《A Son of the Dragon》


 Chapter 1: First Blood

    All Roads Lead to a Rome


    My name is not important, so I will introduce myself to you by telling you three important things about me. My name was my father''s before me, and his father''s before him; though he decided to give me his own name, he also decided to give it to one of my other brothers. As the point of a name is to have something distinctive to call a man, my name is a failure.


    It is important, however, that I am my father''s son. As my father was called the Dragon, so I sometimes call myself Son of the Dragon when I must call myself something. This, of course, is also a failure as a name, since my father had many other sons, some illegitimate. But most of my brothers have distinct names and see no need to adopt an assumed name as I do, so my assumed name is successful in practice in spite of its theoretical failing.


    It is also important that I was born to be a prince of the Romans, and by this I must clarify two things. First, my older brother¡¯s death is not my fault. Second, I must clarify that I do not claim to rule the old Roman city, long since overrun by Goths; nor the newer Roman city my people call Tsarigrad, long ruled by the Greeks who called themselves Romans and lately (as I shall shortly discuss) seized by the Turks with their great fleets of steamships and galleys; nor the city named Rome that sits where the Tanais River meets the Cimmerian Sea, at the heart of the Golden Empire¡¯s railroad network. Instead, I am a prince of a Roman people, abandoned by Rome a millennium ago but still speaking Latin amongst themselves in what was once the province of Dacia.


    Not quite the same Latin as spoken by the church in Rome or by Venetian traders, of course; it is a sort of country Latin, practical but not erudite. The Latin tutor greatly misliked it and forbade me and my brother from speaking during lessons, lest our fluidity in the wrong sort of Latin lead the sultan¡¯s sons astray. If they were to pick up a Latin dialect other than the proper scholarly one, Venetian would be the most useful.


    Speaking of the sultan¡¯s sons brings us a third important thing: While still a boy, I was sent away as a hostage with my younger brother, part of an arrangement to make an enduring peace between my people and the Turks¡ªthe sort of enduring peace that involved total subjection of one party to the iron-fisted rule of the other. The old sultan decided that we should be raised in the ways of his court, which was a partial success; thus, in every land I am a foreigner, even in the land that is mine by birthright.


    It is often said that all roads lead to Rome, though not which; as I consider my childhood uninteresting, I will begin my story on the day that my road led me to the newer Rome, which must also be considered as the day that I became a man.


    <hr>


    1. First Blood


    ¡°Up! Up!¡± The boot in my side was unwelcome and surprising. Half-awake, I reached within for my magic; suddenly, my arms felt heavy, strength sapped by the cold iron cuffs wrapped around my wrists under the silken sleeves of my shirt. Though my brother and I had never shown any evidence of magical talent in front of the sultan¡¯s men, our father had been widely feared because of his potent magics, and the sultan¡¯s guards were canny and cautious. For years, I had buried most of my father¡¯s lessons in the back of my mind and instead tried to force the flames of magic deeper within myself so that the bracers would not weigh too heavily on me.


    Anti-wizard bracelets are most commonly enchanted with a crudely formed curse of weakness, one that is so inefficient as to require constant fueling. Every scrap of magic that I touched would be sucked into them and turned against my own muscles. In theory, a wizard strong enough to power the enchantment at its full strength with magic to spare might be able to perform magic still; before that, however, he would find himself prostrated on the ground, totally paralyzed with weakness, which rendered most trained uses of the magical arts impossible. The jaw is a muscle, as are fingers; words and gestures are essential in the shaping of finer magical parameters in nearly any useful spell.


    I forced down my inner flames, exerting great effort to raise my weakened fist to my chest in a sign of obedience. If I proved myself loyal, perhaps one day, I would be sent to lead an army or govern a province, my hostage status long forgotten. Perhaps¡ªonce I was a safe distance from the sultan¡¯s court and my father¡¯s reputation mostly forgotten¡ªthey might even risk taking the cuffs off my wrists.


    Next to me, my brother¡ªfilled with enthusiasm that seemed unfortunately genuine¡ªwas already scrambling to his feet, and the eunuch walked past him to instead put his toe in the side of another prince. We had spent the night sleeping on the fifth deck of Sultan Allaedin¡¯s flagship, a dual-paddlewheel firebox-driven steamship whose outer hull was inlaid with sophisticated wards against curses. As this was the top deck of a vessel designed as a mobile court, the stars were blotted out only by a thin layer of tent fabric, and we had slept accompanied by some of the finest riches of the Sultanate.


    Why had I slept on the sultan¡¯s flagship? As I finished pushing my magic out of mind, the answer came to me. The previous day, the new sultan had ordered that his princes be granted the opportunity to prove their worth and breeding by leading his soldiers into battle against the dastardly foe who had cursed the old sultan with misfortune, leading to his unfortunate demise in a riding accident. The attack was to take place just as dawn broke, blinding the defenders of Constantinople with the light of the rising sun in their faces as we disembarked.


    We had been in the middle of a lesson with two of the old sultan¡¯s sons, half-brothers of the new sultan, when an officer arrived to convey Sultan Allaedin¡¯s wishes; my younger brother, naturally, had insisted that as we were princes, we, too, were covered by the sultan¡¯s order to bring all the princes aboard the fleet¡¯s flagship. There, we gathered with eleven Turkish princes, the new sultan¡¯s half-brothers, cousins, and uncles, adding up to a company of thirteen princes¡ªan unlucky figure, though not one recognized as such by the Turks. When they laughed off my worries, my brother forcefully erased his own look of misgiving and joined them. And then night fell, and we had slept, waiting for the morning.


    My thoughts lingered on the misfortune of our numbers as I made my way to a servant who helped me don armor of plated mail, the anti-mage cuffs still heavy on my wrists, strength returning only slowly to my arms. With some effort, I strapped on a saber to my waist, a shield to my left arm, and then picked up a flanged mace with my right arm, the sensation of excess weight slowly lessening. Behind me, I heard a series of small, heavy thumps.


    ¡°Radu!¡± The girlish squeal announced that the sultan¡¯s youngest half-sister, Gulben, had escaped her minders again. The skinny, knobbly-kneed redhead was barefoot and carrying a bundle of mail in her arms, metal links washed with gold. ¡°Wear this¡ªit is my big brother¡¯s old shirt, from when he was small. It will keep you safe!¡± The intemperate girl planted a kiss firmly on my brother¡¯s forehead as she handed him the bundle. ¡°For luck!¡± she shouted as she ran off from whence she had come.


    From behind, I could see the tips of her ears turning a shade of pink that nearly matched her hair. I could not see how she had business on the ship, but even back then, without his adult growth, my brother was accounted handsome¡ªand Gulben was even then a talented enchantress who could beguile her minders. Her spellwork was skilled and subtle, especially considering her young age.


    Soon after Gulben¡¯s departure, Pasha Mustafa arrived on the scene. At that precise moment, he was third in command of the assaulting fleet. He found my presence among the old sultan¡¯s half-brothers and sons surprising and amusing, but once he had finished laughing, he focused his attention on briefing the whole company of princes as one. He gave them orders to advance to the front of the ship, which meant descending to the fourth deck, as the fifth deck did not extend the whole length of the ship; from there they would lead the charge into the city, he told them.


    In the distance, we could see the distant white lines of the sea walls that protected Constantinople from marine attack. Though the sea walls were said to be lesser than the great Theodosian fortifications on the landward side of the city, marine attacks were notoriously difficult to manage. It was an audacious and shocking strategy, though perhaps that meant the walls would not be well-guarded or maintained.


    It was then understood among the princes (albeit not explicitly stated by the pasha) that they would be shouting down words of encouragement as the marine soldiers disembarked onto the beach of Constantinople, an understanding accompanied in some cases by relief and in others (including that of my eager little brother) by disappointment. But the fourth deck was crowded with marines as well, and at the very front a line of mechs, which I thought would be a rare sight¡ªthe marines of the Sultanate were trained in boarding actions, and many lighter vessels could not be boarded by heavy-footed mechs.


    Had the flagship been packed so full that there was no choice but to pack it to the gills with marines on every level? Even then, why would the mechs be so high off the ground? Surely it would be difficult to unload them from the fourth deck, high above the water¡ªunless they were there to maneuver bombards, but then, I saw no great bombards on the fourth deck, only a few light swivel guns sitting in mountings light enough to be manhandled by sailors. The engines rumbled more loudly, the sound vibrating up through my feet and drawing my attention to what was happening underfoot. I felt a twinge along my cuffed wrists as I sensed the elemental gates within the fireboxes being opened wider than was safe, the flagship accelerating to a reckless speed.If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    Past the marines and mechs, the white walls of the city grew closer and closer still; then there was a great shock beneath our feet and a noise like thunder as the sultan¡¯s flagship rammed into the walls of the city. The ship¡¯s prow smashed into the wall and continued forward, leaving white stone to either side of us. The paddlewheels groaned as they stilled, though that sound faded quickly in my ears as I lost my footing. Thousands of tons of stone, metal, and wood had met in an audacious ramming action; we all slid forward, impelled by the great force of collision regardless of whether we were eager or reluctant.


    I gained my feet after going over the edge of the deck, alighting on a block of stone and then stumbling forward over several broken bodies scattered in the heaped ruin that had been a great sea wall. Something clattered off the shield strapped to my arm, perhaps an arrow or javelin. A weapon¡ªI had been holding a weapon, I remembered, before the collision. A flanged mace, and there had been a saber at my belt. Reaching, I found the saber and drew it, realizing I was already within the clash of men desperate to fight, to live. Behind me, I heard the high-pitched whoop of my brother, excited and perhaps not quite understanding the gravity of the situation we were in. He may have wanted to cover himself in the sultan¡¯s glory and earn the praise of the men of the court, but I simply wanted the both of us to stay alive.


    With a hiss of escaping steam, a mech shuddered weakly to its feet before falling back over, the loss of steam pressure immobilizing it as surely as if its legs had been crushed or its firebox had given out. Behind me, I heard a growing roar of footsteps and shouting and steam boilers as men from the rest of the sultan¡¯s fleet climbed onto the deliberately wrecked flagship from the aft side; ahead, I could hear shouting in Greek and the jingling of armor in motion. The Greeks did not have any mechs ready, at least not here. Then the whistle of an arrow reminded me that perched on top of the rubble, I was visible, and that visible men are targets.


    I leaped down from the piled stone rubble that had once been a wall, my feet touching down on cobblestones three steps ahead of my brother¡¯s eager shouts. I prayed he would stay behind me. Even if he had kept his grip on his spear during the jump down to the cobblestones, he was by growth and stature not well-equipped for battle.


    Then I was turning aside a spear thrust with my shield. My only defense against the enemy soldier¡¯s next attack was to step forward inside his greater reach, and so I did, striking his helm squarely with a forceful blow of my saber. The blade did not slice through the metal, but it creased it, and the man fell, not to rise again.


    I had never killed a man before, and this death, bloodless though it was, would echo in my dreams for years after. I swung again at a man whose spear was still stuck in one of the sultan¡¯s men, my saber catching him in his uncoiffed neck. My brother¡¯s cheers behind me faltered as blood sprayed wildly. Inner fire raged deep inside me, begging to be unleashed. If I but let go, my breath would feed the fire¡ªand the fire would feed the anti-mage cuffs around my wrist, bringing me low. I rushed forward, my lungs filling raggedly with the cool morning air.


    ¡°Wait¡ªwait for me!¡± My brother¡¯s boyish voice sounded distantly in my ear, and I stopped, leaning against the wall of a building, holding my breath tightly as I struggled to keep my magic from rendering me helpless in the middle of the battlefield. Then I looked back. A too-small boy holding a bloody-tipped spear stood in front of my eyes. My inner fire tamped down, I raised my bloody sword high in a salute, greeting my nearly unrecognizable brother.


    Behind him, the main bulk of the sultan¡¯s army pressed forward, the ground shuddering as a pair of mechs cleared the heaped rubble of the walls and landed on the cobblestones. One mech tripped, crushing one of the sultan¡¯s soldiers and crippling another as it smashed face-first on the cobblestones; the other landed evenly on both legs and pounded forward without hesitation.


    ¡°Quick¡ªstep to the side here,¡± I told my brother. ¡°And wipe your spear clean. Let the mech take point; there is no need to risk being trampled.¡±


    Following my own advice, I took several steps parallel to the wall of the building and away from the road before I wiped my own blade clean. Then I looked over myself and my brother for signs of injury as the first mech pounded by, boiler rumbling. We were both splashed with blood, but none of it was our own. I held my hand over my brother¡¯s mailed chest to keep him back as the second mech rose to its feet, assisted by a mechanic and a trio of burly soldiers.


