Strategos: Rise of the Golden Heart (3 page)

Sha looked to Blastares and Procopius, touching his split cheek gingerly. ‘Well timed.’

But Blastares’ nonchalant expression faded as soon as the populace dispersed. The big man wore a troubled frown, as did Procopius.

‘Blastares?’

‘Have you seen the strategos?’

‘I was on my way to find him,’ Sha started.

‘Then we must hurry,’ Procopius cut in. ‘Bey Nasir has sent a messenger to the walls – he readies to advance upon the walls and end the siege!’

***

Apion stared at the cup, frowning. Now it was absolutely still. Had it been a trick of the light?

Then footsteps echoed down the narrow alley. He looked up to see his three tourmarchai hurrying towards him. These were his trusted three – the men who had been like brothers in his years in the ranks: Sha the pragmatist, Blastares the infantry lion and Procopius, whose knowledge of siege craft was legendary.

‘Sir, we need to act,’ Sha spoke first, crouching before him. ‘Bey Nasir has addressed the walls. He demands our surrender and insists he will attack at noon tomorrow if we do not comply.’

Apion’s gaze narrowed, falling back to the water’s surface. ‘Then our fears of thirst and starvation matter little!’ he chuckled dryly.

Blastares frowned at the other two, then nodded to the cup. ‘Hold on, I recognise that cup – you’re drinking the piss-brew from the tavern?’

Apion shot him a stern glare. ‘It’s water, Blastares. If I visited a whorehouse would that mean I was there only for the rutting?’

Blastares and Procopius looked at one another, eyebrows raised and bottom lips curled down, nodding.

Apion scowled at this. ‘I came here to think . . . ’ he stopped, shook his head, rubbed his face with his palms and then affixed his three with a steely look. ‘You said noon tomorrow? You are sure of his intentions?’

Procopius nodded hurriedly. ‘They are readying their war engines. I have seen them treating the ropes and the timbers of their stone throwers.’ He stopped and cupped his jaw, his eyes narrowing. ‘But I have a feeling in the pit of my stomach that they’re up to something else . . . ’

‘Aye, they are,’ Apion frowned. ‘If Nasir says they will attack at noon tomorrow then I can assure you he will strike our walls tonight. Has word of this message
spr
. . . ’ his words trailed off and his gaze locked onto the water in the cup once more.

‘Sir?’ Sha asked. Then he, Blastares and Procopius all looked to the water’s surface.

The surface was still.

Then it rippled from the faintest of tremors. Apion’s eyes widened.

Procopius’ jaw dropped and he glanced to the ground beneath their feet. ‘Sappers!’

Blastares sprung to his feet. ‘If they get under the walls . . . ‘

Procopius raised a finger, cutting him off, and waited until the liquid rippled again. ‘See how the ripple emanates from the side of the cup nearest the walls? I’d say they are already under the walls, but they’re not finished tunnelling yet.’ The aged tourmarches’ eyes darted this way and that.

‘Either way we must act, immediately,’ Blastares appealed.

‘I will deal with the tunnels,’ Apion replied. ‘Sha, we need to discuss how the men should be deployed.’ Then he turned to Blastares and Procopius. ‘You two need to deal with the Seljuk artillery.’

Blastares frowned. ‘The artillery? You mean the artillery
outside
the walls?’ he crouched back down on his haunches with a dry chuckle, folding his arms. Then he jabbed a thumb at Procopius and cracked a wry smile. ‘This old bastard knows all there is to know about artillery, but are you proposing that he and I walk out there and eliminate, what, six catapults, and two trebuchets? Then stroll back in here for some of the foetid, briny brew from the tavern?’

‘Yes, yes, that might work,’ Procopius cut in, stroking his chin with his thumb and forefinger.

‘Eh?’ Blastares frowned, his face like an angered bull. Then he saw the old tourmarches was deep in thought.

