“Listen to me,” Alexios said to Herakleia. “You can’t come with us out there. You have other responsibilities now.”

“You mean it’s because I’m a woman,” Herakleia said. “Because I’m too weak.”

Mothers standing with them on the wall were glaring at Alexios.

“No,” he said. “It’s nothing like that. You’re in charge. You have to make sure everyone’s doing their job. You have to make the tough calls. It’s like a game of shatranj—a game of chess. Remember when we used to play chess together in the old world? Sometimes you have to know when to sacrifice a pawn to save everyone else.”

“The workers and peasants know what they’re doing. They don’t need me.”

“They chose you,” Alexios said. “If you get killed out there, what’s going to happen to them? What are they going to do? Are we going to hold elections while we’re under attack?” He gestured to the city streets below the walls, where everyone had tired of listening to Narses and was now continuing to prepare for the siege. At this point the grandmothers and grandfathers were breaking down carriages to build staves, which children were sharpening and then handing to the wall defenders.

Herakleia was silent.

“We need you here,” Alexios said. “You’re the king in the chess match.”

“I want to fight.”

“Hey, who knows, you’ll probably get your chance.” Alexios turned to the enemy army, and added, in a low voice: “It’s honestly not looking good.”

While Narses continued to taunt the defenders on the walls, Herakleia and Alexios descended to the citadel courtyard. Alexios’s favorite students joined him, including Anna. She had just hugged and kissed her children Basil and Kassia goodbye. Crying, they begged her to stay, but she told them she needed to go.

“Everyone loves being alive,” she said. “Everyone has friends and family. But if I don’t go, someone else has to.”

They kept crying, unable to think of a way to change her mind. She hugged and kissed them again, then told them she loved them.

Once a grandmother had coaxed the children away, Anna looked at Alexios.

“I’m not going to make it,” she said.

“Don’t talk like that,” he said.

“Tell me you’ll take care of them,” she said.

“Anna, you barely know me—”

“Tell me or I won’t go. They have no one else.”

He watched her for a moment, thinking of how in a regular army this kind of insubordination would never be tolerated.

“Alright,” he said. “I’ll take them.”

“Swear you’ll be their father.”

“I swear.”

She hugged him. “Thank you.”

He forced himself to laugh. “No big deal.”

Alexios and Anna mounted horses, as did Irena and Ioannes. These last three had been elected dekarchs by the soldiers. Dozens of the Workers’ Army’s best fighters also joined them—too few to make up an entire century. They were armed with swords and spears, but few wore more than a helmet, a tunic, and sandals. Qutalmish caught up just in time, while Tamar—clutching a knife—emerged from the palace and ran back to the walls.

“Hey Tamar!” Herakleia said. “Did you have a change of heart about politeness?”

“There’s nothing polite about letting people murder your friends,” the queen answered without stopping.

Herakleia widened her eyes and turned to Alexios.

“Guess there’s only so far a mom will go,” he said.

Herakleia asked Samonas to get ready to open the Satala Gate. The organizer bowed, then shuffled away as fast as he could. Next, Herakleia turned to address the troops, but before she could make her stirring speech, a fisherman ran into the courtyard and interrupted her.

“It’s the imperial fleet!” he shouted. “They’ve arrived!”

“Great,” Alexios said. “I was looking for more of a challenge anyway.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Herakleia said. “You deal with the weapon. I’ll deal with the fleet.”

“Just make sure to stay out of the action,” Alexios said.

“There’s nobody left,” Herakleia said. “We don’t even have enough people to man the Paralos.”

Alexios grinned. “Since when has that been a problem?”

“I’ll have to find more fishermen,” she said to herself as she ran off with Qutalmish and the messenger. “Anyone strong enough to hold an oar…”

“Alright everyone, listen up!” Alexios turned to the soldiers, though they had already been watching him while he spoke with Herakleia.

