Gordon Doherty - Strategos - Born in the Borderlands

The sweat on his skin felt like ice-water as he turned to the dip in the valley. Then he sprung into a sprint. He leapt up and onto the Thessallian’s saddle and heeled it into a gallop, guttural roars accompanying every kick. Their speed sent a howling wind past his ears as he ducked low in the saddle, his hair and the crimson cloak whipping behind him. The valley opened out in front of them. Then the bowed roof of the farm appeared. Terror grappled his heart.

Please do not let it be true .

A ringing in his ears grew into a shrill whistle as he saw it all: the ground outside the door was a carpet of crimson. The goat herd was scattered, many lying motionless or thrashing in their death throes. The grey mare lay still, a broken spear shaft embedded in her guts, entrails spread across the ground where she lay. Apion felt his chest bellow and then sting and he heard his own roar, distant and other-worldly. The front door was ajar, hanging on one hinge. He slid from his mount and stumbled inside, seeing his scimitar held out before him, his arms numb, the world around him shaking, buzzing.

Inside, the darkness blinded him, but he clawed forward, feeling for first the old oak table and then the hearth. Panting, he glanced around at the dimness that was slowly sharpening before him. Then he saw it.

Proud Mansur lay sprawled across the hearth, an awful wound in his belly gaped from where the dagger had gone in to where it rested now, just below his throat. His face bulged; swollen and discoloured in a frenzy of cuts and his eyes had been gouged from their sockets. Four bodies of irregularly armoured men lay around him, torn with scimitar wounds. So the old man had fought one last time. Then he saw the tiny wooden shatranj piece clutched in the old man’s palm; the war chariot given to Nepos. Apion trembled where he stood. Fear was no part of it.

Then he saw the dark red robe. Maria’s robe. It lay, discarded, torn and soiled with gore. Beside it a tuft of her dark hair lay in a pool of blood. Before he could piece together what would have happened to her, his mind washed clear of thought, his vision narrowed. He felt the thud of his knees hit the flagstones, the sting of his hands slapping over his eyes, the stabbing pain of the flesh in his throat tearing from his own screaming.

As the afternoon dimmed towards dusk, Apion remained on the floor. His chest heaved and his heart emptied what was left in it. After that, he remained there still, gazing up at the old oak table, his mind replaying the times long past when they had sat together. He saw Mansur and Maria, smiling, laughing. Beside them he saw Mother and Father. Father held Mother’s hand as they all ate together.

When Apion reached out a shaking hand at the image, it all disappeared, leaving only empty twilight.

The air changed as night descended on the valley and a warm drizzle broke the drought at last. A hooded figure on horseback trotted down the hill behind the farm. Then the figure dismounted and entered the farmhouse.

Inside, Apion heard the scraping of a footstep on the flagstones, then sensed a shadow stand over him. He did not realise that the figure was really there until it spoke.

‘I come here to honour their bodies,’ the voice seemed to be shaking, enraged, ‘but you. . you have the nerve to come back here now?’ The figure lowered the hood to reveal Nasir’s contorted features, shaded in the half light. He held blankets, brushes and a spade.

‘Nasir?’ Apion stammered, pushing himself up to stand. Then a rasp of iron sent sparks across the gloom. Nasir held his scimitar out, pointed at Apion’s throat.

‘Another step and I’ll tear your throat out. By Allah, I should have slain you where you lay.’

Apion stepped back, shaking his head. ‘Nasir, I came home to this, I. . ’

‘You did not do this, but you brought this upon them!’ Nasir roared.

‘Never! They were everything to me!’ But even as he spoke, Apion felt the truth of Nasir’s words burn on his neck. He retched, then doubled over to spew out the trickle of bile left in his belly.

Nasir arced his scimitar round and down onto the oak table, the blade embedding in the wood and the frame cracking. ‘You should have been here to protect them.’

The words cut like a blunt dagger through Apion’s soul. He had failed Mansur and Maria just as he had failed Mother and Father. The Haga they called him, the ferocious two-headed eagle, the demon swordfighter, the leader of men. All names unbefitting of a man who could not protect those he loved most.

He stood tall under Nasir’s gaze and cleared his throat. ‘You are right. I should have been here. You know how much they meant to me, Nasir. You more than anyone else.’

Nasir’s shook his head. ‘No. There can be no excuses for what has happened here.’ He wrenched his sword clear of the table and sheathed it. ‘We may once have been as close as blood kin. I remember our oath.’

‘. . until we’re both dust. . ’ Apion mouthed.

‘I said I remember!’ Nasir roared. ‘But this changes things, it changes everything. Nothing will be the same anymore.’

What’s left? A hoarse voice whispered inside Apion’s head.

‘Your presence offends their memory,’ Nasir spat.

There is something left, isn’t there? The voice sounded rapacious.

‘Leave this place. Leave and never come back,’ Nasir’s shoulders broadened and he took a step forward. ‘Because I’m making a new oath, this time to myself. If our paths cross again after tonight,’ his brow wrinkled, ‘I will kill you.’

Apion heard his old friend’s words and deep down inside, a distant voice cried out, pleaded for Nasir to reconsider, but in his head the rasping voice was in full flow. Yes, there is something. . something sweet, something long, long overdue. . revenge! Nothing stands in your way now. His eyes were fixed on a distant point, far beyond the shattered table. ‘Those responsible for this will die, Nasir. What happened to Mansur will happen to them. I swear it. This is my oath.’

Nasir sneered at this.

‘Everyone who played a part will be cold and still, by my sword. The man who orchestrated this, all of this, he is a walking shade.’

‘You talk of death as if you were the reaper?’ Nasir spat, his eyes narrowing.

Apion felt a coldness wash through his veins and he looked his old friend in the eye. ‘Everything you have lost, I have lost also, Nasir: Mansur, like a father to me, and Mar. . ’ Apion moved forward, Nasir shook his head.

‘Don’t you dare say her name!’

‘Maria. Maria was my closest companion as a child. She was my lover, the woman I dreamt of every night I was away. Her face, her scent, they soothed my mind.’

‘She was to be my wife! ’ Nasir roared, then lurched at him, one fist crashing into Apion’s nose.

A metallic wash coated his throat as he stumbled back against the hearth. ‘I won’t strike you back, Nasir. You’ve done nothing wrong. You’ve got every right to hate me,’ he said as Nasir towered over him, chest heaving, fists balled, ‘but I warn you, stand back and let me leave.’

Nasir tilted his head back, grimacing. ‘So you ride out of the valley, leaving destruction in your wake.’

Apion stopped as he passed Nasir. ‘My words won’t help today, but I want you to know and remember that I am sorry, so, so sorry.’

‘Until we meet again, Apion,’ Nasir’s face was stony. ‘If it is on the battlefield then that would be apt.’

Apion nodded, pulled his crimson cloak around his body, then stepped out of the farm and into the warm drizzle. He stopped to glance back at the shattered door, for an instant his mind cruelly played back the memory of little Maria, her fawn hand pulling the door open on that first day.