    ¡°The glory is to be found at the very point of the sultan¡¯s spear,¡± my brother whined, eager to join the men streaming by in the wake of the first mech. ¡°Not the butt of it.¡±


    ¡°The Greeks have not brought their own mechs to bear yet¡ªthe sultan¡¯s mechs do not bleed as you and I might,¡± I said as the second mech rumbled forward, moving more slowly. ¡°We would slow them down if we got in front of them.¡± I did not say that fighting too near the mechs brought its own risks as


    ¡°I wish I were fighting with our mechs,¡± my brother said. ¡°If not for these cuffs¡ªI bet I could bind with one of them, a linked pair.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps,¡± I said. ¡°But we were already in the vanguard in the first moments over the walls of Tsarigrad; I am sure we are covered in glory.¡±


    ¡°Tsarigrad? I thought we were taking Constantinople,¡± Radu said, giving me a quizzical look as he compared our native name for the city with the one used by the Greeks.


    ¡°Tsarigrad is Constantinople,¡± I said. ¡°Now, let¡¯s move¡ªthe mechs are ahead, and that officer is giving us a look of concern.¡±


    Radu¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°But then¡ªif Tsarigrad is Constantinople, the Greeks stole this city from the Romans!¡±


    ¡°Not quite,¡± I said, breaking into a slow jog to join the flow of men and leaving Radu behind for a moment. ¡°We can talk later,¡± I added when my brother had caught up with me, forestalling whatever questions he might have had. Radu had been too young to pay much attention to our history tutor before we left Wallachia, and his education in Osman hands had been focused in a rather different direction.


    ***


    The battle for Constantinople seemed long and wearying, though I later learned that it was considered stunningly swift. The fighting was intense but short, the main part of the fighting over before the sun had set. Of our company of princes, five survived the day, though one was crippled, both legs broken in the fall from the fourth deck. The four of us still standing were summoned to an audience in one of the captured palaces of the city, overlooking the sea.


    The summons had been given in the name of Sultan Allaedin, but contrary to my expectations, we only met Pasha Mustafa in the audience chamber. He conveyed the thanks of Sultan Allaedin, and as a token of the sultan¡¯s esteem for his loyal princes, offered us our choice of a selection of prizes, taken from the share of the booty that the sultan¡¯s officers had set aside as suitable for the sultan himself. No higher honor could possibly be granted to us than the sultan offering us a choice from his own most coveted prizes.


    And what prizes they were! By size, the largest prize was a horse; the smallest was a mechanical brass calendar-keeping device the size of a book, the position of the wandering planets represented by jeweled beads set in movable arcs against engraved illustrations depicting the constellations with their fixed stars. Each was exceptional, symbolizing the hopes of one of the sultan¡¯s officers of currying his favor by providing the young leader with an incomparable gift that would always remind him of the gifting officer.


    The sultan¡¯s sole surviving half-brother had the first choice. After considerable time examining what I thought were his favorite two choices, he passed up the beautiful blonde wearing silver earrings and the beautiful brunette wearing golden earrings to pick, instead, a jeweled dagger. The prince turned to face Pasha Mustafa, speaking loudly and clearly.


    ¡°I swear that if I ever cause my dear beloved elder brother the least bit of sadness, I shall plunge this enchanted dagger into my own breast.¡±


    Pasha Mustafa nodded approvingly and waved him on his way. The next prince, an older cousin or uncle¡ªI do not know which¡ªquickly chose the blonde with the silver earrings, the one that the sultan¡¯s brother had spent so long examining. He made as if to leave the room and then paused as Pasha Mustafa cleared his throat. The prince stammered, eyes widening, the wrist of his prize in his right hand as it drew close to its chest.


    ¡°I, too, swear that if I ever cause my dear beloved sultan worry, I shall plunge this¡ª¡± The man faltered, eyes focusing on the delicate fingernails of an implement totally unsuited to threats of impaling oneself.


    Pasha Mustafa raised his eyebrows.


    ¡°Um. I shall drop dead of horror and anguish at that very instant,¡± the man said gamely, flushing with embarrassment beneath brows salted with gray. ¡°For I have loyally served the sultan¡¯s father, and so I shall serve him.¡± He thumped his breast with the fearful and confused woman¡¯s hand before hastily departing.


    When the man had gone, Pasha Mustafa laughed. Then he turned to me. ¡°Ah, you two.¡± He chuckled, shaking his head. ¡°This game was not meant for you, but I have prizes from the sultan, and I say you each have earned a winner¡¯s prize. You are princes, after all, albeit of a lesser people. As you are the elder, Prince Vladimir, I will give you the choice before your brother.¡±


    Nervously, I stepped forward. My eyes skittered from prize to prize. The horse had a coat that shone like gold. I could feel the tug of magic upon a sword, tugging at my right hand. A crystal goblet glowed to my sight, pulling at my left hand. But no; I was young, with the impulses of youth, and the brunette pulled my eyes.


    ¡°I choose that prize,¡± I said, pointing at the brunette with a finger that quivered nervously.

 Chapter 2: The Prize

    ¡°I choose that prize,¡± I said, pointing at the brunette with a finger that quivered nervously.


    ¡°She is yours, then.¡± Pasha Mustafa smiled, waving broadly at the wide-eyed brunette, whose pale skin flushed with a ripple of pink that washed from her gold-adorned ears to her delicate toes. Her earrings were not her only adornment; she also bore a pair of bracelets styled as golden snakes with emerald eyes and a delicate necklace adorned with pearls.


    As I approached her, my brother said something to Pasha Mustafa, but my shivering prize occupied the whole of my attention. I swept my cloak off my shoulders and wrapped her in it before leading her away, my brother forgotten behind me. Weariness, alertness, and excitement all warred in my stomach as I left the audience chamber, winding my way through the bloodstained halls of the captured palace. Privacy was on my mind, and I left the palace to wander the grounds in search of it.


    ¡°You do not understand the Osman dialect, do you?¡± I looked her in the eyes and then switched to Greek. ¡°This all must be very confusing.¡±


    She bit her lip, hesitating, then nodded. The woman and I exchanged words in Greek, mine halting and hers fluent. Her name was Helena; she was as much of a woman as I was a man, which is to say¡ªas a woman need not prove herself with death¡ªthat we were of an age. She flinched every time another of the sultan¡¯s soldiers appeared, and also when I told her that she was beautiful.


    ¡°You were chosen as a prize for the sultan himself,¡± I said. ¡°But the sultan decided to reward me by giving me one of his prizes.¡±


    ¡°The sultan is old, fat, and short.¡± Helena looked disgusted. ¡°He looked even uglier than I had heard. I was to be a gift for him?¡±


    ¡°No, the man you saw was Pasha Mustafa,¡± I said. ¡°The sultan himself is much younger¡ªhe has just come by the title. The old sultan, who must be the one you heard of, it is true that he was short and thick, and he was of an age with Pasha Mustafa, but the old sultan was thrown from a horse and died. The new sultan is only a few years older than I am.¡±


    ¡°I pray that you and every other Osman fall from a horse and die! You¡ª¡±


    I interrupted her with a finger across her lips. ¡°It is said among the Osman that Murad could not have died in such a way as he did, if not for the curses of the witches of Constantinople. If you wish to keep your head, keep such wishes off your tongue. And please¡ªI am no Osman, even if I am dark-eyed and dark-haired.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps I would rather lose my head than be your slave, whatever kind of Turk you are¡ªOsman or White Sheep or Black Sheep or whatever else.¡± Helena gave me a fierce look, which became less fierce when I stepped close, looming over her. She shivered fearfully as she craned her neck.


    A small childish part of me wanted to stamp my foot and cry that her defiant attitude wasn¡¯t fair. She was my prize¡ªhad not Pasha Mustafa given her to me? What right had she to defy me when she was my possession? The illusion of solidity attached to the hierarchy of the Sultanate shattered in that moment. I myself was a possession of the sultan¡¯s court, but in this moment, I could do as I willed. For that matter, I could always do as I willed if I was ready to accept the consequences. And I was now grown. I had killed. I was a man.


    Holding my quivering prize by her shoulders, I glanced around. A few of the soldiers of the Sultanate were within earshot, looking on curiously. I did not know if they thought me an ordinary soldier or knew me to be a foreign princeling attached to Sultan Allaedin¡¯s court, nor if they spoke Greek, but I knew I was not ready for this beautiful woman to court death by publicly wishing ill of a sultan who believed his father slain by a curse cast by the witches of Constantinople.


    ¡°Your head is precious, and you can only lose it once,¡± I said, taking hold of her chin. ¡°And for such a noble beauty as yours, such must be a sin against the will that shaped your flesh. Take care of your words, for I am obliged to take care of you. May Saint George strike me down if I fail to protect you.¡±


    ¡°I had heard even the Turks respect Saint George, but I did not credit it.¡± The tension in Helena¡¯s shoulders eased.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.


    ¡°It is true. They speak of him with respect,¡± I said, smiling. ¡°But I am no Turk. I am Roman.¡±


    ¡°Speaking Greek like that?¡± Her derision was obvious but swiftly transformed into fear as she cringed away from the fierce look that her insult brought upon my face. ¡°You are not of my people, but you have taken the second Rome. I suppose you can call yourself Roman now by right of conquest.¡±


    I sighed, tamping down my anger as I did not desire her fear, but rather her friendship. ¡°It was no jest. But come, let us walk quickly.¡±


    I led her away and into what was likely a gardener¡¯s hut, as a dead gardener lay within a trampled flowerbed a dozen paces away. With the phoenix stone set into the pommel of my utility knife, it was but the work of a moment to restart a fire in the hearth. The furniture of the house¡ªa bed, a small table, a simple chair, an open chest, and a set of shelves for the gardener¡¯s tools and things¡ªhad all been overturned and moved about. I barred the door and started setting the furniture to rights. An iron pan, ladle, and a chipped knife went back on the shelves along with a trowel and three pairs of shears.


    ¡°We should not be bothered here, for we are quite near to the landing, and this place has been clearly looted already,¡± I said. ¡°The sultan¡¯s men accorded you great honor when they selected you as a gift for him. Giving him a woman who was anything less than a beautiful, noble virgin would be risking his wrath. But then, I am sure you know of your own beauty. I am surprised he chose to give you up.¡±


    Helena shivered, drawing my cloak more tightly around herself before sitting gingerly on the corner of the bed nearest the fire. ¡°I do not think the sultan ever saw me,¡± she said. ¡°The soldiers took me to Pasha Mustafa, and he had me taken to the audience chamber with Theodora and the others. There were soldiers who came and went, but the pasha was always the one giving orders¡ªI know the look and sound of a command even if I do not understand Osman speech.¡±


    ¡°Well, then, I am glad the pasha let me claim you, but I hope the sultan will not be irked.¡± I reached out, transfixed by her beauty as I traced a finger over her chin. ¡°I can hardly believe you are mine.¡±


    She pulled back with a shudder.


    I saw a faint smudge left behind by my finger on her porcelain chin and felt suddenly conscious that I was covered with the stink and filth of battle. I drew back. ¡°I am sorry, I have not washed. Between my poor Greek and the stains of combat, I must seem to you a terrifying brute. I promise to be a good master.¡±


    ¡°I had never planned to be a slave,¡± she said, edging backwards.


    ¡°You have lost a war,¡± I said. ¡°That is how I came to the sultan¡¯s court, a lost war¡ªmy brother and I both. Today, I have had more liberty than upon any day since my father surrendered us as hostages.¡± I turned, my eyes casting about the dim hut and alighting on a half-full bucket of water. ¡°I suppose you might rather be the sultan¡¯s slave¡ªthere is the possibility of becoming the mother of the next sultan that way. I hope you are not disappointed in being given away to a mere hostage.¡±


    Behind me, Helena sat silently as I washed my hands and face and doffed the plated mail that had protected me. Several of the rectangular plates were bent or broken, one missing entirely, and the whole thing was spattered and stained. I decided that I did not have it in me to scrub the armor clean, promising myself I would do a better job of it by morning light before piling it on the chair. My gambeson followed, and then I bent to wash my hands again, as my armor had been filthy.