“Maybe you’re the one who should be paying more attention to us,” Dekarch Ioannes said.

“Sorry,” Alexios said. “Do you mind if I try to explain what’s going on?”

Dekarch Ioannes nodded. “I think we have a pretty good idea of the situation, but go ahead.”

“Thank you. At the moment, the Romans are putting together some kind of weapon. It’s hidden behind their formation. I don’t know what the weapon does or how it works. All I know is that if they use it against the city, we’re dead. We need to destroy it.”

“Well, obviously,” Dekarch Ioannes said.

“So that’s our mission?” Dekarch Anna smiled at Alexios. By now the whole century was trotting on their horses toward the Satala Gate. “After all the time we spent practicing tactics and strategy and with the farr, we’re just going to ride up there and do our best to destroy something we don’t know anything about?”

Alexios shook his head. “We need to work as a team. Once we’re through the gate, we go slow. We have to draw the Roman army away from the weapon. We’ll head west, and act like we’re trying to flank them. Then I’ll double back and come at the weapon from the east so I can get a look at it.”

“Then what?” Dekarch Irena said.

“I’ll sound retreat.” He lifted the whistle wrapped around his neck. “Once I figure out what the weapon is. We’ll draw the Roman infantry back to the walls, then take care of them with the help of our archers and stone throwers. Once we’ve evened the odds a little, we’ll attack the weapon.”

“We’ll give you as much time as we can.” Dekarch Anna winked at him. “Sir.”

“Stay together,” Alexios said to all of them. “Stay in formation. Don’t let the farr fade.”

“You don’t even need to tell us, boss,” Dekarch Ioannes said.

Damn, this guy turned out to be pretty cool, Alexios thought. First impressions aren’t always correct.

“And remember,” Alexios told everyone. “Soldiers are workers. They are the pawns of the ruling class. If they throw down their weapons and surrender, you leave them alone.”

“But they’ll give us no quarter,” Dekarch Anna said.

Alexios turned to her. “What are we defending, if not humanity itself? It takes a lot of work, but even the worst person can change.”

She nodded. “Alright, sir.”

Alexios looked to the rest of his soldiers. “Any other comments or questions? No? Let’s do this.”

They trotted to the gate, which Samonas and his eunuch assistants hauled open to the ditch, the Satala Road, and Mount Minthrion, on the long gentle slope of which two maniples of Roman soldiers were waiting—along with Narses mounted on his black charger.

Alexios looked back at his comrades. Those wearing helmets had fitted them over their faces. Everyone wore serious, determined expressions. He felt proud of them.

“There’s no one I’d rather die with,” he said. “It’s been an honor.”

Some thanked him. Others were so nervous they could barely nod in response.

“Are you ready?” he said.

Most either nodded or grunted.

“Do you want these Roman pieces of shit to destroy your city?” he said.

“No,” some said, turning to him.

“Do you want them to enslave your children?”

“No,” more of them growled.

“Do you want all our hard work erased from history?”

“No!”

“Then let’s send this band of rapists and murderers down to hell where they belong!”

“Yeah!”

Trebizond’s cavalry rode through the Satala Gate, and the defenders on the walls cheered. But when Alexios and his students descended into the ditch, the slope was so steep they needed to dismount in order to climb the other side.

The workers did too good a job digging. Alexios grunted as he led his horse up the dark earth.

They remounted, reformed, and cantered up Mount Minthrion’s gentle grass slope, passing the hippodrome ruins, moving toward the cliffs that overlooked Trebizond below. Alexios ordered the century to spread out in case of archers, and his dekarchs relayed his commands. But since they’d had so little practice maneuvering on horses, it took time to form up. This made the Romans laugh. One enemy century had turned to face them—directed by trumpet blasts as well as several mounted officers riding back and forth among their ranks—their legs stomping in unison, their armor ringing. Slaves brought horses to the Roman infantry, and they remounted.

