Arslan spoke with her, but she snapped at him again.
“You are lying to us,” she said to Narses. “I won’t even tell Lord Arslan what you’re talking about here because it seems too suspicious.”
I’ll be trapped with them forever. Narses met the blue, brown, and green eyes of the Skythioi. I’ll lose my mind. I’ll become their servant.
Zoë continued speaking to him—the khatun always talked too much—but Narses had made up his mind. He lunged toward her, and even with his hands bound he drank some of her energy before the Skythioi threw him off and drew their scimitars.
Your farr is recharged to 50/100, the voice said.
He slammed onto the ground, avoiding striking his head against a rock, but the divine farr was already coursing through him, and Zoë—close to death—had collapsed, her skin turning white. Tears in his eyes, Lord Arslan was trying to revive her—repeating the word “Sayyeda” as he clutched her to his chest.
Meanwhile, the Skythioi attacked Narses from every direction at once. With the help of the divine farr, he lifted his bound wrists and then pulled them down again just as a scimitar passed between them, slicing the rope free, the cold metal sliding against his flesh without cutting it. Next, Narses stretched out his hand, and Almaqah leaped out of its scabbard at Arslan’s side and into Narses’s grasp just in time to deflect the next blow. This attack came from Khurlu, whom Narses gouged across the chest, spraying blood everywhere. Tuğrul was next, a wound carved into his back.
Narses leaped on Seljuk heads and danced on Seljuk blades. His foes fell, one after another, and his mêlée weapon XP rose. When only Lord Arslan remained, Narses pointed his bloody sword at him. Lord Arslan lowered the trembling Zoë and picked up a fallen scimitar, his eyes streaming tears as he babbled barbarian nonsense at Narses. The immortal, meanwhile, found the rope which had bound him, and showed it to Lord Arslan, nodding to the barbarian’s wrists. The Seljuk shook his head and stabbed at Narses, who parried the thrust, dropping the rope in the process. Then Narses lunged forward, knocked Lord Arslan’s sword aside, and took communion with his spirit.
Your farr is recharged to 100/100, the voice said.
Now Narses felt like himself again. He diverted some farr into his health and stamina, fully replenishing them both.
I am General Narses, Domestikos of the Scholai.
Too much time without the divine farr had weakened him. Like a child he had almost run away with a band of savages! He had been tempted to become a barbarian puppet! But thankfully his adult self was back. Now he could overcome all obstacles. He would train the captured youths, and they would destroy the revolt, please their father Nikephoros, and purify the land of corruption.
Zoë was the only survivor. Her eyes gleamed through half-open eyes as she lay sprawled on the rocks, too drained to move. He knelt over her.
“Why?” she gasped.
Narses thought of mentioning that story from Aesop’s Fables about the scorpion who stung the fox’s back while the fox carried him across the stream. What was the moral? It’s just my nature. But he had no desire to waste his breath on a traitor. He drank the rest of her essence. The light faded from her eyes, and she became silent and still. When he had finished, he pried the royal ring from her finger and tucked it into his pocket. Stripping everything of value from the dead Seljuks, he piled the loot onto the horses, tied their halters together, and led them to Ankara, the conquering hero who had defeated the dark hordes and rabble all by himself.