    There was a faint scrape of a sandaled foot across the dirt floor behind me, and I turned just in time to see Helena¡¯s hand grab the dead gardener¡¯s knife off the shelf. My dripping hands began to rise in front of my face as she lunged, swinging the knife in a wild overhand slash as my cloak billowed out behind her body, her skin so pale that it seemed to glow by firelight. The iron anti-mage cuffs protected my wrists; perhaps I could block the attack.


    But I was slow, caught by surprise. My panic rose, and with it an uncontrolled surge of inner fire from deep within me, magic commanded by unreasoning fear and unleashed by surprise. The cold iron mage cuffs yanked my arms away from my face for a brief moment before the surge of magical weakness suffused the rest of my body and I collapsed completely, the knife whistling through the air above my face as I collapsed face-forward.


    My head smacked the edge of the table and bounced, twisting my body sideways, and I landed with my left arm draped limply across my chest, the iron of the anti-mage cuff now uncomfortably warm as it radiated weakness. The tiny cross I had kept on a fine chain beneath my undershirt landed on my face, first poking at one of my nostrils before sliding across my cheek to land on the dirt floor. I willed myself to move, to at least take a deep breath, my own arm feeling like a crushing weight compared to the weakness of my chest. I could not even turn my head. Where was Helena? I had only a thin silk undershirt for protection against her next blow, and I was completely immobile.


    A lovely foot came into view, prodding my head. The foot pulled away, and then Helena¡¯s face appeared, upside-down and framed by the dim rafters of the gardener¡¯s hut. The knife next to her promised my imminent demise.


    ¡°You are a mage,¡± she said. ¡°But one cuffed and bound away. Now I believe you are not a Turk. Who are you, really?¡±


    I strained, moving a tongue that felt like it weighed a hundred pounds and lips that felt like they were cast in wax.


    ¡°I am a son of the Dragon.¡±

 Chapter 3: A Little Death

    ¡°I am a son of the Dragon.¡±


    ¡°The Dragon?¡± Helena¡¯s face squinched adorably. ¡°The Dragon of Wallachia?¡±


    I tried to nod and failed. ¡°Yes,¡± I rasped out, my chest feeling weighed down. I could barely breathe.


    ¡°Do you have his magic, then?¡± Helena¡¯s face moved out of view.


    For a moment, I did not say anything. My father¡¯s magic was not well understood, even if it was well known, and he had inspired great fear in his enemies. I could not blame her if she fled the moment she learned I was the Dragon¡¯s son. But then I felt her lift my left arm, and I could breathe a little more easily with its dead weight removed from my chest. She ran her fingers all around the anti-mage cuff, tracing over its runes before she let go of that limb, letting it fall to the dirt floor above my head like a dead man¡¯s arm.


    ¡°I hope so,¡± I said, belatedly answering her question. Lying to such a lovely creature would be a sin, and silence would lead her only to assume the worst. ¡°My father taught me some secrets, but my magic had not yet fully awakened. The old sultan had these clapped on me before I grew to be a man. I know I have magic, but I cannot truly know what kind.¡±


    I felt Helena pick up my right arm from where it lay beside me and then let it drop behind me as well, the anti-mage cuffs clicking as they struck each other. Something moved around my wrists, perhaps a piece of fabric. ¡°You must have quite a lot of magic, Dragon¡¯s son. Maybe as much as the Dragon did. It has to be his magic you¡¯ve inherited, and after two in line, you will likely pass it on to your sons, if you have any.¡±


    This wasn¡¯t a question, so I had no answer. I asked a question instead, a question that had weighed on my mind as heavily as my arm had upon my chest. ¡°Will you kill me and run away?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re a Vlach, not a Turk,¡± Helena said thoughtfully. Her face came into view again, right-side up this time. Something sharp pricked my chest¡ªthe knife, I assumed¡ªand then a hand retrieved my little cross from the dirt floor next to me, fingering it before gently positioning it on the center of my chest. ¡°But you were going to ravish me anyway, weren¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°Um¡­¡± I weakly licked my lips, unsure of myself. ¡°You are very beautiful. I hoped¡­¡± What had I hoped? That she would leap into the arms of a conquering princeling who had helped break the walls of her city?


    The knife waved one more time in front of my face and then moved back out of view. Then a warm, soft weight pressed down on my chest as Helena¡¯s face came closer, and two hands felt at my neck and chin, exploring. One was warm¡ªthe hand that had been gripping the knife¡ªand the other cold. I tried to breathe in, but I could not lift the weight on my chest, and my breaths were shallow. An old story from my childhood came to mind, being told of an old woman suffocated by a cat lying on her chest while she slept. Was this how Helena meant to kill me?


    Helena¡¯s face pulled back out of view, the warm weight shifting more toward my stomach. ¡°I can¡¯t bring myself to murder a helpless man,¡± she murmured. ¡°It doesn¡¯t seem charitable.¡± A pair of hands, one warm and one cool, slipped under the hem of my shirt, pulling it up. The cool hand moved to my sternum, rubbing the sparse hair I had grown there. ¡°You¡¯re barely full-grown. Maybe even not done growing, though you¡¯re plenty tall enough already. Practically a boy.¡±


    ¡°I killed a man today,¡± I said to the unseen womanly weight crushing my stomach, seeking to protect my pride. When a woman calls a man a boy, it is rarely felt as a compliment. ¡°More than one. That makes me a man, does it not?¡±


    The hands rested on my chest, lingering in place. ¡°I guess.¡± Helena¡¯s voice held traces of bitterness at the reminder of the recent battle. She was silent for a long moment. ¡°What use does the new sultan have for you? I can¡¯t imagine Vladislav the Dragonslayer wants the Dragon¡¯s son back in Wallachia. Or is that the point? You could replace Vladislav if he rebels.¡±Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    ¡°We¡¯re¡­¡± I stopped myself before calling the new sultan a friend. ¡°My brother and I were suitable company for him as princes. He favors us, I hope. At least, I think if he didn¡¯t still favor us, Pasha Mustafa wouldn¡¯t have given us a choice out of the sultan¡¯s prizes. But maybe we are useful to him as checks against Vladislav.¡±


    ¡°You have a brother?¡± Helena¡¯s voice sounded surprised.


    ¡°You saw him; he was with me when I picked you.¡± I stared up at the dark rafters, frustrated.


    ¡°The pretty little blond boy?¡± Both hands were warm, having rested on my chest for long enough. One moved, a finger tracing an idle pattern over my abdomen. ¡°He looked altogether different to me, but now that you mention it, I can believe the two of you are brothers.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Radu is the fair one and has ever been winsome, while I am dark and not so pretty.¡± I sighed and felt delight in the fact that I had regained enough strength to take a truly deep breath. I tried to lift my head and failed.


    ¡°You are at least a man,¡± the unseen Helena said. ¡°Your little brother is not, for all that his voice has started to break. And you have the Dragon¡¯s magic running in your blood. A powerful lineage, a heritage you carry.¡± Her fingers traced over my heart. ¡°So, the sultan is given only noble virgins? And if you gave me back to him, I might become the mother of the next sultan?¡±


    ¡°I think so,¡± I said, wiggling my toes. As I did, I realized I wasn¡¯t sure of the answer to either question¡ªI knew the Turks had rules they followed regarding concubines, but I had not memorized them. I did know Allaedin was the son of a concubine himself, though; the old sultan had never married.


    Helena sighed heavily. ¡°Well, Dragon¡¯s son, I think I shall not take my chances with running away. I will trust in your princely oath to Saint George instead. It must be uncomfortable lying on the dirt floor like that. Let¡¯s get you into the bed.¡±


    She stood, stepping over my face and bending over to fiddle with my cuffed wrists. Fabric traced over my arm and was gone. I was little help as she pushed me to a sitting position, though once there, I found I was able to bend my legs a little, my lowest extremities being furthest from the source of my weakness. An attempt to stand succeeded only partially, and I fell backwards, knocking over Helena and landing on the bed hard enough to knock the wind out of me.


    After a few muttered words in Greek that had not been covered in my tutor¡¯s lessons, Helena¡¯s face appeared in my view again. ¡°Are you alright?¡±


    I groaned inarticulately, still unable to breathe.


    Her hands felt around my face and neck. ¡°Can you move your legs?¡±


    Trying to tell her I could wiggle my toes was futile, as I still couldn¡¯t breathe. Then wind returned to my lungs, and I breathed a deep, ragged breath, then another, and I spoke. ¡°I can move my toes, but I think the cuffs will not let me do much more than that for a little while longer.¡±


    One of my legs lifted, Helena having decided to take one of my boots off. ¡°Are you still drawing on your magic?¡±


    I tried to shake my head, and it moved just a little bit. ¡°No,¡± I said. ¡°I drew on it for just that moment that you surprised me with the knife.¡±


    Helena pulled off my other boot, then lifted my legs onto the bed. Her hands squeezed my calves before running up to my thighs. ¡°So much magic in such a short time. I wish I had powerful magic like yours.¡±


    Her hands lingered for a moment on my thighs before pulling away, then pressed down on my shoulders as her face reappeared. My cloak was still around her neck, but with her arms out, it was open, her pale skin luminous in the firelight.


    ¡°If you weren¡¯t laid low by your cuffs, would you want to ravish me?¡± She stared down into my eyes.


    I licked my lips, looking up at the beautiful brunette above me as I considered her words. With tact typical of adolescence, I blurted out my answer with a suddenness and honesty that I regretted before the words had finished traveling from my lips to her ears. ¡°I want you.¡±


    One corner of her mouth quirked upward a moment before she turned away, her face moving out of view. ¡°Well, let¡¯s get your clothing off to air it out overnight. It stinks.¡±


    I shivered weakly in the cool air as she tugged my trousers off, then my undershirt, even unwanted movements of my muscles hampered by the cold iron cuffs. After hanging my clothes up, she banked the fire, then sat on the bed and kicked off her sandals in the fading darkness. I could, by that point, flex my knees¡ªor could until a warm, soft weight settled on top of my legs, pinning them to the straw mattress. The air above me warmed as well; Helena was still wearing my cloak, its fabric settling over my feet as one warm hand pressed down on my chest, the other searching its way up my body like a soft-legged spider until it found my chin.


    A thumb brushed over my lips. A ticklish sensation brushed across my face, and for a moment, I felt the urge to sneeze as my breath pulled several strands of hair into my nostrils. Then soft warmth pressed against me, clumsy lips covering mine.

 Chapter 4: Making Up

    The rosy fingers of dawn woke me in the gardener¡¯s hut, and I found that I once again had full strength in my limbs, the magically imposed weakness having gone completely. The iron cuffs around my wrist felt no heavier than they ordinarily did. It was a weight that I had become accustomed to during my years in the Sultanate. Then I sat up and gazed down upon the beautiful brunette woman dozing next to me. Shame filled my heart. I had fought for the sultan. I had participated in the sack of this virtuous woman¡¯s city. I had ruined Helena¡¯s life. And also, most shamefully of all by the hardened sensibilities I had gained as a noble hostage in a foreign court, I had been completely helpless and at her mercy. And yet¡ªshe had mercy in her heart, and more than mercy. I was alive; I had become, in truth, a man, at the cost of her utter ruin.


    Helena had chosen to lower herself to my level, to belong to a man who lay helpless at her feet. The perfection of her relaxed face in repose drew my fingers to her cheek, and I gently stroked my beautiful Byzantine prize with the lightest possible touch. She woke in response anyway, startling awake with an unguarded expression of shock, fear, and horror. She thrashed her limbs, toppling out of the small and humble bed with the energy of her surprise.


    ¡°Is something the matter?¡± I asked, my hand nervously rubbing the spot where her foot had struck my upper thigh in her spasmodic awakening.


    Helena breathed in and out, chest heaving several times as she schooled her expression. ¡°Nothing¡ªeverything. The city really¡ªI really¡ªI am sorry, it is a very unfamiliar thing to wake next to a man and very disconcerting to spend a moment not knowing who he is. My memories of yesterday, they seem as nightmares.¡± She flushed a fetching shade of pink. ¡°Or dreams, I am sorry, I did not mean to say you were a nightmare¡­ I feel as if I must have gone mad, and I am sorry¡ªyou must think poorly of me now. Please do not.¡±


    ¡°Well, you have my thanks for not killing me.¡± My face felt warm, and my heart beat powerfully in my chest. ¡°And¡ªand you were wonderful. Are wonderful, I mean.¡±


    Hastily, I stood, helped her up from the dirt floor, and brushed away the dirt and loose straw that had stuck to her in various places during her fall. Then we continued exchanging words and gestures that meant both more and less than they should for a little while, for I was full of the confounding passions of youth and less than completely fluent in her language. She seemed less bold in the light of day than she had in the dark of night, faced once again with a man who towered above her and was able to move his own limbs; for my part, I felt less bold now that I was not drunk from battle, both of us perhaps feeling a mixture of pride and shame as we flattered one another with shy murmurs and lingering touches.