These guys have fought all the way across Anatolia, Alexios thought. They’ve been hardened by battle, while the Workers’ Army is green.

The other enemy century was still guarding the mysterious weapon, itself still being assembled at the top of Mount Minthrion.

So much for that strategy, Alexios thought.

The Workers’ Army assembled. Alexios ordered his troops closer to the cliff. He thought that maybe they could squeeze around the Romans, but the enemy century facing them had less ground to cover and easily moved to block their approach.

Just like chess, Alexios thought.

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Yet he was closer to the weapon now. Thanks to his knowledge from the old world, he understood what the Romans were assembling. It was bigger than he had expected—easily the size of a dromon.

At this thought, Alexios looked back at the harbor. With the wind in its favor, the Paralos was sailing out to meet a trio of Roman warships moving to attack the city, their banks of oars rising and falling like wings.

Herakleia must be there, he thought. I hope she’s alright.

“What is that?” Dekarch Anna nodded to the weapon.

Alexios turned to her. “It’s called a cannon. It doesn’t belong here.”

“What do you mean?” she said.

“They’re ahistorical,” Alexios said. “They don’t start appearing in European history for hundreds of years. It must have been thrown into the game to make things more interesting. Thank you, disembodied voice.”

You’re welcome, the voice said.

“What the hell are you talking about, sir?” Dekarch Ioannes said.

Alexios waved his hand. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is that it’s definitely as dangerous as we thought. Trebizond’s walls have never seen anything like it. It’s like a really powerful catapult, I guess. One or two shots will knock the walls down.”

“But how can we destroy it?” Dekarch Irena said. “It looks like it’s made of metal.”

“It uses something called gunpowder,” Alexios said. “A lot of gunpowder. If you light it on fire, it’s like thunder. It’s like super naphtha. It makes a big explosion that flings a projectile so fast you can’t even see it.”

“Fire taking down stone,” Ioannes said.

“We need something flammable that’ll destroy it,” Alexios said. “Maybe if we could shoot a fire arrow inside before they—”

“The arrows won’t stay lit for long enough,” Irena said. “They’ll get blown out in the wind or something. We can’t depend on them.”

“Then what do we do?” Alexios said.

Dekarch Anna looked at him. “Naphtha. There are a few naphtha pomegranates back on the walls. If we can throw one inside—”

“Grenades, you mean.” Alexios was growing excited. “Naphtha grenades. That’s right. They might destroy the cannon. It isn’t meant to be lit from the wrong end. Excellent idea, Anna!”

She blushed, then nodded. “Thank you, sir.”

Alexios blew the signal for retreat into his whistle. The Workers’ Army descended Mount Minthrion back to Trebizond’s walls, the Romans laughing.

Irena glared at them. “They won’t be laughing much longer.”

“We can’t let them manipulate us,” Alexios said. “They want us to get angry so we screw up.”

“Beg pardon, but they’re manipular arrays, sir.” Ioannes nodded to the Roman formations. “What do you expect? They’re naturally manipulative.”

Alexios snorted.

When they reached the ditch, Alexios checked over his shoulder to make sure the Romans were too far to hear. Then he asked the defenders for the naphtha pomegranates. They asked why, since the naphtha was supposed to be used as a last resort, and he explained that he needed to use it against the weapon.

“We need to move fast.” He looked over his shoulder to check the progress of the weapon’s assembly. “We might only have a few minutes!”

Two youths carried down the iron crate full of ceramic bombs, giving one pomegranate each to Alexios and the dekarchs, who stored them in their saddle bags. As the youths returned to the city, the riders faced the Roman army once more.

“You just have to throw them, right?” Alexios said to Dekarch Anna. “You don’t have to light them?”

“When they break, they blow up,” she said.

“Is there a special way to throw them?”

“Like this.” She reached out her left arm, and then pretended to hurl a bomb with her right.

