Gordon Doherty - Strategos - Born in the Borderlands

‘Naturally,’ the agente replied.

‘Good. I choose my men for this mission; I take as much coin as I feel necessary.’

The agente nodded.

‘And see to it that I return to a post of strategos.’ The agente frowned at this, but Bracchus cut in before he could continue. ‘One other thing, very important.’ He leaned forward, his grin spreading in the candlelight. ‘I want impunity. Total impunity. Right to the top.’

The agente nodded uneasily. ‘It can be arranged. You will be gone from the empire for some time, Bracchus. Years in all likelihood. When you come back,’ he broke into a cold grin, ‘ if you come back, you will be furnished with these things.’

Bracchus grinned and nodded. ‘Then we leave before the sun has fully risen, as planned. I will evaporate into the eastern sands.’

Cydones stood beside the skutatos on the gate tower, watching the column of fifty heading away from Argyroupolis, headed east. His heart lifted at the sight and he knew the feeling was mutual among the ranks. The tourmarches Bracchus was a pox on the garrison no longer. He thought over the conversation he had overheard, concealed in the storeroom adjacent, then smiled: the imperial agente could bend the thema to his will no more. He looked skyward and wondered at the piety in praying for Bracchus to be exposed and executed in the Seljuk court. Then he started as the skutatos beside him grappled the edge of the watchtower.

‘Lone rider approaching from the west,’ the man shouted, peering at the figure, pale orange in the dawn light. ‘Ah, all is well, he is one of ours.’

Then Cydones broke into a wide grin. ‘He certainly is. Look, the black plumage. . it’s the Haga! ’

The gates swung open before Apion. The men cheered him as he entered, then their voices fell silent at the sight of the bloodstains coating his face and armour as the Thessallian galloped past. The six giant riders Bracchus had despatched to ambush him at the edge of the mountains had been fierce fighters, but their strength could not overcome his fury as he hacked them down, face stony, eyes staring.

He heeled his mount on through the town at a gallop. The place was just coming to life but everything around him was a blur of noise and colour. His eyes were focused on the barrack compound. He slowed at the iron gates, he and his mount panting, and roared up to the east-gazing skutatos in the watchtower. ‘Open the gates!’

The skutatos spun round and called down to the men in the compound. The gates opened with a weary iron moan and Apion slid from him mount, striding across the muster square towards the officers’ quarters.

‘Can’t keep away, can you?’ A familiar voice called.

Apion spun to see Sha, whose face fell at the sight of his friend’s bloodied features and burning glare.

‘Apion. . what happened?’

‘Where is he?’ Apion growled. When Sha hesitated Apion grappled the collar of his tunic and snarled, blood dripping from his beard. ‘Bracchus, where is he?’

Sha’s brow wrinkled. ‘You haven’t heard? He’s gone, Apion, you don’t need to worry about him anymore.’

Apion pushed back from Sha and snarled. ‘Gone?’

‘It is true, he is headed east and will be gone for years,’ Cydones cut in, descending the staircase from the town walls.

Apion spun to face the strategos. ‘How long ago did he leave?’

‘Not long, just after daybreak.’ Cydones halted as he saw the gruesome apparition that was his new tourmarches. ‘Apion, what is wrong?’

Apion looked to him. ‘He had them killed. Mansur, Maria. They’re dead. Nepos too.’

Cydones’ eyes fell to the ground, searching, then he glanced back up. ‘Old Mansur? Who killed them? And Nepos, he deserted did he not?’

Apion shook his head. ‘No, no! It’s Bracchus, sir. He is an agente. He has engineered all of this.’

Cydones shoulders sagged and he sighed, a tinge of redness touching the rims of his eyes. ‘I knew of his imperial connections, but this? This makes him a darker soul than I ever realised.’

‘Sir,’ Apion croaked, the whites of his eyes stark against the congealing blood caking his features, ‘where is he headed?’

‘East,’ the strategos replied.

He affixed the strategos with a firm look, then hauled himself onto the saddle. ‘Then I must ride, sir.’

Cydones nodded. ‘Yes. Ride fast, Apion.’

Bracchus gripped the reins of his mount, squinted into the rising sun and wondered at the indignity of it all. He, the puppet master for so long, had been mastered by the emperor. Or more likely the agentes based in Constantinople who had the bend of the emperor’s ear, he mused wryly. Still, all options were open. He could follow his mission objectives to the letter and then he would return to the empire to a position where nobody would have power over him. Or he could infiltrate the Seljuk palace as ordered, and then negotiate with the Sultan. The power was still in his hands, he smirked.

‘Sir, messenger approaching,’ Vadim said, twisting in his saddle, squinting over his shoulder.

Bracchus raised a hand and the column of thirty — Vadim, six of his finest skutatoi bodyguards, squires and slaves. — stopped. Bracchus twisted in his saddle. ‘This messenger wears armour?’ He muttered. Then he noticed the rider wore a crimson cloak and black-plumed helmet, amber locks billowing from under the aventail in his slipstream and his features and garb were spattered in crimson. His eyes narrowed and he clicked his fingers and nodded to the two nearest bodyguards. The column turned to face the approaching rider and the two bodyguards moved to stand in front of Bracchus.

When the rider did not slow, Bracchus’ eyes widened. When the rider ripped his scimitar from its sheath and roared, Bracchus felt a long-buried sensation. Terror.

Apion gathered all his might and smashed the blade down on the first bodyguard, the giant of a man spinning on the spot, his helmet falling to the ground in two pieces, skull cleaved. The second bodyguard stumbled back in fright as his colleague’s body crumpled to the dust and Apion thundered away then circled back around and came charging for the column again.

‘Protect your superior!’ Bracchus roared, kicking a boot into the bodyguard’s back. At this, the rest of the bodyguards drew their spathions and rippled into a line across the mounted figures of Bracchus and Vadim.

Apion hared directly for the centre of the line then at the last moment he swerved, swooping past the end of the line and beheading the man at the edge. He galloped on and up the mountain edge before racing back. The four remaining skutatoi moved round to form a line in front of Bracchus, but this time their eyes betrayed panic. Then Apion sheathed his scimitar and pulled a bow from his back. Riding at full pelt for the centre of the line, he nocked an arrow to the bowstring, stretched and loosed it, the missile punching through the face of the bodyguard directly in front of Bracchus, who flinched at the spray of blood. Then he loosed another arrow that caught the next bodyguard in the throat.

‘Take him down!’ Bracchus roared to his two remaining men and Vadim.

‘With pleasure, sir,’ Vadim growled and heeled his mount into a gallop after Apion, the two bodyguards stalking out to the flanks.

Apion saw the three only as dull shapes. Only one being existed in the world right now and that was Bracchus. Vadim’s sword came smashing down at him as the big Rus tried to intercept, but Apion swiped his scimitar blade to parry, then smashed the hilt of the sword into Vadim’s face. As the big Rus toppled from his mount, moaning, Apion lay flat in his saddle and heeled his mount into a charge for the unprotected Bracchus, who was grappling for his sword, eyes wide in panic. He raised his scimitar, then closed his eyes, seeking out the faces of Mother, Father, Mansur and Maria. Then he tensed his shoulder to stab through Bracchus’ chest when suddenly a white-hot pain streaked through his leg and his world was turned upside down in a thrashing of hooves and pained whinnying.