    After a time, I realized that a prince should not simply disappear after receiving a prize from the sultan and that I might be looked for¡ªwith concern for my unexpected departure or death¡ªand broached the subject. ¡°I am sure the pasha will want to speak with me again today, perhaps even the sultan,¡± I told Helena, my arms by this point wrapped around her slender waist and my nose buried in her hair.


    She stiffened in my arms, stepping back. ¡°I need clothes,¡± she told me. ¡°Real clothing, and makeup, too,¡± she added, aiming a dismissive wave at my cloak where it lay on the bed.


    ¡°I¡ªum¡ªyou¡ª¡± I stammered nervously as I looked down, taking in the gleaming gold necklace with its pearls and the emerald-studded snake bracelets that make up the majority of her attire.


    ¡°Perhaps I should practice the proper courtesies, now that I am your prize by right of conquest, plundered and ravished?¡± She fixed her eyes on mine and dipped in a curtsy, holding up imaginary skirts before addressing me with heavily honeyed tones. ¡°Milord prince, would it please you to clothe me more properly?¡± She switched back to her normal voice. ¡°Your cloak is warm, but I am sure you will want it around your own shoulders. And if I am to appear in front of the sultan or one of his pashas, it is surely best if I have fresh makeup to put upon my face. I am sure I look a fright.¡±


    I did not want to argue the point about who had ravished whom. ¡°You do not look a fright,¡± I said instead, then quickly continued. ¡°But if you must¡­¡± I hesitated. ¡°I don¡¯t know where the market¡ªor, that is, I do not think the market will be working normally. Even if I knew where it was.¡± Or, I silently added, if I had spent time acquiring such things in markets before. A prince, hostage or not, usually relies on servants for such things.


    ¡°I know of some places to look,¡± Helena said, caressing my arm gently. ¡°If they have not completely¡ªperhaps I could even get some of my own clothes, but at least, I think if we returned to the palace proper¡ªthe servants¡¯ quarters, there will be clothing there not yet stolen, as it is not so fine as to be precious. I could tell you places where to look, and stay here while you fetched them or found a servant to fetch them for you.¡±


    ¡°And then, what if someone else came upon you?¡± I clutched at her jealously, my hand running down her smooth back. ¡°I would hope they would take you at your word that you are mine, but I daresay that an Osman might not hold my rank in such esteem as to respect it in my absence, especially given your beauty.¡±


    She pulled away another step, a slight smile dimpling her cheeks as her arms crossed over her chest. ¡°I promise I will not run off,¡± she said. ¡°I have made my choice, and I cannot take back what I have given to you.¡±Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.


    ¡°But I do not jest¡ªas a foreign princeling, especially one young and unproven in battle, I command little respect.¡± I shook my head. ¡°Well, I have proven myself just the other day, but many will not have heard, even if Pasha Mustafa saw fit to grant me a prize by the sultan¡¯s order.¡±


    I paused, suddenly remembering that my brother and I had not been meant to be included in the company of fighting princes. Had the sultan heard about my feats in battle? Did he know I had become a man? I shook my head again. ¡°But even then, I am still young, and neither Osman nor even Turk, and¡ªwell, I am hardly a hostage whose threatened safety can check misbehavior by Vladislav the Dragonslayer.¡±


    A look of regret and worry flashed across Helena¡¯s face. ¡°You may check his behavior more than you think,¡± she said, reassuringly. ¡°As you are alive and in the sultan¡¯s hand, he has a ready replacement Vlach prince if Vladislav should prove intransigent and require removal.¡±


    I had not thought of it that way before, though it made sense. A moment of further exercise of my faculty of reason revealed to me that Radu would serve equally well in that role if I were to vanish¡ªperhaps even better, as he had been younger when we left our father¡¯s court behind for the Osman one, making him that much more of a Turk and that much less of a Vlach.


    ¡°Very well,¡± I told her. ¡°You speak sense¡ªbut I still want to come with you. Will you tell me the way?¡±


    Helena nodded, and after I wrapped her once more in my cloak, she came with me. We walked through the gardens and then through what had been¡ªand likely, I suspected would be again¡ªthe women¡¯s wing within the palace. In accordance with expected custom, I led the way. She kept my cloak wrapped tightly around herself and bowed her head, guiding me from behind with light touches and soft murmurs, following me so closely that if I stopped suddenly, the top of her head would bump into my back.


    <hr>


    A palace is not looted all at once, not even with an army sweeping through it, and the servants¡¯ quarters proved fruitful. Helena found a modest gown that she felt suited her even if it did not well flatter her figure, along with a small polished bronze mirror and a stash of makeup, busying herself with the urgent application of cosmetics while I packed away more clothing into a sack for later use. After all, if Helena was my prize, it was on me to keep her clothed and fed.


    ¡°There you are,¡± a voice said in my native tongue, interrupting my reverie. ¡°I wanted to find you¡ªI¡¯ve been looking all around¡ªand here you are in, what was this, the maidservants¡¯ quarters?¡±


    I turned, seeing my towheaded brother. ¡°Radu! It is good to see you!¡±


    ¡°It is not my fault you flew off into the night as soon as you picked your prize,¡± Radu said. ¡°Though now that I see her in the light of the day, I am the more surprised you picked her¡ªbrother, for all that she looked pretty from across the room, she is rather ugly up close. She must have been very well born indeed to be one of the sultan¡¯s prizes with a face like that. I would hate to see what she looks like without any makeup.¡±


    I looked over at Helena, who was packing away the pots of makeup into a little box. Her face was transformed, one eye seeming slightly smaller than the other, her nose a little bit crooked. A bruise discolored one cheek, and a small wart perched on the opposite side of her chin. Fine dark hairs dotted her upper lip while her lower lip swelled, crudely overlarge. Her forehead was dotted with small, ruddy pimples. The overall effect was disconcerting, her beauty dissolved by a hundred artificial imperfections.


    Helena stood, albeit not quite all the way up¡ªher upper back stayed hunched, like an old woman¡ªand curtsied, speaking in Greek. ¡°Prince Radu, I am honored to meet you.¡±


    I did not know what to say as I stared at my prize, but I knew I must defend my choice to keep my brother¡¯s respect, even if I could not convince him in any way that the imperfect creature standing before me was a beauty to match the others that were collected as the sultan¡¯s prizes.


    ¡°Little brother, I looked more closely than you think,¡± I said, grabbing Helena¡¯s hand and tapping the bracelet on her arm. ¡°You see that she wears golden serpents with emerald eyes upon her wrists? And the pearls on that golden chain around her neck? And the sapphires set in gold upon her ears? When I chose my prize, I gained a considerable value in jewelry with her¡ªenough to purchase two beautiful women if I chose.¡±


    Helena gave me a silent look of disgust. Radu laughed. ¡°You are clever, brother. I should not have doubted you. And with her being well-born, you may be able to get a good price for her anyway¡ªdo you know her breeding?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± I said as Helena¡¯s look of disgust turned to worry. I did not know how much, if any, she understood of our conversation, but the worry in her eyes tugged at my heart. ¡°Enough about my choice¡ªwhat of you? What prize did you choose?¡±


    Radu beamed. ¡°I picked the sword,¡± he said.


    I looked down at his waist, seeing only a plain blade there. ¡°You are not wearing it?¡±


    ¡°There was a council of sorts among several of the pashas, the sultan¡¯s uncle, and the sultan¡¯s half-brother¡ªand of course that meant coffee and dice. I lost it in a wager against Pasha Halil,¡± Radu said. ¡°The vizier¡¯s luck was bad the rest of the night except for that. But before I lost the sword, I won a horse as black as night from one of the other pashas, a beautiful blonde woman from the sultan¡¯s uncle, and fifty gold ducats besides¡ªmy luck was afire!¡±


    ¡°And so, you have a beautiful blonde now instead of a sword?¡± I asked.


    ¡°No¡ªI lost the horse trying to win back the sword and then the woman trying to win back the horse,¡± Radu said. ¡°It was a pity, she was quite pretty and I got to touch and feel her all over. But I lost her to the sultan¡¯s half-brother after he cleaned out Pasha Halil¡¯s table stakes. I might yet win her back, the prince said we were nearly too pretty a pair to separate, what with our matching hair, so I think he may be ready to wager her again the next time we play at dice. But come quickly with me¡ªthe sultan is breaking his fast, and if he was pleased well enough to grant us such rich prizes last night, he will surely have praise to offer for us in front of the others when he holds court, as long as we are there to be praised.¡±


    Praise from a sultan was a good currency at court, or at least it had been with the old sultan, and I assumed it would be with the new one. Conversely, being absent at court when the sultan made decisions could cause trouble, and I did not doubt that Sultan Allaedin would have decisions to make on the day after he conquered what had once been the greatest city in Europe. I did not want to be seen as shirking, so I set a quick walking pace as Radu showed me the way, leading me outside and then back inside to where the sultan was holding court. Helena followed behind, her sandals flapping against her heels as she jogged in my wake.

 Chapter 5: An Audience

    My brother and I entered the new sultan¡¯s new throne room unannounced for two reasons: First, whether we were hostages to Vladislav¡¯s good behavior or his potential replacements, we had princely status as guests of the court, and the guards were therefore not inclined to delay us. Second, Sultan Allaedin was busily speaking, and the guards dared not interrupt an imperial majesty, especially not in the middle of an angry lecture.


    The new sultan, a full turban¡¯s height taller than his deceased father, glared down at his little redheaded half-sister as he chided her for the unseemly display she¡¯d made of herself before the battle. If she were not his favorite sister, he would have thrashed her five times over: First, she had evaded her minders. Second, she had broken into his quarters, rummaging about and leaving everything a mess. Third, she had boarded a warship¡ªnot a fitting place for a woman, much less a girl. Fourth, she had run shrieking across the deck of said warship, an event witnessed by princes and pashas en masse, forcing them to take notice of her misbehavior. Fifth and finally, she had planted a kiss on Radu in front of sundry persons to wish him luck.


    Did she think a Vlach was an appropriate champion for an Osman princess? Did she think it was appropriate to touch a boy she was not related to like that, planting her lips upon his face? As a girl, she clearly did not understand conduct becoming a princess, and she would become a woman soon enough. She could not act wantonly or recklessly.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry!¡± Gulben said tearfully, stepping forward to hug her older half-brother.


    Roughly, he shoved her away. ¡°I love you too much to thrash you, but I must make you understand. Nedaxe will take your punishment.¡±


    Gulben shrieked, but the sultan¡¯s surviving uncle stepped forward to grab her and hold her while the sultan applied a horsewhip to Gulben¡¯s favorite maidservant, five vicious strokes that left the woman¡¯s back and legs bleeding.


    ¡°There. I have thrashed her five times,¡± Allaedin said, his face in a dissatisfied frown. ¡°Now stop mewling¡ªit is unbecoming of an Osman princess.¡±


    Gulben sobbed quietly in her uncle¡¯s arms.


    ¡°You will tend to her wounds yourself¡ªbut if you should escape her supervision again, she will have earned twenty lashes. You may ask your tutors for advice on how best to tend to her, but they are not to lift a finger to help you, only answer your questions.¡± Sultan Allaedin sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his finger in exasperation. ¡°That is as merciful as I can be, Gulben.¡±


    Her uncle whispered in her ear, and then Gulben spoke sullenly. ¡°Thank you, brother.¡± She bowed and then turned to leave and saw us. Or perhaps I should say she saw Radu¡ªI do not think her gaze landed on me at all, but it fixed on my brother for a long moment before she hastily hid a blushing, embarrassed face behind her hands, looking down at her feet as she led her bloodied maid away.