“Alright.” Alexios said. “This is what I think we should do. We need to attack the cannon all at once. Whichever dekarch makes it close enough to the cannon can try to throw a pomegranate inside. Everyone else does their best to distract the Romans and protect us. If things don’t work out, I’ll sound retreat.”

“That’s it?” Dekarch Irena said.

“Do you have any better ideas?” Alexios said.

“They outnumber us, sir,” Dekarch Ioannes said. “Must be by three or four to one.”

Alexios looked at him. “No one said this was going to be easy.”

“I liked your earlier plan better,” Dekarch Anna said. “We should try to draw the Romans back to the walls. Then maybe we can take care of them.”

“I’m not sure we have time for that,” Alexios said.

“We’re not going to have any time at all if we get killed,” Dekarch Anna said.

“Alright,” Alexios said. “We’ll move to attack. Right after the swords start swinging, I’ll sound retreat. We go back to the walls at full gallop. We’re going to have to jump down into the ditch. Once we’re there, and the Romans are following us inside, half of us go left, half go right. We swing around and pin them against the walls from behind.”

“False retreat,” Dekarch Irena said. “Qutalmish taught us about that. They do it all the time on the steppe.”

Dekarch Ioannes cleared his throat. “But who’s going to know to go left or right?”

“We won’t have much of a formation by then,” Alexios said. “Things are going to be pretty chaotic. It’s alright if the numbers aren’t perfectly even. Just do your best to stay alive—and if you get killed, tried to take a few Romans with you! Are there any more questions? Does that sound good?”

“As good as it can, I suppose.” Dekarch Ioannes squinted at the Romans in the distance.

The other soldiers grunted their affirmation. After Alexios had explained the plan to the wall defenders, and they had agreed, he turned back to face the Romans.

Doesn’t Sun Tzu say you need to leave a golden path of retreat? he thought as they trotted back up to the Romans’ infuriatingly good position. But we have to destroy them at the walls. We can’t let them run back to defend the weapon.

Both Roman centuries had reformed, one in front of the other. Alexios was close enough to make out their faces. The Romans were already hurling insults at his soldiers—describing rape fantasies or ordering the mothers to go back into the kitchen where they belonged. Narses was at the front and center, glaring at Alexios.

For Dionysios, he thought. For Eugenios and Eudokia.

Alexios raised his Gedara sword, and blew on his whistle one long note: the order to charge. Shouting, the Workers’ Army lifted their blades and spears and urged their horses up Mount Minthrion. The Romans rushed down toward them. When both sides met, Alexios and Narses swung their swords at each other, and they clanged once before the two warriors hurtled away on their horses. Much the same had happened with the other fighters. While some collided and then flew into the ground, their horses screaming, most swept past each other in a galloping tide, then turned to engage in one-on-one mêlée combat—except, as Ioannes had warned, the ratio was more like four to one.

Alexios blew his whistle—three quick notes—and shouted: “Retreat!”

“Don’t have to tell me twice!” Dekarch Ioannes grunted from somewhere nearby.

The Workers’ Army fled the Romans, who laughed and chased after them, shouting about the good sport. One man yelled that he would buy his friend a cup of wine for killing that bitch queen back there.

Alexios was almost too afraid to look over his shoulder, but he sensed that everyone was galloping over the grass and flying down Mount Minthrion’s slope. Around the hippodrome ruins, and then Trebizond’s walls rushed up to meet the riders, who soared into the ditch, nearly falling from their saddles, the horses whinnying. Alexios looked to his left and right and decided to move left. Though he couldn’t be sure, it looked like most of his soldiers had made it so far—and that the Romans were taking the bait. Narses himself was chasing Alexios, his blue eyes shining from his tanned chiseled face as he beat his gigantic war horse with his crop, the beast gasping for breath and foaming at the bit.

