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

shrugged. ‘He told me it means that love is more powerful than death.’

‘Huh! That’s absurd.’ Lilla couldn’t remember when her heart had grown so cynical. Love hadn’t stopped her kin from dying.

‘Is it?’ Gerutha shook her head. ‘Maybe. But I like the sound of it.’

‘It sounds as if you like him,’ Lilla smiled.

‘What? No, I—’

‘A man doesn’t give a woman gold unless he likes her too.’

‘He’s not a man. He’s a priest.’

‘Aren’t priests allowed to marry?’

Grusha chuckled. ‘Actually, I don’t know. But I promise you it’s not like that. I. . . I admire him. He’s fearless – and yet completely humble. Gentle too.’

‘It definitely sounds as if you like him,’ Lilla chuckled.

‘Well, you can think what you want,’ replied Grusha to close the matter. ‘Now then, you have all you need. If there’s anything else, Yana can help you. Wherever that useless girl’s got to,’ she added. Gerutha was unimpressed with the servant Katāros had assigned to them. She threw a shawl around her shoulders.

‘Where is it today?’ said Lilla.

‘The coppersmiths’ quarter. I’ll be back before dark. Try to think of other things.’

Lilla scoffed. ‘What other things?’

Gerutha gave her a sympathetic smile then lifted the latch of the door. ‘You’ll come up with something.’ She opened the door and took a step back in surprise. Three tall sentinels stood in the doorway, their faces half-hidden behind steel nose-guards. One of the men stepped forward into the room.

‘Queen Lilla Sviggarsdottír?’

‘You know who I am.’ Lilla frowned as two other sentinels entered the room and moved behind her. ‘What is it?’

‘By personal order of Emperor Leo, third of his name, I am charged to place you under arrest.’

It was just before noon when the eparch and his escort loaded their horses on the boat in the Neorion Harbour that would carry them inland along the Golden Horn to deposit them on the deserted shore of its head waters to the north-west. The hours of daylight were still few, the break of winter into the first days of spring still a handful of weeks away, so Alexios told Erlan.

Not waiting for dusk, they rode west up into the hill-country above the Blachernae Gate. The main lines of Maslama’s army were drawn up further south. Months before, they had dug in for the winter. Two great fortified ditches protected them from attack, from the Byzantines on the east, and the Bulgar night raiders to the west. Entrenched though they were, all of the country outside the city was dangerous and the eparch’s party took care to watch for any Arab patrols roving that far north. The aim had been to get well clear that first night, slipping through the Arab lines without detection. But their progress up and away from the Horn was painfully slow thanks to the eparch’s poor riding skills and his excessive body mass.

‘I think I see a flaw in the emperor’s plan,’ said Einar in Norse, when the sun had already set and they were still climbing. Every few minutes there was another crumple of loose stones, followed by a burst of foul language and the sound of a horse being flogged.

‘Aye,’ agreed Erlan. ‘This mission could be over before it’s started.’ He kicked on his mount alongside Alexios, the captain of the escort. ‘That fat fool is going to break his neck if we go on like this,’ he said in a low voice. ‘Or else hobble his mount.’

‘Mmm. You may be right. I was hoping we’d be clear before daybreak.’

Reluctantly, Alexios agreed to make camp among the rocks at the top of the next hill and then continue in the grey before the dawn. He called a halt. The eparch protested, doubtless realizing it was for his benefit, but when Alexios insisted, Erlan could see Lord Daniel was relieved.

They found a likely spot in the lee of a rocky outcrop, which shielded them from the eyes of any Arab gazing that way from their encampment, if not from the cold breeze blowing from the north. They tethered their horses and set up three small fires to keep the worst of the chill off them. The fifth guard in their party, there to represent Arbasdos, was the general’s spatharios, Davit – a man who held no love for Erlan. But aside from the odd hostile glance, he seemed minded to make no trouble. The two Northmen sat separate from the others, talking softly as they built their small fire. Aska was coiled in a pile of grey fur beside Erlan. ‘Crazy situation, huh?’

‘I don’t know. Once you’ve taken a dump over a trough of running water that magics away your turd, nothing seems so crazy.’ Einar started laughing. ‘I mean – where the Hel does it go?’

Erlan smiled. ‘This isn’t our world, that’s for sure. Here, toss me your fire-steel.’

‘In the pouch.’ Einar waved a stick at the long leather cylinder lying amongst his gear, which he had appropriated from the unfortunate Lucia.

‘I thought you said this thing was worthless.’

‘I said there was nothing in it. But I’ve a use for it even if that little wench no longer did.’

Erlan pulled the top off and tipped out the contents into his hand. There was the fire-steel, a whetstone, a scrap of char-cloth, even a half-eaten bit of cheese. ‘What’s this?’ he said.

‘What’s what?’

Besides the other items, there was a scroll of thin leather half hanging out of the opening. ‘I thought you said this was empty.’

‘Oh, that. That’s just some kind of lining.’

Erlan pulled the whole thing out and it unfurled on his lap. He’d seen something similar on the emperor’s desk. ‘That’s not lining, you big oaf. They call it parchment. They use it for their rune magic.’ He held it up to his face to examine it more closely. ‘It’s got markings on it. Here, get the fire lit.’

‘You get the damn fire lit.’

Erlan shook his head and cursed, setting to work with char-cloth and fire-steel, and soon had the kindling crackling away. Once the bigger