    The sultan¡¯s gaze fell on us. ¡°Radu. I see you are wearing my old shirt.¡±


    Radu touched a hand to the gold-washed links of the chain shirt he wore and bowed deeply. ¡°I will return it at once, Your Imperial Majesty; I had no idea¡­¡±


    ¡°It suits you. Keep it for as long as it fits you.¡± Sultan Allaedin shook his head. ¡°Call it your reward for your princely efforts on the battlefield. I understand you already wagered away what Pasha Mustafa decided to gift you on my behalf, so we can say that my sister was the accidental agent of my will in this matter. You may keep it as my apology for being thrust into battle and wager it not¡ªI am glad it kept you safe. You would be of no use to the Sultanate spitted on a Varangian spear.¡±


    To the sultan¡¯s left, Pasha Mustafa shifted nervously. To the sultan¡¯s right, the sultan¡¯s half-brother winked with his right eye, tapping the hilt of his new jeweled sword with a lopsided smirk.


    ¡°Thank you, Your Imperial Majesty,¡± Radu said, bowing deeply. He shot the sultan¡¯s half-brother a look that I couldn¡¯t interpret, then looked back at the sultan. ¡°I must apologize for my role in¡ª¡±


    ¡°Say no more, and I will not take notice,¡± Allaedin said brusquely. ¡°But in the future, discourage her attention as best as you are able.¡±


    The sultan¡¯s half-brother cleared his throat.


    Allaedin gave his half-brother a measuring look. ¡°You would advise me?¡±


    ¡°Your Imperial Majesty,¡± the half-brother said, bowing quickly. ¡°I could take Prince Radu under my supervision¡ªhe will learn about martial matters all the better with me in Trebizond. As comely as he is, I fear Gulben¡¯s present interest may be a mere shadow of what it will become, and as loyally as Radu pledges his obedience to your will in this matter, her proficiency in the art of enchantment will only grow. Even the Dragon¡¯s son only has so much capacity for resisting subtle magics.¡±This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    Sultan Allaedin had a suspicious look on his face but nodded slowly, acknowledging the logic. ¡°Very well,¡± he said. ¡°Keep him away from the front lines, though, until the boy has reached his full growth¡ªhe should not be flung into boarding actions.¡±


    Next to me, Radu inhaled as if about to voice an objection; I elbowed him in the ribs roughly, knocking just enough wind out of his lungs to interrupt him for one moment. That moment was all it took for him to remember that arguing with the sultan was unwise. Perhaps it was that motion that drew the sultan¡¯s attention to me.


    ¡°Vladimir, come forward. And bring the woman with you. This is Helena, is it not?¡± The sultan turned to Pasha Mustafa, who bowed and murmured affirmatively.


    ¡°Gifted to you by Pasha Mustafa, in my name?¡±


    Mustafa bowed deeply a second time.


    ¡°For valor in what was to be a company of Osman princes, proving their continued worth to the royal family?¡±


    Mustafa¡¯s third bow was accompanied by a nervous expression. ¡°Sultan, I was told only it was to be a company of all the princes¡ªthat was the order as it was passed to me by Pasha Halil, word for word. I did not summon the Vlach princes specifically, but when they arrived¡ªwell, was I to disobey the very words of your orders from Pasha Halil¡¯s lips?¡±


    The sultan gave both pashas a measured look before turning his gaze to me and the subtly slouching Helena at my side. His eyebrows raised as his eyes slowly raked down from her now-pimpled forehead to her sandaled feet, where his gaze paused for a moment, and then back up. ¡°Her maids took good care of her fingernails and toenails, and she has some fine jewelry. I must say that her portrait was very flattering,¡± the sultan said drily. ¡°In this case, I suppose you have not cost me anything I was not already willing to lose.¡±


    Helena stiffened next to me. I bowed deeply. ¡°Sultan, may I ask a boon?¡±


    He waved a hand negligently. ¡°You may keep the jewelry. It is the better part of your prize in any event.¡±


    ¡°May I accompany my brother to Trebizond?¡± I kept my face pointed to the floor, hoping I was not impertinent in asking.


    The sultan glanced over at his half-brother, then frowned. ¡°No. You will stay here, in this city¡ªin this palace, where I can easily summon you at need.¡±


    ¡°Thank you for the jewelry,¡± I said, then stood back up from my bow to hug my brother goodbye. As I bent down to clasp his shoulders, I saw that Helena was glaring at me with an expression fit to curdle milk.


    ¡°I shall be fine, brother,¡± Radu whispered in my ear. ¡°Mehmed likes me well enough. He was always the nicest of the Osman princes¡ªand I am due a fresh turn of luck the next time we play dice, too. I would hate for him to leave court without giving me a chance to win back my prizes.¡±


    My eyes burned as I held back tears; then, dragged down by the iron cuffs under my sleeves, my arms drooped, sliding off my brother¡¯s back as the anti-mage cuffs pulled away the trickle of magic I had unwittingly drawn from the depths of my being. A vivid vision lingered in my mind, though, a waking dream. I could see the divide between us opening wider; I could imagine that next we talked, he would address me in the Osman dialect, country Latin pushed entirely out of mind in favor of the Turkish tongue.


    ¡°Stay safe,¡± I choked out under my breath and then straightened.


    ¡°You may go¡ªsettle yourself somewhere nearby.¡± The sultan waved negligently. In response to his wave, Pasha Mustafa muttered in the ear of an astrologer. The astrologer let out a frustrated but very quiet groan and joined me as I walked out of the sultan¡¯s newly captured throne room.


    ¡°I am to find you auspicious quarters,¡± the astrologer told me.


    ¡°Quarters within sight of Pasha Mustafa?¡± I asked quietly.


    ¡°Quarters out of sight of everyone who is anyone,¡± the astrologer said.


    ¡°Oh? What have I done?¡± I quirked an eyebrow as we walked down the hallway, Helena hurrying in our wake with her shorter legs.


    The astrologer paused, looking in both directions. As Helena caught up to me, he leaned forward. ¡°Between you and me¡ªPasha Mustafa described her as a stunning beauty. Now the whole court knows he is nearsighted and will be reminded of it every time they see you with her. I hope you do not mind if I show you to the far end of the palace.¡±


    ¡°Please,¡± I said. ¡°House me in the deepest obscurity.¡± For my part, I was worried what questions might be asked if other members of the sultan¡¯s court saw Helena looking as beautiful as she had the previous night. Whatever transformation she had effected with makeup in the morning, I felt certain her true face was the sleepy one I had seen in the early morning, and her real figure the flawless one I had seen every inch of rather than the lumpy one hinted at by her ill-fitting gown.


    The astrologer nodded slowly. ¡°I know that Pasha Mustafa did not truly mean it when he asked for auspicious quarters¡ªbut I know the chart of your birth, for the old sultan was much concerned with such things, and I regularly read the skies on behalf of every prominent personage at court. For you, there is one very fortunate chamber¡ªbut it is out of the way, and there are a great many steps.¡±


    ¡°If it is more trouble to fetch me, then all the better,¡± I said. ¡°Lead on.¡±


    In more primitive ages, a lighthouse needed a keeper to ensure the light was kept; but we live in an age of great wonders. The perpetual light installed by the Roman archmage Virgil on the heights of the rebuilt walls of Troy overlooking the Hellespont is no longer a singular wonder but an easily duplicated product of magical engineering. Even a declining city-state calling itself a Roman Empire could afford such an extravagance sooner or later, especially as it saved them the trouble of manning and fueling a conventional lamp.


    There was a lighthouse built on top of the great sea-facing hall of the Great Palace, and the keeper¡¯s quarters within the tower had been dusty and disused in the decades since the light had been upgraded¡ªat most, the light needed to be shut down and the mirrors polished a few times a year, no constant attendance required. The old keeper¡¯s quarters were a place where I could be forgotten and, more importantly, where Helena could be forgotten.

 Interlude I: Avaria

    ¡°Apa, what have you brought me?¡± The little blonde girl tugged on her father¡¯s doublet. ¡°You always bring a present!¡±


    The man laughed. ¡°Erzsi, do you think I had time to shop?¡±


    ¡°Yes! You were away six days!¡± The little blonde girl looked up at the man fiercely. ¡°You always have a present if you have been gone a week!¡±


    ¡°Little bug, six days does not make a week. But I do have a present for you, my little bug; you can have this.¡± The man reached inside the hidden pocket in his vest, pulling out a small locket of enameled silver. ¡°Here.¡±


    The little girl took the locket in her hands. ¡°It is pretty.¡± She tossed it from one hand to the other.


    ¡°You can open it, you know.¡± The man reached down, showing the little girl how to undo the clasp.


    ¡°Who is that?¡± The little girl squinted at the picture inside the locket, turning it around to view it right-side up. ¡°It is an ugly little boy.¡±


    ¡°Erzsi, are you calling my painting ugly? I used my magic brush!¡± The man drew back, an exaggerated expression of offense on his face. ¡°I assure you, the little boy is healthy enough. But the locket is not the real present¡ªI have gotten you a promise of marriage, and that little boy is the object.¡±


    The little girl frowned. ¡°He has bug eyes. They stare so intensely. And his hair is dark!¡±


    ¡°Little bug, who are you to complain about a boy being a bug?¡± The man tousled the blonde girl¡¯s hair. ¡°Silly little bug¡ªyou will marry him when you are old enough, and that will make you princess of a whole duchy.¡±


    The little blonde girl¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°The boy is a duke?¡±


    ¡°His father is a voivode, which to the Vlachs means something like a duke or prince, and his lands are great enough to be a duchy. I think someday that little boy will inherit his father¡¯s title.¡± The man smiled down at the little blonde girl. ¡°I promised to help the Dragon against the ravening Osman horde¡ªand the Dragon promised to marry his son to my daughter. Now, are you happy, my little bug? What greater present could I bring back for you than the promise of a princely husband?¡±


    The little blond girl frowned, staring at the locket. ¡°He also has a long nose.¡±


    ¡°Yes, and that is a very good thing. It is called aquiline¡ªit is a very Roman nose, like an eagle.¡± The man smiled down at her. ¡°Has your tutor been teaching you about the Romans?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± the little blonde girl said. She closed the locket, sticking it in a pocket. Then she closed her eyes, switching to Latin and speaking in a singsong. ¡°Julius Caesar gave his wife Brutus twenty-three knives.¡±


    The man laughed long and hard. ¡°Little bug, your Latin needs work,¡± he said. He scooped up the little blonde girl in a hug.


    <hr>


    The hard-faced man glared at the adolescent blonde, no longer just a girl yet still not quite a woman. ¡°Your father will be disappointed in your lack of progress with the rapier, Elisabeta,¡± he said, speaking in the mountain dialect that properly belonged to his wife and children, and which escaped his mouth only with a heavy tracery of a Gothic accent.


    ¡°But I want to learn the longsword,¡± the girl argued, spindly arms crossed over her flat chest as she looked at the hard-faced man. Her fluency with the mountain dialect was, by now, better than her book Latin or her French. ¡°The rapier is a weapon for fighting street toughs, not Murad¡¯s mercenaries.¡±


    ¡°Point control will serve you well with any weapon.¡± The hard-faced man held out the practice foil, the wooden button on its tip painted bright orange. ¡°Even if you have reached your mother¡¯s height, you are too much the waif to train for the longsword yet¡ªthere is no muscle behind your blows.¡±


    ¡°How am I to get the muscle, then? If I do not practice it, I will not gain it.¡± The girl frowned, pulling the padded helmet back down over her face as the hard-faced man stared back at her silently, commanding her obedience.


    ¡°Ahem.¡± A third voice interrupted the pregnant silence, a discreet throat-clearing intended to draw attention. The interrupting servant bowed deeply and apologetically before looking at his lord¡¯s armsmaster and his lord¡¯s daughter.


    ¡°What is it?¡± The girl was glad for the interruption.


    ¡°Erzsebet, there is a Vlach messenger who arrived with news¡ªyour mother has requested your attendance upon her.¡± The servant clasped his hands behind his back, shifting from foot to foot.


    The girl frowned. ¡°What? Is my father on his way home?¡±


    The servant looked down at his feet, his expression flat.The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    The girl stared at the servant. ¡°What news is it?¡±


    The servant hesitated before turning away. The girl¡¯s heart hammered in her chest as she followed the servant to the great hall, where her mother, the lady of the castle, sat at the head of a long table, long gray hair loose and nearly brushing the table. A stranger sat three places down, chewing hungrily on a piece of bread¡ªthe Vlach messenger.


    ¡°Tell my daughter what you told me,¡± said the gray-haired lady of the castle, looking down at the table instead of at the Vlach messenger.


