A Burning Sea by Theodore Brun (snow like ashes series TXT) 📗

the stem of his glass in his fingers. ‘Ours is. . . less clear. One thing only we can be certain of. That Christ will be there.’

‘Who is this Christ that you worship? His face is everywhere.’ It was a question no one had yet answered him. One he had not been troubled enough to ask till now.

‘He is God.’

Erlan frowned. ‘How can a man be a god?

‘How can God be a man?’ Leo suddenly laughed. ‘You tell me! It’s a riddle that has kept the greatest minds of the empire busy – and at odds – for hundreds of years. Even now, I don’t know that the question is settled. Alas, I am no scholar. And yet. . . I believe it is true.’

‘Is that why you fight?’

‘Hah! I’m no fanatic, Erlan. No doubt the Christian faith would survive even if the city fell. But. . . I do feel in my heart that the empire must survive. It must. It’s given too much to the world to be wiped away like scratches in the sand when the wave falls. I believe it has still more to give.’

‘Then why do you hesitate?’

‘Eh?’ Leo looked at Erlan with curiosity. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Do you want this siege to end?’

‘Of course I do.’

‘So why hold back?’

‘What can we do but hold out till the Arabs grow tired of breaking themselves against our walls?’

‘Use your cunning like you said. Go on the attack. There is an army greater even than Maslama’s host yet you have not sought to harness its strength.’

‘Oh.’ The emperor nodded, now understanding. ‘You mean the Bulgars.’

‘Yes! If you sent word to them, you could form an alliance, you could pay them, you have enough gold, you could. . .’ His eagerness outran his tongue.

‘Listen, Erlan. It is not so simple. We have relations with the Bulgars. Or we have history, I should say. There was a treaty made with them. And not long ago.’

‘Then call on it,’ Erlan urged. ‘Why haven’t you already?’

Leo gave a wry chuckle. ‘It was not I who made the treaty but my predecessor. The man I deposed.’

Erlan’s enthusiasm wilted for a moment. ‘And so. . . the alliance was between tribes, wasn’t it? Between Byzantine and Bulgar?’

‘Yes. And no. The Bulgars are ruled by a king they call a khan. A man named Tervel. But it was his son the prince, Kormesy, who agreed this alliance with Theodosios. His son is the real power behind their host. His son has energy while Khan Tervel grows fat on horse-meat. Kormesy took it as a personal insult that the emperor, who was his ally, was kicked off the throne. To wound a Bulgar’s honour and then ask him for a favour. . . Phah! You would have more luck telling the tide to turn back.’ Erlan’s heart sank. ‘No,’ continued Leo. ‘The most we can hope for from them is what they are doing already. Their night raids serve us. They make the Arabs bleed.’

‘Wolves bite and bleed their prey to death,’ said Erlan. ‘The lion goes for the kill. Your name, Leo. It means lion, does it not? Which has the greater honour?’

‘And yet for the wolves, the prey does die,’ smiled Leo. ‘I’m sorry, my friend. Your service must go on a little longer. Here, another drink. And then I must get back to work.’

Erlan was still weighing his disappointment when the next guard came to relieve his watch. Night had long fallen. The oil-lamps burned low and steady in the hall. As they exchanged duty, Leo said he would rest a while on his couch before continuing with his work. ‘You can wait outside the door,’ he told the new sentry. Erlan, meanwhile, stalked away, ruminating on what he was going to tell Lilla. He had gone the full length of the hallway and down a flight of stairs before he noticed the lightness on his hip.

He cursed his absent-mindedness; Wrathling was still there, propped against the pillar by the emperor’s balcony. He hurried back, not wishing to be parted from his sword for even a night, and hoping the emperor would not mind the interruption.

He explained himself quickly to the other guard who hesitated, but Erlan went ahead and knocked on the latticed door. He listened for the emperor’s answer. Nothing came. Erlan cursed softly.

‘He must be asleep already,’ said the other. ‘I’ll bring it—’

‘No,’ insisted Erlan. ‘One second.’ He knocked again, lightly, and put his ear to the door. This time, he heard a muffled noise and something hollow and metal hitting stone. He had the door open in an instant and flung aside the silk drape. There, across the room, kneeling on the emperor’s couch, was a figure dressed in black. Leo was sprawled before him pulling at a rope around his neck, his mouth wide and tongue flailing helplessly, like a serpent tasting the air. Erlan shouted an alarm. The black-clad assassin glanced up then leaped backwards, dragging the emperor with him. Erlan sensed the other sentry behind him as he launched himself across the room. The attacker gave a last violent haul on the garrotte then swung Leo hard against a pillar. There was a thud as his skull hit the green marble and he went down like a sack of rocks.

The other guard yelled at the intruder to stop. The assassin drew a knife from his belt and flung it. Next instant, the guard was on his knees, clawing at the dagger embedded in his throat. He went crashing sideways into Erlan as the intruder made good his advantage. He was out on the balcony before Erlan could snatch a fistful of his tunic. For a second, the black silhouette peered over the edge, then sprang onto the balustrade and jumped.

Erlan was barely a second behind, snatching Wrathling from the pillar and slinging away the sheath in one motion a moment before he went over the edge after him.

It was a mad risk. Air whistled past