The Workers’ Army struggled out of the ditch, all while the wall defenders hurled stones and shot arrows at the Romans. Most arrows missed, but stones smashed skulls, shoulders, and horses. Romans fell from their mounts into the ditch, their blood turning the dirt to muck, their helmets dented, their faces crushed with their brains pouring from their nostrils.

Alexios was so sickened he almost vomited, but he needed to keep going. They were so close. He checked the cannon. Had the Romans left it undefended?

Of course not, he thought.

The second Roman century was still there. Swearing, Alexios turned to the ditch. He was about to order his soldiers to charge when Narses jumped off his saddle and landed on the wall.

Before Alexios could react, Narses’s men had followed their general, their black cloaks whirling in the wind. Landing on the wall, they hacked at the defenders, who were youths and grandparents wielding staves and cooking knives.

The farr was the Romans’ secret weapon, Alexios thought. Not just the cannon.

Before Alexios could order his soldiers to help, they had already led their horses into the ditch, where they jumped off their saddles and sailed into the sky, landing on the battlements to fight the invaders. By the time Alexios joined them, Narses had already killed someone—the serving girl Theophano—but the Roman was doing something strange. He knelt over the girl—who was still trembling with life, Narses’s sword stuck in her chest—and opened his mouth wide. Light shone from Theophano’s mouth. It was so bright Alexios gasped, shut his eyes, and looked away, though the beams seared his skin and even penetrated his skull and blinded him for a moment. When the light faded, Theophano was a corpse, and Narses was glaring at Alexios, his eyes like twin suns.

Narses stood and walked toward Alexios, swinging his blazing sword and knocking Alexios off the wall. The blow took five health, leaving him with 95/100, but he would have fallen to his death if he hadn’t caught himself in time, swimming back through the air and then running on the ground, burning through farr in the process. When he stopped running, he blew his whistle, and shouted for the dekarchs to find their horses and follow him. Anna and Irena were busy on the walls—where was Ioannes?—but they acknowledged Alexios’s command, then jumped down into the ditch. In the chaos, they still found their mounts—marked as they were with the naphtha pomegranates bulging from their saddlebags. Then Alexios and the two dekarchs rode up Mount Minthrion toward the cannon. Alexios looked back to Trebizond. Only Narses was following them on his black charger, though he was still some distance away. The ditch was full of horses, corpses, dropped weapons and armor, and wounded men writhing like worms, while the walls were crowded with people stabbing each other and falling to their deaths. To Alexios’s surprise, most of the dying looked to be Roman soldiers. The refugees were doing a good job without him.

When he arrived at the cannon at the head of his dekarchs, he discovered that the second Roman century was made of children, many too young for their first beards.

Child soldiers!

Too small to ride horses, they were all on foot, armed with swords and lacking any armor. Most fled at the dekarchs’ approach. One youth attacked Alexios, the tallest among them, though he was so inexperienced Alexios parried his blow and knocked his sword away, gaining a little mêlée combat XP in the process. Then the boy attacked with his bare fists, but Alexios kicked him to the ground. In the distance, Narses screamed something—it sounded like the name “Romanos”—but Alexios couldn’t be sure.

This cleared the path to the gigantic cannon, though it was still surrounded by hundreds of men working to assemble it. Few fled at the dekarchs’ approach, while some even threw themselves on the Trapezuntine blades; they must have been more frightened of Narses than the enemy. Slaves were also guarding the nearby Roman baggage train of mules, oxen, and carriages, all loaded with supplies.

Dekarch Anna was the first to charge the weapon. She pulled out her naphtha pomegranate and threw it while still galloping on her horse, but the ceramic bomb burst against the outside, wreathing it in flames which spread to nearby engineers. These fell to the ground wailing as fire melted their flesh from their bones. Other engineers kept working without even looking up, oblivious to their friends’ fate.

“Damn!” Anna growled.

Narses had arrived. He chased Anna. Before Alexios could ride to her assistance, Narses cut her down. She fell from her horse, rolled in the grass, and was still.