    The man sprang to his feet, a nervous look on his face. ¡°Miss Elisabeta, I am honored to meet you.¡± He swallowed, his accent thickening as he continued. ¡°Your father died bravely. He helped to win the battle¡ªthe first battle and the second. But Sultan Murad sent three armies at once, with he himself directly commanding the third, and the third battle was lost. The Dragon has surrendered.¡±


    ¡°My father cannot be dead!¡± the girl shouted. She turned away, running out of the great hall and up the stairs. After she had run out of stairs to ascend and walked out into the open air, she stood still, staring down at the town below, her lungs heaving. Her father was a great fighter and had a great rapport with his elemental spirits¡ªthey anticipated his commands. At their worst, elemental spirits could be reluctant, slow to obey or perverting incautiously worded orders; but for her father, the ones bound into their house¡¯s mechs were not only cooperative but eagerly friendly.


    ¡°Apa, you promised,¡± the girl sobbed, her words heard only by the whispering wind as it blew past the ramparts. ¡°You promised you would teach me how to befriend the spirits. You promised you would teach me the arts of sword and sorcery. And you promised you would give me a handsome prince for a husband.¡±


    The wind howled and the girl scowled. She grabbed her locket, pulling it out to look at the bug-eyed boy with his dark hair and his intense eyes. ¡°Little bug prince, did you die with my father? Or did you surrender with yours?¡±


    She stared at the miniature for a long minute before she closed the locket, tucking it back under her shirt, her questions unanswered. Then she made her way slowly down the stairs, each step heavier and slower than the last, and made her way back to the great hall. The Vlach messenger was still there, gnawing more slowly now, his hunger nearly satisfied.


    ¡°What of the Dragon¡¯s son?¡± the girl asked, her voice seeming childish in her own ears as she spoke insistently. ¡°What of him? Is he dead, too?¡±


    At her question, the Vlach messenger startled, almost choking on his mouthful of food. By her third question, he had cleared his throat and spoke. ¡°Little girl, you surprised me. But the Dragon has many sons; which did you mean?¡±


    ¡°Vladimir,¡± the girl said, grasping her locket.


    The Vlach messenger laughed, shaking his head. ¡°That narrows it down some. Well. One of the Vladimirs is off in a monastery¡ªhe took vows last year. The other has gone to Murad¡¯s court as a hostage.¡±


    The girl froze. Monks did not marry, and the Turks were beyond the pale¡ªbeasts beyond civilization ravening at the borders of Europe. If her Vladimir had taken orders, he was gone forever¡ªand if he was hostage to the Turks, he would surely be dead soon. ¡°Thank you,¡± she said woodenly, her manners too well trained to be omitted even when her mouth felt like it was filled with bitter ashes.


    ¡°Was there anything else you wanted to know?¡± The Vlach messenger gave her a sympathetic look.


    ¡°Is¡­¡± The girl hesitated, her voice trailing off into silence for a long moment. She felt too embarrassed to ask which one was her Vlad, the one in the locket¡ªwhether it was the monk or the hostage. Both were gone, after all. But there was one other question still in her heart, for she still could not quite believe what the messenger had said. ¡°Is my father really dead?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± the Vlach messenger said. ¡°I am sorry.¡±


    <hr>


    The blonde woman slowed her horse. She could feel someone else coming the other way¡ªand with the trail as narrow as it was, going around the bend blind into another rider at a gallop was a recipe for a bad fall. Whoever it was had a weak talent¡ªbarely a mage at all¡ªbut still, she loosened her longsword in its sheath as she guided her horse to the side of the trail, checked her new three-barreled French pistol, and limbered her fingers, feeling magic tingle through her veins. Though it was unlikely the approaching stranger meant her ill, she had three ways to kill him if he did.


    Then she saw his face, and her hands dropped down to her sides. It was the same Vlach messenger she had seen before¡ªthe one that had brought news of her father¡¯s death. ¡°Hail, Vlach herald,¡± she said, greeting him in the Vlach dialect with good fluency. ¡°What tidings do you bring?¡±


    ¡°Well met, Miss Elisabeta. I come with tidings of Wallachia,¡± the messenger replied in the same tongue, pleased to be able to speak without tripping over the oddities of woman¡¯s difficult native language. ¡°And to beg a favor of your uncle.¡±


    ¡°He will not fight for your prince against the vile sultan,¡± the woman said. ¡°Not as my father did. He cannot¡ªKing Janos needs his right arm, and his heir is too young for him to abandon his post. There are no more men of my house to be spared for crusades against the Osman menace.¡±


    The messenger shook his head. ¡°No, my favor is personal. My news is that the Dragon is dead, slain by his cousin Vladislav, who has also made his own tributary arrangements with the sultan. My service was to the Dragon, and my loyalty is to his house, not the House of Dan. The Dragon¡¯s house is all but dissolved, his heirs in the hands of the sultan, and its most loyal servants are not trusted by the new prince. Until one of the Dragon¡¯s sons is ready to rightfully claim the throne from the usurper, there is no place for me in Wallachia. I wish to take service with your uncle.¡±


    The woman frowned, disliking the idea of letting a living reminder of the news of her father¡¯s death haunt the castle that was now owned by her uncle. Then the man¡¯s words penetrated her mind fully, and her hand rose to the locket hidden under her blouse. ¡°His sons still live?¡±


    ¡°Most of them,¡± the herald said. ¡°The sultan keeps care of his hostages¡ªand I have not heard of the monk dying, though the Dragonslayer may yet have him killed. Monastic vows have been before proven soluble by the divine right of royalty.¡±


    ¡°I was riding nowhere in particular,¡± the woman said, her tone already carrying the weight of an order as she drew her hand away from the hidden locket. ¡°I will now escort you to see my uncle. While we ride together, you will tell me everything you know of the sons of the Dragon.¡±

 Chapter 6: The Lighthouse

    A Road Away from Rome


    The conquest of Constantinople had many consequences. One that I had already seen was the thinning of the population of young princes in the court. Eight of the old sultan¡¯s sons and brothers had died in the assault on the walls and a ninth had been crippled. Two others¡ªa toddler and an infant, proof that the old sultan had been virile until the end¡ªsuffered fatal incidents on the grounds of the sultan¡¯s new and unfamiliar palace one night, both allegedly mistaking windows for doors, and both followed by their nursemaids. In both cases, their nursemaids, presumed officially to be the only direct witnesses to their misfortune, followed their charges out the window, were determined to have been likely distraught enough to defenestrate themselves, in one case vigorously enough to reach a horizontal distance of nearly twenty feet before impact.


    This left the new sultan with three or four plausible heirs, one being his own infant son (kept well away from windows), a half-brother sent away to war upon Trebizond, and an uncle sent away to manage Rumelia. His crippled half-brother, who was about Radu¡¯s age, was unsuited to military deployment and unable to fall out of a window without overt assistance; however, it was not in any case clear to me or to the court at large that a crippled Osman prince could succeed as a leader, the recent example of Tamerlane in the east notwithstanding.


    Sultan Allaedin proclaimed himself the Sultan of Rum¡ªor, in European translation, Emperor of Rome, though more diplomatic translators bearing forth his announcement usually left his title in the Turkish form to avoid immediate offense, as it pressed against titles claimed by the three most powerful European rulers¡ªincluding the immortal sorcerer-king Koschei ruling the Golden Empire north of the Axine Sea and the infamous Leon the Usurper, whose cruisers were clad in Corsican brass and had no equal anywhere in the open waters of the Mediterranean.


    Leon claimed the title of Emperor in Rome by virtue of having ridden into the original western city with a complacent army of musketeers outside and a cooperative Pope within. Koschei¡¯s claim was more complicated. The last Roman Empire had fallen several times, and during one of the previous falls, senators fleeing the sack of Constantinople by Venetians had arrived in Tanais. They brought with them an eligible Greek princess from a recent ruling dynasty and a willingness to declare themselves a proper quorum of the Roman Senate; ever since that time, Emperor Koschei titled himself Emperor of Rome and his capital Rome-upon-Tanais.


    As a practical matter, Constantinople was distant from the Golden Empire and across the Axine Sea; the Golden Empire¡¯s fleet was not nearly large enough to challenge Venice¡¯s fleet, and Koschei¡¯s claim was therefore held very loudly on a symbolic basis, primarily serving to glorify his own capital and provide an excuse for claiming insult. Besides, the Venetians (and the Greeks once they reclaimed it) were valuable trade partners.


    The Sultanate, however, was not a valued trade partner of the Golden Empire; the Golden Empire¡¯s new railroads connected its three great rivers from west to east, providing an economical connection from the Axine Sea to the Khazarian Sea, a modernized northern alternative to the old Silk Road. At the ordinary speed of trade, it takes three or four weeks for news to travel between the second Rome of Constantinople to Koschei¡¯s claimed third Rome upon the mouth of the Tanais River. The emissary sent by the Golden Emperor arrived at Sultan Allaedin¡¯s court arrived only seven weeks after the city fell. The Undying Emperor had a memory like a steel trap in spite of his age, and the message he bore would change everything.


    Those intermediate seven weeks were a pleasant time, however, and I remember them fondly¡­


    <hr>


    Chapter 6: The Lighthouse


    ¡°The moon is quite full tonight,¡± I said, jerking my head to indicate the shuttered window.


    ¡°Already?¡± Helena¡¯s fork dropped to her plate in a barely controlled motion, clinking loudly.


    ¡°Yes¡ªand it really looks quite nice tonight, if you would care to go out for a moonlit walk. The sky is very clear,¡± I said, gesturing at the door to the stairway. In my opinion, the lovely brunette was overdue for fresh air; she had not descended to the lower levels of the palace beneath the lighthouse tower for a little more than two weeks, much less out of doors.


    ¡°Perhaps I will.¡± Helena picked up her fork, pushing a half-eaten piece of fish around her plate. ¡°I am not hungry. Still¡­¡±


    Helena¡¯s eyes flickered to the makeup case sitting on the side table. I knew that, having established her reputation for having an ugly aspect at the cost of Pasha Mustafa¡¯s reputation for refined taste in women, she did not wish to either remind Pasha Mustafa of his embarrassment either by showing in her ugly guise or endangering her aforementioned reputation by appearing as comely as she did naturally. She did not wish to draw any eyes other than mine.


    And I did not doubt that she did wish to draw mine, as she had remained affectionate. I was a strong young man in good health; she was a young woman with a comely figure, and no chaperones resided in the lighthouse to prevent behavior that our shared religion deemed sinful¡ªindeed, servants rarely ventured up the stairs other than by my explicit request. We therefore thoroughly enjoyed each other¡¯s company in the shared solitude of the lighthouse. In the process, she improved my Greek, and I sometimes taught her rudiments of the Osman dialect, though she had limited enthusiasm for learning the language. Speaking the Osman dialect in her presence would inevitably sour her mood, so I did it but rarely.


    Tonight, though, her hand did not stretch out over the table to brush against mine, and her foot did not slide against either of my legs. Instead, the silence hung heavily on us as I vigorously ate and she pushed food sullenly around her plate. I had been training at archery with the prince who had been lamed in the assault, who was now eager to find some sort of exercise that did not require the use of his ruined and still-painful legs. Shooting might have been more practical as a form of military training, but little muscular activity is involved in tripping home a little hammer against a phoenix stone set at one end of a metal tube, and the work of reloading in between shots is at best a dirty affair and becomes awkward if one is required to remain seated throughout.


    Abruptly Helena stood, turning without a word and walking over to the stairwell, closing the door behind her even as I stood to follow. She had not adjusted her makeup, nor had she grabbed a cloak from the rack next to the door¡ªhad she forgotten? I opened the door, calling out her name down the stairs.This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    ¡°Helena!¡±


    As I waited for a reply that did not come, I heard her footsteps above me¡ªshe was going up, rather than down. I followed, taking two steps at a time, passing a disused supply room and a study before reaching the top floor and the door into the lamp room. It was shut, barred against me; I knocked.


    ¡°Helena, is something the matter? Are you unwell?¡± My stomach churned as I considered what a ruined princess might decide to do that required ascending to the very top floor of a tower.


    ¡°Go away¡ªI am trying to pray,¡± Helena told me, her voice muffled by the door. ¡°Leave me be.¡±


    My heart fell all the way back down to our quarters, and I slunk slowly down the stairs after it, taking each step slowly as if I might find the missing organ lying there waiting to be further stepped upon. When I reached the bottom of the stairs, my stomach growled; I helped myself to seconds and finished my meal, chewing automatically without really tasting the edible matter passing through my mouth and into the sunken pit of my stomach.


