Thomas Harlan - The storm of Heaven

Something crashed into his back, throwing him down. The Emperor rolled weakly, swinging around. A figure dressed in scaled mail loomed over him, burning with clinging green fire. A spear was clutched in its bony hands, the wooden haft already smoking and charred. Heraclius groped for a sword, then screamed as the spear stabbed at him. There was a sharp grating sound, sparks flying as the spearhead cracked through a joint in his armor, and then a spreading coldness in his chest. The Emperor scrabbled at the spear, trying to pull it out.

The corpse ground the point around in his ribcage, grinning white bone in the ruin of its face. Heraclius struggled, kicking at the thing's leg, then his hands slipped weakly from the smoking wood and his head lolled back, blood spilling from his mouth. With a dry hiss, the corpse wrenched the spear from the man's chest, then crumpled to one side, the green fire eating through its legs and back. Smoke boiled up out of the breastplate, obscuring a stylized emblem of two palms decorating the back of the armor.

– |Dwyrin scuttled forward, his face averted from the wall of intensely hot flame that roared around the circumference of his little cleared circle. Grunting, the young man heaved Rufio onto his shoulder. "You're a heavy bastard," Dwyrin hissed between gritted teeth. The man seemed to be alive, though part of his face was badly burned. "Let's walk now!"

Rufio managed to get his legs under him and Dwyrin turned in the direction he thought Vladimir had run. The Walach had promised to come right back, but the Hibernian could not see him. Stray corpses staggered past, some burning, some not. There was the sound of battle off in the mouth of one of the streets. Dwyrin staggered that way, dragging Rufio. Behind him, the lime fire continued to hiss and burn, greedily feasting on tens of thousands of corpses.

As he ran, the Hibernian suddenly felt a dreadful chill and looked up in surprise. Something swept past, overhead, something winged like an enormous bat, and angry, speeding east towards the heart of the city. Dwyrin nearly tripped on a crawling arm, disturbed by the presence in the sky. He had felt the power once before, long ago. The memory was a scar, glassed over, buried but not healed. He tried to run faster, hoping to find Nicholas and Vladimir somewhere ahead.

– |The Irene slid across the dark, oily harbor waters. The crew were silent, bent over their oars, the grate and rattle of the oarlocks muted. Fire burned all along the ramparts above the military harbor, lighting the sky. Huge clouds of smoke were mounting into the sky over the city, glowing orange and vermilion. There was no wind. Many galleys were splintered and broken on the stone piers, their hulls listing above the slick water. Everywhere that Dahvos looked, he saw close-packed masses of people. They filled the quays and the breakwater from side to side. Even the half-sunken ships were covered with huddled figures. The white faces, pale and silent, stared back at him as the ship sailed past.

"Lord General," the Roman captain whispered, "we're not going to land, are we?" His eyes were wide and filled with fear. The crowds had fallen silent when the first of the Western galleys had entered the harbor, though before that a tumult of prayers, screams and moaning wails had filled the air. "They'll swamp any boat putting ashore."

"I know," Dahvos said in a cold tone. "We are not going to take on any civilians."

"What?" The captain swallowed a curse, staring out at the nearest dock. Women were holding up their children, their eyes pleading. Some younger boys had leapt into the water and were swimming towards the passing ship. On the deck of the Irene, sailors were waiting with bill hooks and spears to drive them off if they tried to climb the railing. "There are thousands of people…"

"I can see." Dahvos faced the man, his face a rigid mask, half in shadow from the ruddy glare. "This city is doomed. The Persians will not sit idly by while the defenders are distracted by earthquake and fire. They are attacking the land walls at this moment. All we can do, with these ships, is take aboard every fighting man we can. Then, perhaps, there will be a chance to recapture the city in the future."

"But… but the people!" The captain gestured wildly at the docks. "They'll all die!"

"No." Dahvos looked up, gauging the progress of the fire, seeing the towers and battlements of the seawall lit with a furious red glow. "The fire cannot burn stone. They will be safe here, if cold and wet. In a day, the fire will have died down and they will return to their homes. The Persians are not monsters-they will let them resume their daily routine."

"My lord, that is monstrous! How-"

"You will do what I command," Dahvos snapped, hand sliding around the hilt of his longsword. "We will put in there." The Khazar pointed ahead, across the water, to a long quay that jutted out into the middle of the harbor. It was thick with people crowding right up to the edge, but there was also the glint of armor and helmets among the crowd. At the end of the dock, the main road from the city descended on a causeway from the ramparts above to the harbor.

At the captain's command, the Irene swung towards the pier, her oars moving in swift unison. The ship crabbed around, then slipped forward in smooth, effortless motion. Dahvos saw, as their destination became clear, a surge in the people packed onto the dock. A wail rose up, pitiful and hopeless, from the other piers and people began to beg and scream. His jaw clenched and his lips thinned to a hard line. The soldiers on the main pier were fighting now, hacking at the mob pressing against them. People were toppling from the sides of the dock, shrieking, and hitting the water with a boil of white water. The Irene slid closer, her foredeck packed with marines, all in cork armor. A young man, still clad only in a nightshirt, swam out, clutching at the oars dipping from the water.

One of the marines, seeing him reach the prow and his hands grasp futilely at the smooth oak, leaned down. A hush fell over the crowd on the dock. The marine stabbed down with a long leaf-bladed spear, catching the boy in the chest. There was a thin scream, then a bubbling sound as the boy was pushed under the water. The ship swept on and the body was pulled under the dark water by the roil of its passage. The people moaned with fear, suddenly knowing that they were doomed.

Dahvos stared ahead, watching the pushing struggle on the dock become a battle. More soldiers were pushing through the crowd, throwing people into the water, striving to reach the end of the dock. The Irene was very close now, only a hundred feet away.

The sky lit suddenly, washed by a virulent white light. Dahvos hissed in surprise, flinching away from the city. The clouds, still boiling and thick, lit like a stained-glass goblet held up to a flame, showing ribbons of color and hidden plumes within glowing white columns of smoke. A sullen, drawn-out boom followed. Something had happened in the center of the city, throwing up a great radiance lighting the sky in all directions.

The Khazar khagan blinked, a trickle of fear in the back of his throat. Great powers were struggling in the city, as they had on the plain. He suddenly wished that he had remained at home, on the open grasslands of Sarai, with his family. O God of Avrahan, watch over us tonight, let us come through this test…

– |The Dark Queen glided to a halt in a pool of shadow. Ahead of her, the street ended in the sweeping circle of the Forum of Constantine. A massive column rose from the center of the plaza, rising up a hundred feet, crowned in gold by a striking marble statue of the first Emperor of the East. The pale face stared west, down the arrow-straight avenue of the Mese. The Forum was surrounded by temples and imposing public buildings. Four centuries of construction had ornamented the center of Constantinople with graceful buildings and blocky monstrosities. Maxian stopped as well. Her lithe speed had taken him by surprise, but then he had remembered what Alais had taught him, letting the night carry him forward.