‘You know a bit of the Seljuk tongue now, as do I,’ Procopius continued as if Blastares had not spoken. He looked to Apion, who had taught them some basics of the language, before continuing; ‘A pair of thick cloaks and two serrated daggers, and a bit of stealth . . . aye . . . ’

Blastares frowned, his bottom lip trembling in exasperation. ‘What are you muttering about?’

‘I think I’ll leave you to it?’ Apion said, cocking an eyebrow as he stood. ‘I believe I am needed at the walls.’

3.
Cutting the Noose

Nasir buckled on his scimitar, straightened his scale vest then stepped out of his tent and into the light of a waxing moon and a glitter of stars. The blessed cool of night saw the soldiers of his warband both armoured and cloaked. The infantry were poised, mounted archers eager, all eyes on Kryapege’s walls. The artillery was primed. They were ready. He was ready. For twelve years he had been ready. He lifted a neatly braided lock of Maria’s hair from his purse, inhaled its scent and kissed it gently.

Forgive me
, he mouthed.

‘Sir, I implore you, wait here,’ a voice interrupted his thoughts. ‘Let your men lead the tunnelling party . . . ’

Nasir snapped his glare round upon the akhi captain, halting and silencing him. Then he placed his conical helm on his head. As the ornate noseguard slid into place and the mail aventail gathered around his shoulders, Nasir turned from the walls and set his sights on the small hillock just behind his readied ranks. To the rear of this rise, hidden from Byzantine view, a timber frame outlined a broad cavity, gouged into the red earth.

Nasir clicked his fingers. At this, some two-hundred akhi spearmen rushed to form up behind him. Only the whites of their eyes, speartips and helms showed above their shields. He waved them forward, their horn and iron armour rippling like the scales of a giant serpent as they snaked towards the tunnel entrance.

He slowed only when two men – a bulky figure and a smaller one, both wrapped in cloaks – cut across his path. The hooded pair stumbled as they hurried out of the way, the smaller of the two muttering some apology in a broken Seljuk tongue. ‘Cursed Mercenaries!’ Nasir grumbled as the pair made their way towards the artillery lines and the other Persian engineers.

Shaking the distraction from his thoughts, Nasir snatched a torch from the sapper who stood beside the tunnel’s entrance. Then he strode into its depths, the serpent of men diving underground with him. He marched past the collection of Persian workers, still fitting and making good the timber struts that held the tunnel in place. The tunnel descended sharply until the rock was damp and cool and the gloomy corridor rattled with the echo of iron and crunching boots. Then, when they reached one set of struts with a turquoise rag tied around each side, Nasir raised a hand. They were nearly under the walls of Kryapege.

At once they slowed the pace of the march, cupping their weapons gingerly, padding forward in near silence. They continued like this for several hundred feet, noticing the tunnel rise again, towards ground level. Then, up ahead in the torchlight a wall of red earth and rubble appeared, marking the tunnel’s end. This section was heavily strutted, given the proximity to the surface. Nasir grinned; from here, his column could spill into the heart of the Byzantine town and seize the walls under cover of darkness.

‘How far?’ he whispered to the head sapper.

The burly, moustachioed man wiped the sweat from his brow and squinted. ‘Seven feet,’ he replied, jabbing a finger upwards. ‘With my best men I can break through very soon.’

Nasir gave him a cold nod. ‘Then you must begin at once.’

Nasir turned to his waiting men, raising a clenched and shaking fist. ‘Let every swing of your blades stain the earth with Byzantine blood,’ he hissed through gritted teeth. Then he raised one finger. ‘But leave the
Haga
. For he is mine to slay!’

***

Apion stood in near-darkness. Expressionless iron masks hovered all around him in the chill, a faint orange underglow betraying their unforgiving, empty-eyed stares. He thought again of the past. He thought of the few he had once loved, and then the countless number he had slain since those precious few were taken from him. A ghost of that past was coming for him now.