    I read quietly for several hours, then went to bed alone. In the morning, I found that Helena had cleared away the remnants of her meal and, finding the door to the study locked, presumed that she was within and disinterested in my company.


    The next two evenings, I returned from court to find the bedroom door latched and its occupant vocally disinterested in my company. I slept instead on the couch. On the third evening after the night of the full moon, Helena greeted me quietly, ate her dinner quickly and quietly, then wrapped herself in a blanket on the couch, falling asleep. I was not convinced she wanted my company on the couch, so I retreated to the bedroom, respecting her recent desire for solitude. I could not fault her for having had a sudden impulse to pray at length. We were not married. As she had no priest to confess to in our private sanctuary, her need for prayer was greater than mine to begin with, and she had not spent so long among Turks as to begin to forget the regular religious habits of her own people.


    <hr>


    The next day, after discreetly unburdening myself to a priest¡ªdiscretion being the better part of diplomacy as a foreign hostage prince who had not converted to the religion held dear by the Osman¡ªI went to arms practice. The lamed prince was taking a break from archery practice, and pells had been set up for the sultan¡¯s guards to drill on in that part of the courtyard instead. I was resting after a sparring match when Pasha Mustafa¡¯s astrologer came up to me.


    ¡°Did your brother lose very much at dice playing against Pasha Halil?¡±


    The man¡¯s question struck me oddly, and I paused for a long moment before answering. ¡°In truth, I do not know how much he lost and won,¡± I said. ¡°It has been my practice to try to limit his participation in the vice of gambling when we are together, but I do know that two nights before he left for Trebizond, he lost a slave woman and a fine horse trying to win back the sword that Pasha Mustafa had bestowed upon him.¡± I paused. ¡°Though he did say that Prince Mehmed cleaned out Pasha Halil¡¯s whole table stake. He cannot be too lucky.¡±


    ¡°Hm, but that means nothing,¡± the astrologer said. ¡°The prince carried divine favor with him off the battlefield, and the dice can be expected to respond to that from time to time. But the vizier¡ªfrom the signs of his birth, I would expect him to hold extraordinarily poor luck this year. He has been winning quite often, and it is no poor luck to lose to a prince. And have you never diced with him yourself? I have been seeking to measure his excess luck via mathematics, as I think his fortune portends some kind of anomaly.¡±


    ¡°No¡ªmy prizes have been few, and I prefer to conserve them rather than to get greedy,¡± I told him¡ªthough for a moment, the lustful mind of youth whispered to me that if Helena¡¯s shoulder was turning cold in my direction, I might find another woman warm and welcoming. I pushed the thought aside. It was bad enough that I had ruined Helena¡¯s virtue and reduced her to the status of the concubine of a captive prince fighting for a foul fiend; I should not wallow in sin like my hosts, nor did I like the idea of risking Helena¡¯s loss.


    Rightfully or not, she was mine¡ªa treasure hoard of delight from fine silken sable hair to delicate pearly toes. And I could not bear to have any of my treasures robbed from me by a bandit bearing dice. I swayed on my feet as fire built up for a moment in my chest, my wrists suddenly heavy as possessive jealousy surged along with the heat.


    ¡°Are you well?¡± The astrologer was gripping my shoulder. ¡°You were acting as if you might faint, and I thought I felt the heat of a fever upon you.¡±


    ¡°I am¡ªI will be fine,¡± I said. ¡°Helena has been in a mood.¡±


    ¡°It is that time of month for her, then?¡± The astrologer nodded sagely. ¡°She is your first, is she not? In time, you will get used to womanly cycles and moods. She will be available again after a few days, perhaps a week at the longest.¡± He lowered his voice, leaning in. ¡°In truth, she will want it as much as you do¡ªperhaps even more while she is unclean, which is why the law says to keep away and not approach them.¡±


    I nodded as if understanding, though at that time I had little understanding of womanly ways¡ªI knew that women had monthly courses, though not precisely what they entailed, and knew that women were accounted inconstant in mood, though not in what ways those two things might be related to one another.


    ¡°If you need distraction¡ªperhaps we could play at dice this evening,¡± the astrologer said smoothly, continuing when I opened my mouth to object. ¡°If you are not one to wish to risk your own purse, I could stake you a handful of akcheh to bet with¡ª¡±


    I interrupted. ¡°¡ªand wish only my winnings in return?¡± I raised my eyebrows. ¡°Do you think tonight is an auspicious night for me, astrologer?¡±


    ¡°I think it is a particularly ill-fated night for someone else,¡± the astrologer said. ¡°If you return all your winnings to me, it would be my luck you tested from the start. So, I will ask only half your winnings beyond what I lend you and will forgive your debt if you lose it all.¡±


    ¡°I will consider it,¡± I said, looking back at the guards. ¡°If I do, I will find you this evening.¡±


    I picked up my wooden practice blade, seeking another sparring partner, and soon found one. My arms still felt weak, and so I struggled. Every parry had to be placed just so to avoid a painful bruise; anything short of perfect technique would see me overpowered by my unhindered sparring partner. Once I had found my rhythm, though, my thoughts turned inevitably back to the astrologer¡¯s invitation, the clatter of wooden blades a sort of percussive music.


    In truth, what did I have to lose? Gambling was a vice, but I could not see any way for me to lose the astrologer¡¯s game, and Helena had spoken to me barely thrice in the last three days. If she wanted my absence, she could have a little more of it tonight, I thought, then let my thoughts greedily drift over the possibility that I could earn a little free pocket change if I had the luck that the astrologer forecast for me.


    In my youth and naivete, I did not consider that a handful of silver akcheh could be considered a cheap payment to be able to use a prince as a pawn in a deeper game...

 Chapter 7: The Game

    The dice clattered into the shallow wooden dice box with good speed, bouncing off the far wall and tumbling halfway back to my outstretched hand before landing up ones.


    ¡°A pig!¡± I cried out with excitement, reaching out to pick up coins out of the boat, everywhere but the single central tall mast of coins stacked vertically on the seven spot on the center of the boat. A chorus of groans sounded as Pasha Halil quickly reached for the dice to take his turn.


    With a quick motion from hand to hand, he passed the dice from left to right to left again before closing his fist and flipping it over, thrusting it out over the box, the dice dropping nearly straight down. Double sixes¡ªPasha Halil nodded. ¡°I have the king,¡± he said, quickly picking the dice back up before handing them off to the astrologer. As the vizier picked up the mast in two stacks, he chuckled. ¡°Perhaps we can richen the stakes? If we play for gold, you can make back your stake in no time.¡±


    The astrologer shook his head, leaning back on top of his cushion and reaching behind himself to snag a tiny cup of strong coffee from the tray of the servant walking unseen behind him. ¡°Alas, that was the last in my purse,¡± he said, overtly glancing at my pile of silver. ¡°I am afraid I can only watch now. But look, here are Bey Ishak and Bey Hasan¡ªI know they will have gold, and they can more than take my place.¡±


    ¡°Too rich for my blood,¡± grunted the captain sitting next to me, standing up and shaking his head. ¡°They can take my place as well. I should have left when Yusuf did¡ªbut I was so sure my luck would turn.¡±


    ¡°I could keep playing, but I have no gold,¡± I said, sheepishly. ¡°Not with me,¡± I added, remembering Helena¡¯s jewelry and that it belonged to me.


    ¡°Ah, let me change that for you¡ªI would give you ten ducats for the pile in front of you,¡± Pasha Halil said. ¡°It will be easier to carry in any event.¡±


    Though we had gamed for two hours, I had not lost count¡ªI knew well enough that I had three hundred and fifty-five akcheh in the round heap piled in front of me. Forty-to-one was a reasonable rate of exchange between Venetian ducats and Osman akcheh, which made the vizier¡¯s offer either ill-estimated or generous. After a moment of involuntary hesitation (the coins were shiny and mine), I pushed the pile over to the vizier in exchange for a palmful of glittering gold, then stood to avail myself of several sticky nut-filled pastries while the astrologer and the vizier convinced the two beys to join a higher-stakes version of our game.


    When I returned to the low table with its wooden boat, I found that the cushion I had sat in was occupied, with the beys having seated themselves to the vizier¡¯s right; the astrologer got up to let me take the seat to the vizier¡¯s left, where I would play in his wake. Pasha Halil opened by placing a ducat on the seven spot to start the boat¡¯s mast and then rolled a seven, placing a second ducat on the mast¡ªthe game was on.


    I placed my own ante on the mast and then laid down an eleven; the beys followed suit with a six and a five; then Pasha Halil scored the first coin by rolling a five to pick up the laden spot. It went around twice more, Pasha Halil picking up two more coins and Bey Ishak picking up one, before I rolled an early king and cleared the whole board, more than doubling my stake to twenty-three coins. I slid the coins into a small gleaming pile in front of me, shifting my legs under me in preparation to leave with my new hoard when the astrologer clapped his hand on my shoulder.


    ¡°What good fortune!¡± The astrologer beamed. ¡°But surely you cannot mean to leave so quickly? The night is still young!¡±


    Remembering that I had promised to pay back the astrologer the original stake he had granted me and half my profits, I hesitated. More good luck was in my future, perhaps¡ªthe astrologer¡¯s forecast of a lucky night had seemed thus far accurate. I gamely picked up one of my coins, planting it on the mast as my ante, and picked up the dice, rolling double fives. My second coin therefore went on the ten spot, my newly grown hoard diminished to twenty-one ducats.


    After two small cups of coffee and five more rolls, my hoard had diminished to eighteen ducats and we were rolling quickly and fiercely. When Pasha Halil rolled a king, I had his dice in my hand before he had finished his whoop of celebration. He glanced down at the empty rolling box with a look of consternation as he cleared the ducats out of the boat.


    ¡°The Vlach princeling is so eager to keep playing; he has the dice ready to start the next game,¡± laughed the astrologer. ¡°The energy of youth!¡±


    ¡°Ah, but I won¡ªit would be more generous of me if I started the game,¡± Pasha Halil said, smiling thinly. ¡°The lad has but a thin purse of ducats¡ªus old men should not rob him of it too quickly.¡±


    ¡°I feel lucky enough,¡± I said, planting a ducat down for the mast. I tossed the dice in the air, and they dropped solidly into the rolling box, showing double sixes. ¡°A king for a first roll! I should have waited for the rest of you to have a turn to ante¡ªit is good for you that I went first, Pasha Halil.¡± I shook my head, collecting back my ante coin and passing the dice to my left. ¡°Bey Ishak?¡±Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.


    The bey nodded, laying down his ante to start the game and dropping the dice into the box, just as I had done¡ªshowing, again, double sixes. The astrologer, Bey Hasan, and Pasha Halil all lunged for the dice at the same time, eager for different reasons; the astrologer was quickest.


    The astrologer shook the dice in his hands with a clinking noise, rattling the bones for a long minute, then opened his palm, showing two sixes up. Then he dropped the dice into his coffee cup, swirling them about with a clinking noise¡ªthen lowered the cup, showing two sixes floating up in the dark liquid, bobbing gently. ¡°A king in every roll,¡± the astrologer said. ¡°These are not the dice I brought to the table.¡±


    Sensing trouble, I quickly pocketed my winnings while the vizier sputtered out a denial. The gold was mine, and I felt protective of it; even if, a moment later, I recalled that I owed the astrologer my starting stake plus half of my added winnings¡ªleaving me only eight ducats of my share of the winning.


    The astrologer grabbed my arm, hissing in my ear. ¡°Don¡¯t go,¡± the astrologer whispered in my ear. ¡°They may think you the source of the cheating dice if you sneak away.¡±


    ¡°But I didn¡¯t do it!¡± I blurted out, weakness dropping my arms limp as my control of my magic slipped briefly by the smallest bit. ¡°I don¡¯t even own a pair of dice.¡±


    For a moment, everyone turned to look at me. Bey Ishak spoke. ¡°Be off on your way, boy; I know you to be a novice at dice. Your brother complained about your distaste of gambling often enough.¡±


    I nodded, and the astrologer let go of my arm. It fell limp to my side like the other, and I quickly walked away, hoping nobody noticed the oddity of how my arms limply wobbled. I had back the motion of them by the time I reached the other end of the palace, the momentary weakness diffused in a matter of minutes, though I blamed my iron cuffs for the way I breathed heavily after climbing the stairs up to the lighthouse keeper¡¯s chamber. The door was barred, and I knocked, calling out my name, and in time Helena came to open it.


