Orban and the engineers were the first Romans Narses encountered when he arrived at Ankara, but he ignored their questions and gasps of surprise as he dismounted and led the horses over the rubble and bodies at the blasted gate and inside the city. There he found the usual carnage: fires burning, half-naked men and women lying dead in the street clutching their children—who were sometimes still alive—near piles of ikons, jewelry, and gold pieces. He distributed his Seljuk loot to the immortals he met along the way, greeting them, answering their questions, asking how they were doing, cracking jokes with his brothers whom he had missed so much. He was even reunited with Xanthos, his beloved war horse. After he had gotten rid of everything, he found Paul the Chain walking alone along the main thoroughfare with his back turned, looking absurd in a helmet and cuirass, clutching a sword and shield. Narses crept up behind him and tapped his helmet with Almaqah.
Paul whirled around, eyes wide, and bashed Narses’s sword away with his own weapon.
Narses laughed, then raised his finger. “I could have killed you.”
“Where the hell have you been? We thought you were dead!”
“Thank you for refusing to pay my ransom.” Narses sheathed his sword and strolled around Paul.
“Ransom? What ransom?”
“Didn’t the Skythioi visit you and demand a ransom?”
“What? Yes—a Skythian emissary told us they had captured someone named John. We thought they were trying to trick us since that’s the most common Christian name…we thought that they made it up. That they had your body, but wished to extort money from us.”
“Always putting money in your purse, aren’t you, Paul?”
“Did you tell them that your name was John? Why?”
“I found an old mutual acquaintance of ours.” He showed Zoë’s ring to Paul.
Paul furrowed his forehead as he stared at the ring. Then he looked up. “How did you get this? You know it’s forbidden for—”
“It comes from the hand of Princess Zoë herself.”
“You found her? Where is she?”
Narses pointed to his chest. “Her essence lives in me, now.”
As Narses thought about it, he felt the khatun inside him trying to escape.
“Do you mean to say that she’s dead?” Paul said.
“To lose your spirit to an immortal is a fate worse than death, logothete. It means immortal life is denied the soul. Rather than dwelling in heaven or the Hell of the Damned, the soul simply becomes so much fuel for my inner fire.”
Paul released a single cruel gasp of laughter. “That was foolish of you. Had you taken Karbonopsina alive, we could have used her to capture Herakleia. The fugitive princess is so weak, she would surrender before allowing any harm to come to her sister.”
“You are mistaken. When Herakleia learns I killed her sister, it will break her spirit.”
“Oh, thank you, yes, brilliant.” Paul looked around at the ruins of Ankara. “You’ve been right about so much on this odyssey of ours, how else could you possibly be wrong? We only have a few more cities to destroy before we reach our destination.”
Paul strode over the rubble in the road before stopping and turning to speak again.
“Things went more quickly and easily without you, Domestikos. The Ankarans almost opened the gates to us without a fight.”
“Almost,” Narses said.
Paul shrugged in response, and kept walking. Later in the evening when the immortals had set up camp in the courtyard of the city’s abandoned kastron, Narses found Outrider Philippikos sitting before a cooking fire. The outrider stood and gasped when he saw Narses, then fell to his knees.
“I’m so sorry, sir, I never should have left you,” Philippikos cried. “I was so worried.”
“If times were less desperate, you would pay for this mistake,” Narses said. He enjoyed looking down at the groveling fool. “But I still require your services.”
“So there’s to be no additional punishment, then?”
“Were you already punished, Philippikos?”
“I received twenty lashes for abandoning a superior officer, sir.” Wincing, Philippikos attempted to show him his back, then realized it was covered by his cape and cuirass. He nodded to Kentarch Tzanichites, who was then making his rounds among the men. “Ask him, sir. He’s the one who delivered the punishment.”
Narses looked to Tzanichites, who bowed.
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“It’s true, sir,” the kentarch said.
“Was that not a mild punishment?” Narses said.
“Forgive me, sir,” Tzanichites said. “We were on the move, and worried about being attacked. We had to keep it quick, and as you said, we couldn’t damage him too badly.”
Narses looked back to Philippikos. “Ten more lashes.”
Tzanichites nodded. “Sir.”
Philippikos slumped to the street, covered his face, and cried.
“Act like a man,” Narses said. “Or I’ll increase the amount to twenty more lashes.”
Philippikos wiped his eyes, held his breath, and nodded. As Tzanichites helped him up, Narses spotted Nemanjos eating behind a carriage and approached him. The quartermaster was doing his best to look at anything and anyone except Narses.
“Stefan Nemanjos,” Narses said.
The quartermaster stopped, turned, faked a smile, and bowed. “General, what an unexpected—”
“I need a report on the status of the century,” Narses said.