Then the darkness and the silence were pierced by a dull, almost apologetic chink of iron upon rock, directly in front of him.

It was time.

At once, his gaze sharpened. He placed his helm on his head, the three black eagle feathers jutting from the crest and the cool, iron scale aventail slithering down his neck like an asp’s skin. He squared his shoulders, the iron plates of his klibanion rustling and his crimson cloak slipping back from his shoulders as he did so. He rested his palm on the ivory hilt of old Mansur’s scimitar and glared into the darkness. In the void, a vision formed of a dark, arched doorway, the orange glow behind it beckoning him forward, a sibilant voice beyond it taunting him. This image had plagued him even before his first days of war, the voice drawing him into the hell that lay behind the timbers. He knew for certain that he would walk in those flames today.

‘Ready?’ he hissed to the iron masks around him.

The masks nodded in silence.

Let the past come for me.

***

The air was growing stale and thin in the tunnel, and Nasir’s breath came and went like fire in the gloom. His teeth grated as he watched the head sapper and his engineers chip carefully at the rock face. They were heartbeats from seizing victory.
A breath from ending the Haga’s days,
he enthused, his grimace bending into a rapacious grin. Then he frowned.

The head sapper was stepping back from the tunnel end, confusion pinching his features.

Nasir followed the man’s gaze; the centre of the rock face had crumbled away under the sapper’s chiselling. But instead of more rock as expected, a hole the size of a coin had appeared. Darkness lay beyond.

‘We should still have another six feet to go, should we not?’ one hunchbacked sapper asked his leader. ‘Did we misjudge our depth?’

The head sapper shook his head, pushed his eye to the hole. Then he twisted round to Nasir, his face pale, his mouth agape and his pupils dilated in panic.

The breath caught in Nasir’s lungs as an acrid tang curled into his nostrils from the opening. For just a heartbeat, the tunnel was deathly silent. Then his eyes bulged in realisation. He swept his hands up. ‘Back . . . BACK!’

The roar had barely left his lips when an almighty crash shook the tunnel. At once, the tunnel end crumbled like a falling veil. The coin-sized hole became a gaping maw from which a clutch of demons glared out, a dull orange light dancing across their iron faces. Then the dust of the fallen rock swept over the Seljuks. Nasir staggered back, gagging and wiping at his eyes.

As the dust settled, he saw the reality of what stood inside the countermine – men in iron masks, conical helms and klibania. A pair at either side held miniature battering rams, still caked in the dust of the thin partition they had just demolished. The band of them in the centre carried iron canisters under one arm and held leather-bound iron siphons in the other, gentle flames licking from the ends.

Siphonarioi.
The dreaded Greek fire throwers.

In their midst stood an amber-bearded warrior with three black eagle feathers on his helmet, his deep-set eyes shaded under a dipped brow.

The
Haga
raised one hand, and it was enough to send the Seljuk warriors scrambling backwards, toppling over one another.

‘At them!’ Nasir screamed, ripping his blade from its sheath to rally his men.

But his words were drowned out by a thunderous roar as the
Haga
dropped his hand and the siphonarioi unleashed their fury. The tunnel was filled with wrathful orange plumes and an acerbic black smoke. The akhi warriors fled in panic, screaming, many ablaze from head to toe as the fire clung to them like wet clay. In moments, blackened bodies fell to their knees and then toppled to the dust.

Nasir pressed up against the tunnel-side behind one strut. His skin was tormented by the searing heat but he was untouched by the spouting flames. Cutting out the glare of the blaze through narrowed eyes, he saw the
Haga
watching the destruction like a scavenger waiting for the predator to finish its meal. Then at last the siphons fell silent, leaving a carpet of fire and thrashing men. With a roar, Nasir leapt out from the strut and charged over the flames. He pushed past the screaming inferno that was the chief sapper and leapt for the
Haga
, scimitar raised over his left shoulder.