“No!” Alexios screamed.

Dekarch Irena came at the cannon next. Stopping under the cannon’s mouth, she took careful aim with her naphtha bomb, and then tossed it underhand—but missed. The ceramic pot landed under the cannon and cracked open, the flames licking at the black iron belly. This time any nearby engineers stepped out of the way, ordered by their overseer—a gaunt bent-backed man with long white hair stretching down from his bald pate. Irena escaped the flames in time.

Glancing at Alexios with amusement, Narses chased after her. She was galloping to Trebizond, her horse almost flying as it kicked its legs, but Narses threw his sword, and it swooped through the air, gleaming and ringing before it sank into her back. She fell from her horse and rolled in the grass, struggling to pull the blade from her spine. Then, as Alexios watched in horror, Narses dismounted to tear his sword from her, using his foot for leverage. He knelt down once more and drank her light. Now his eyes were so bright that shadows swung back and forth wherever he looked.

Narses raised his sword—red with the blood of Alexios’s friends—and mounted his black steed. Alexios was afraid. Before he even knew what was happening, Narses had chased him from the cannon—where the engineers, keeping away from the fire, were using wooden cranes and rope pulleys to load a huge boulder inside. The overseer was adjusting the weapon’s aim, shouting that he was almost ready, they were almost finished, the black powder charge had been inserted. The child soldiers, too, had reformed, and Narses screamed to attack the city once the walls were down.

“Kill everyone inside!” he yelled over his shoulder.

“Yes, sir!” they shouted in unison, eager to please.

Alexios couldn’t outrun Narses, and he also lacked the ability to defeat him in combat. The Roman warrior was too strong, too skilled. Narses laughed as their swords clashed; Alexios couldn’t even face him because the Roman’s eyes were too bright.

Narses raised his blinding blade into the air to lob Alexios’s head from his shoulders. He could already tell that it was too late. But then someone shouted in the distance.

“Hey, Alexios!”

Narses turned. It was Gontran. He was with Diaresso, and they were both galloping up Mount Minthrion at full speed toward the cannon, the former with his pistol-sword aimed at Narses, the latter with his crossbow. Gontran fired, and something red puffed from Narses’s back. The Roman dropped his sword, and he tumbled into the dust. Light faded from his eyes and seemed to splash from his wound. Alexios gasped with relief.

“Jesus, fuck that guy!” Gontran shouted. “Now let’s blow up this cannon and get the hell out of here!”

Alexios jumped off his horse and onto the boulder the engineers were trying to lift inside the cannon. Then he took careful aim, and—summoning all the farr within himself—he hurled the naphtha bomb inside and leaped away. The ceramic pot cracked, and a chasm of fire shrieked from the cannon mouth. Searing flames shot through the ignition hole at the far end, incinerating the overseer’s face so that he fell away and slammed onto the ground, his head charred slag.

Then the cannon—wreathed in smoke and fire that spread to its support scaffolding—tumbled free and rolled down Mount Minthrion into the Roman baggage train. More gunpowder must have been stored there, for a blinding burst of light came with a deafening crack which made Alexios’s ears ring as it knocked him down. The resulting explosion punched a hole into the Earth’s crust, the air tearing like it couldn’t contain so much sound. A shockwave hurtled across the sky, shaking boulders from the mountains, splintering Trebizond’s walls, and throwing down everyone who was still standing. Black pillars of smoke wreathed in blinding fire rose from the cannon’s remains, climbing above the clouds and scattering them. Human bodies caught in the blast rose up, their arms and legs flailing, and then they fell down again, slamming into the ground and tumbling. Dead engineers lay everywhere.

Gontran and Diaresso whooped and cheered.

“That was a good one!” Gontran cried. “Let’s do it again!”

Losing no time, Alexios found a jittery horse and joined Diaresso and Gontran galloping together to help Trebizond’s defenders finish off the last of the Roman fighters.