“Certainly, general, if you’ll just allow me—”
“There’s no need to prepare. Tell me what you know now.”
Nemanjos nodded. “Yes, very well, sir. We’ve had a decent time, to everyone’s surprise. Actually, since your, uh, unfortunate disappearance, you’ve been our only casualty, sir, aside from a few cuts and bruises here and there among the men. Food and water supplies couldn’t be better, thanks to sacking so many cities. We’ve also been in touch with the fleet, and instructed them to attack Trebizond in approximately ten days, which is when we expect to arrive.”
“The students,” Narses said. “Where are they?”
“That’s the one place where we’re having some trouble, sir. A number of them have run off. The others are—”
“How many escaped?”
“Oh, roughly a dozen. But—”
“You didn’t pursue them?”
“Kentarch Tzanichites insisted that we proceed with accomplishing our primary mission objectives, sir,” Nemanjos said. “To capture princess Herakleia and put down the revolt.”
“Is the boy Romanos among those who escaped?”
“He attempted to run away, sir, but we managed to apprehend him.”
“Take me to them.”
Nemanjos bowed. “Sir.”
The quartermaster led the general out of the kastron and back into the city. Many buildings had been abandoned long ago. Their walls and pillars were cracked; their rooftops were broken and scarred from fire, and sparrows were nesting in the rafters. Ankara had seen better days.
The immortals are a new element, Narses thought. A new variable. Something to counter the endless invasions from east and west. I must train more.
He dismissed Nemanjos when the quartermaster brought him to the youths, who were tied up again and sitting in a paved square. Two immortals guarded them.
Narses found Romanos and lifted him to his feet without speaking. Seizing his hands, Narses gave him a taste of the farr. Romanos looked up at him, trembling, and his eyes were full of fire.
“What—what have you done to me?” Romanos stammered.
Narses took the boy’s wrist and was leading him toward a beggar lying at the square’s far end when Romanos shook himself loose and leaped into the sky. The general pulled him back down again.
Narses pointed at the boy’s face. “Do not toy with me. I can take your power just as well as give it.”
Romanos glared at him, but said nothing.
Narses brought him to the beggar, an old filthy man with long white hair dressed in rags, reeking of wine. The man had passed out.
Useless, Narses thought. Lazy. No personal responsibility. He chooses to be out here like this. Too expensive to treat his mental issues. We’ll be doing the world a favor.
“You must take communion.” Narses turned to Romanos.
The beggar opened his bloodshot eyes and looked at them.
“Take communion?” Romanos said.
“Your lordships.” The beggar clasped his hands and knelt before them. “How might I be of service?”
“All life has energy,” Narses said to Romanos. “If you wish to increase your farr, you must take it.”
Narses seized the beggar with one hand and transferred his pneuma into Romanos with the other. The beggar collapsed on the pavement while Romanos shuddered.
“Do you see?” Narses released both the beggar and the boy.
Romanos nodded. His eyes were shining brighter than ever.
You have gained favor with Romanos, the voice said.
“This power is called the divine farr,” Narses said. “It comes from God alone. We must use it to protect His representative on Earth—His Majesty the Emperor. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Romanos said.
Narses untied him and released his grip.
The boy looked at him. “Can you tell me more?”
“Do you swear to die for His Majesty the Emperor Nikephoros?” Narses said.
Romanos nodded. “I swear.”
“I will teach you,” Narses said. “Together, we will teach the others.”
They returned to the youths. Narses and Romanos selected two—orange-haired Joseph, horrified by Romanos’s transformation, was not among them—then brought them through the city until they found people who were alive, but too weak to resist. In this case, these people consisted of an old woman with a child, possibly her granddaughter. Narses and Romanos took their souls and gave them to the youths. As they shivered with the joy of power, they swore to serve Nikephoros, just as Romanos had.
The four of them returned to the youths and took four more, repeating the process. Eight took eight. Sixteen took sixteen. As the immortal century pillaged the city, Narses taught all the students he had captured how to use the divine farr. Joseph was the only one who refused to join them. Since he was crying like a baby, the others spat at him and cursed him but otherwise left him alone. For now, he was unworthy of the farr. Narses would change him later.
In the evening, the transformed youths were ravenous, eating and drinking almost whatever they could find, their stamina depleted. After stuffing their bellies, they slept until reveille woke them at sunrise. Then the century tallied the loot taken from Ankara, and left for the east. Narses was unsure if they would survive or even reach their goal now that they were penetrating deep into Seljuk territory, where food and water was scarce, and the immortal century itself riven with problems. But His Majesty Nikephoros’s words kept resounding inside his skull.
“This is your last chance,” His Majesty Nikephoros had said. “You stay out there until you win.”