In a flash of iron, the
Haga
spun to him, ripping his own blade from its scabbard. They clashed at the edge of the carpet of fire. The flames licked at their boots. Their swords met in a screech of iron, sparks dancing and adding to the fiery hell all around them. For the briefest of moments, the pair’s faces were inches apart, grimacing as they fought for supremacy, each pushing their blade towards the other. Nasir’s lips trembled with rage as he saw the
Haga’s
features illuminated in the firelight; the callous emerald eyes that had haunted his every thought. At last, Nasir slid his blade from the contest and ducked back. As the
Haga
stumbled forward under his own momentum, Nasir ripped his scimitar up, the tip scoring across his foe’s face. The
Haga
staggered back from the blow, but he was unblinking, his face set like stone despite the blood that washed from the bridge of his nose and his cheek. Then Nasir lunged forward, the tip of his blade plunging towards his enemy’s heart.

At the last, the
Haga
swept his scimitar up and parried, then he drove forward, deftly and fiercely, swiping his blade in a flurry of silver. Nasir felt the force of each blow and could only parry. In moments, he had been driven back into the carpet of fire and then he tripped over the smoking corpse of the head sapper. He flailed, toppling into the blaze.

The flames enveloped the right side of his face, clinging to his flesh. Unearthly pain gripped him. He scrambled back from the blaze to the strut behind which he had sheltered. There he beat at the flames until at
last
his skin was free of them. Over his own screaming, he heard a lone voice.

‘It doesn’t have to end like this, Nasir. Leave, while you still can,’ the
Haga
spoke.

Nasir winced at the stinging agony and the pungent stench of melted flesh on his face. He looked up across the carpet of flames, dipped his brow and pinned his nemesis with a gimlet stare. Then he gripped his scimitar, readying to strike again. At this, the
Haga
shook his head in resignation, then turned and nodded to the men carrying the battering rams.

With a crash, they battered at the nearest struts of the Seljuk tunnel. The wooden posts cracked and bent and a shower of earth and rock rained down around Nasir in a grim portent. Through the tumbling rocks, Nasir fixed the
Haga
with his glare, raising his scimitar point like an accusing finger. Then he turned, just as the battering rams shattered the struts completely. This time the tunnel capitulated. Nasir leapt back from the rockfall and fled back through the tunnel, leaping over the charred corpses of his men, hearing the abruptly severed screams of the stricken that were caught under the collapsing earth.

He burst from the end of the tunnel, only paces ahead of the collapse, then toppled to his knees, panting. Rubble and dust shot out of the tunnel behind him and then the entrance collapsed too. All around him were the few of his tunnelling party that had escaped. They lay blackened and groaning like shards of a shattered blade.

Nasir struggled to his feet, batting away the helping hands of his men, some bringing balms and bandages. He lifted his scimitar and looked upon his reflection. The skin was gone from his jaw and cheek, and the sinew and muscle underneath was blistered and angry, while the white of one eye was blood-red and bulging. A voice barged into his thoughts uninvited.
The ghosts of his past have all but destroyed him . . . when you next look upon a mirror, think upon those words
. He shook the crone’s musings from his mind with a low growl. The pain and the disfigurement were a fine price to pay if it meant the
Haga
would be slain today.

Then he heard a faint chanting rise from within the walls of Kryapege.

‘
Nobiscum Deus!
’ mixed with ‘
Ha-ga! Ha-ga! Ha-ga!’

He turned his searing gaze upon the town.

***

Apion and two skutatoi bundled the trio of captured Seljuk akhi from the countermine, then on through the lower town and towards the eastern gate. The Chaldian soldiers and the native garrison alike chanted and cheered as he passed, their breath clouding in the dawn chill. Even the townsfolk joined in, roused from doubtless fitful sleeps, hope sparkling in their eyes at last.

Stow your hopes and be ready to fight for your lives,
he thought as he marched through them. His body still trembled with shock from the clash with Nasir, and the dark door lay ajar in his thoughts. Today was far from over.