    ¡°Where have you been?¡± She stood in the doorway, peering up at me with a sharp expression.


    ¡°Why do you care? You have been pushing me away¡ªyou could have just told me you were having your monthly courses rather than shoving me off without a word and hiding away,¡± I said.


    ¡°I was not having my monthly courses,¡± she retorted. ¡°Stop dodging the question.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m in no mood to gad about out here,¡± I said, shoving my way in and closing the door behind myself as she staggered backwards, landing on her derriere and then scrabbling backwards away from me like a spider, a fearful body at the center of a set of awkwardly angled limbs.


    ¡°Please,¡± she whimpered.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± I said, putting the bar back in its place. ¡°I did not mean to knock you over. It is a good night to bar the door¡ªthe evening was turning troublesome. Someone switched out the dice¡ªor bespelled them, I am not sure which¡ªand I wish to be well out of sight for the rest of the night.¡±


    ¡°But you have magic of your own. Can¡¯t you sense magic?¡±


    Helena sat up. I offered her my hand, and she hesitantly took it as I answered her question. ¡°My focus is ever inward. I feel my magic inside of me, but outside¡ªnothing. Maybe that part of my power has not awakened. Maybe there is some trick to it that my father had not taught me. Maybe it is just that I have been cuffed this whole time.¡±


    ¡°Did your father teach you much about his magic?¡± Helena asked. Absently, her hand rubbed her stomach, a motion that seemed odd given that she had just landed on her aft end. Surely it was her posterior that ought to be rubbed in such a circumstance.


    ¡°Enough to fill a book,¡± I boasted, cracking a smile. ¡°If I have his magic, then I shall know how to use it as soon as I am out of these cuffs.¡±


    ¡°I see,¡± Helena said. ¡°Who was the cheat?¡±


    ¡°The vizier,¡± I said. ¡°Or at least, he was the one who won a pot with the loaded dice. I did not see them switched or notice them bespelled, but they floated sixes up when the astrologer put them in his cup.¡±


    Helena frowned, considering. ¡°I doubt the vizier is hurting for money. That seems strange. Was anyone else also making out well?¡±


    ¡°I was,¡± I said, suddenly feeling the small but solid weight of eighteen golden Venetian ducats at my side. ¡°The astrologer seemed to think it would be a lucky night for me.¡±


    ¡°If you are not the one in trouble, then you are lucky,¡± Helena said. Her hand reached out to squeeze mine, then she looked down and pulled it away.


    I reached out, running my fingers through her lovely brunette hair. She froze stiffly, and I sighed, stepping back and away from the implied rejection. ¡°I will go now to sleep in the bed¡ªthe couch is too short for my legs. I miss your company.¡±


    Having made my bed with my words, I felt myself obliged by young pride to go forth and lie in it, though the coffee I had drunk while playing at dice with the vizier still coursed through my veins. I lay awake in the darkened room, the blanket tucked at first neatly over myself but then less and less so as I tossed and turned, trying to find sleep. I screwed my eyes tightly shut in the vain hope that my desire to slip away from my state of consciousness and deep adolescent embarrassment could overcome the well-known powers of Nubia¡¯s most widely traded produce. I breathed slowly in through my nose and out through my mouth, each breath slower than the last in an attempt to bank the inner coals of my wakeful self.


    The door creaked softly open, the floorboards gently groaned under three soft steps, and then there was silence for a long moment.

 Chapter 8: A Painful Lesson

    The door creaked softly open, the floorboards gently groaned under three soft steps, and then there was silence for a long moment. I did not speak or move, focusing intently on my long, steady exhalation. Then I closed my mouth softly and began the slow process of inhaling through my nose. The bed shifted, and I felt the slightest tug on the blanket. A draft of cool air wafted against my exposed back.


    Someone was in the room with me. Helena, I hoped¡ªbut if I turned to look, and it was Helena, she would know I was only feigning sleep, having fled from her rejection. If it was not Helena¡ªperhaps I was about to be stabbed. Perhaps, I thought to myself in a fit of darkness, I would be stabbed even if it was Helena. The astrologer had just told me once again something that many other older men had impressed upon me: Women were changeable creatures. Perhaps the proud noblewoman had come to regret her earlier decision not to murder me when I had lain helpless at her feet in the gardener¡¯s hut and now wished to retroactively reverse her regret with a ruinous remedy. I tensed silently, too afraid of Helena¡¯s rejection to move yet also too afraid of a keen blade in the darkness to relax.


    The cool draft faded, the blanket shifting again and the bed rocking a little bit. The scent of Helena¡¯s preferred perfume reached my nose, and I parted my lips to start a long, slow exhalation, trying to force my fear out alongside the air in my lungs. Warm, moist air wafted against the back of my neck, then a smooth, cool hand touched the skin under my armpit lightly, a ticklish sensation that raised goosebumps. Still, I did not move.


    Next, warm, soft skin tickled my back. Cool but quickly warming hands grasped at me a little more solidly as Helena slowly moved into place; then I felt the press of her feminine body against mine as she wriggled closer. I heard¡ªand felt¡ªHelena sniff my back, and only the most determined exercise of will kept me from moving as she squirmed into a comfortable position, face nestling between my shoulder blades. I did not move even as her breaths tickled the spot between my shoulders, irregularly at first and then more and more evenly.


    I did not want to wake her, so I stayed perfectly still, both pleased and tormented by the warm woman who had snuck into bed with me, who clung to me with soft warm hands, who nuzzled my back as if it were a pillow. One moment, I was cursing my inability to sleep, and then the next I suddenly awoke, blinking my eyes against the morning sunlight, my body heavy from the slumber that had taken me unawares. I groaned, shifting my weight to sit but finding myself encumbered by the sleepy, clinging arms of Helena. I gently disentangled myself, then watched as she rolled sleepily towards the edge of the bed, snuggling more deeply under the blanket in pursuit of my missing bodily warmth.


    Quietly, I departed the bedroom, attended to morning necessities, and made coffee on the stove with a long-handled brass pot in the eastern style, with three lumps of sugar and a tiny pinch of ground cardamom. Once the foam had risen thrice, I poured the drink neatly into two little cups nestled in brass baskets, which I carried back into the bedroom.


    ¡°Good morning, Helena,¡± I said, and an eye slitted open. ¡°I have made coffee¡ªsweet, as you like it.¡±


    She groaned or perhaps moaned, an indistinct sleepy sound, and then rose, stretching gloriously, the blanket falling around her hips as I stood with one little cup held in each hand, observing the beautiful vision in front of my watchful eyes. My silent and patient appreciation of her beauty was rewarded when she stood to take one of the cups from me, her warm fingers brushing against mine as she bestowed upon me a loving smile that warmed my aching heart. We drank together, taking our first sip in tandem.


    ¡°You did not have to make coffee for me,¡± she said, beaming up at me as the sweet liquid opened her eyes. ¡°By Turkish custom, it is my womanly duty to rise up and make coffee for you, dear Dragon¡¯s son.¡±


    ¡°You were sweetly asleep, and I did not wish to disturb your rest,¡± I said, hoping that she would answer the mystery of her changing affection for me. ¡°Do you once again like me?¡± I immediately regretted the question; it was too candid, too vulnerable, too impulsive, a timid twitch of a youthful tongue.


    ¡°Have I ever liked you?¡± Helena¡¯s eyes twinkled with mischievous humor as my heart sank in my chest, straight past my liver and churning my stomach with its heavy beats. ¡°I did not suddenly stop liking you; I just needed time by myself to meditate and pray. I had not expected¡ªthe time has moved quickly with the two of us together. But enough¡ªyou told me you could fill a book with everything your father taught you about his magic.¡±


    ¡°I think so, yes,¡± I said. ¡°He was eager to ensure I mastered the knowledge early because¡ªcan you keep a secret? I have not told anyone this before.¡±


    Helena nodded and sipped, her eagle¡¯s eyes staring up at me over a tiny coffee cup.


    ¡°When my father was a young man, an old wandering wisewoman told him that he should not wait to teach his sons,¡± I said. ¡°And that his third son would be special. My mother was there with him¡ªand so, when she married him, she thought that the third son meant Radu, since she did not know about my older half-brother, and of course Radu was also her favorite¡ªbut my father thought it important to take me aside and teach me in particular. Radu was not inclined to sit still for boring lessons about breath, focus, and incantation in any case, especially not at that age, so I do not know if he learned much at all. I expect someday I shall have to teach him.¡±


    ¡°Could you teach me?¡± Helena asked, her pleading expression seeming sincere. ¡°What was your first lesson like?¡±


    ¡°I do not have a slate and chalk to show you what that was like,¡± I said. ¡°His second lesson was about the drawing of breath, so I could teach you that lesson¡ªbut as you do not have my father¡¯s magic, I doubt practicing it would do it any good.¡±This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    ¡°A lesson about the drawing of breath?¡± Helena frowned, the cute little moue of her mouth catching my hungry gaze. ¡°I do not care if I cannot use the lesson myself¡ªI wish to know. In a way, it would take more of you into me¡ªand I have already chosen to take you into me in other ways.¡±


    I flushed, catching her meaning and surprised by her directness. Then I set the empty cups on the nightstand, seating myself on the bed next to Helena, bringing my father¡¯s second lesson into mind. ¡°First, imagine a string here, pulling upwards,¡± I said, putting a guiding finger on the very crown of her skull. Then I brought my hand around to her midriff. ¡°Breathe from here, through your nose. Push my hand outward.¡±


    Helena flushed fetchingly at the touch of my hand against her stomach, and so I began showing her what I knew about breath; then I told her how one pulled up the fire from deep within to bring it into one¡¯s hand, as my father had told me, word for word, at considerable length.


    After I had finished the lecture, I sighed, leaning back. ¡°I cannot demonstrate that, of course¡ª¡± I said, recalling the little puff of flame that my father had wordlessly summoned into his palm without incantation at the end of the exercise. The will and way of sorcery was focused by the word, but a well-practiced sorcerer could call up some of the most primitive and direct forms of magic from within, sans incantations.


    ¡°But surely you can,¡± Helena said. ¡°Show me how it appears from the outside, at least¡ªyou can pretend for me, can you not?¡±


    I stood and closed my eyes, my awareness dwelling on my inner fire, breathing with intent focus, picturing carefully a small sphere nestled within my outstretched left palm. Breath. Connection. I felt a flare of warmth in my palm for a brief moment and then a painful, sudden jolt from the cuffs around my wrists, my eyes flying open as the bed suddenly swung up to smash into my face, the room turning about me. My left arm, afflicted with weakness first, was trapped beneath me; my right arm was flung out above my head; my legs sprawled awkwardly, my left foot resting on the ground but my right leg sticking out straight, with that thigh having landed more fully on the bed due to the asymmetric pattern of my fall.


    Helena¡¯s laughter sounded musically in my ears. ¡°Well, that certainly did something,¡± she said, then giggled. By the muffled nature of the sound, I guessed she had pressed her hand against her lips but simply could not control herself. Then a knock came from the door to our quarters, distant and muffled. ¡°Oh no¡ªI had better see who that is,¡± she said, sounding suddenly sobered by the intrusion of the outside world into our little sanctum.


    Footsteps moved away as I tried and failed to enunciate anything more articulate than a low muffled groan into the mattress. I could still mostly hear Helena¡¯s voice, though the replies from our caller were low and muffled.


    ¡°The prince is indisposed¡ªstricken with illness.¡± A longer pause. ¡°I am sure it is nothing contagious¡ªperhaps something he ate last night; he was away late. Too many sweets, I expect; it is really quite remarkable how many he will try to eat if he is not curbed. I gathered that he was with Pasha Halil and that the vizier indulged his sweet tooth.¡± A short pause. ¡°Gambling. A dice game of some kind.¡± A very long pause. ¡°Oh. Is, perhaps, the prince owed a return of his losses?¡± A second short pause. ¡°I see.¡± A long pause followed. ¡°Fruit, if it can be had? And¡ªthis is a different matter, but I wondered if I might have some things fetched, some slates and chalk. I know there are at least three good slates in Theodora¡¯s quarters¡ªor were, in any event; there ought to be some around somewhere still in the palace.¡±


    I closed my eyes¡ªnot that having them open did much, as I was face-down into the mattress¡ªand tried my best to ask who it was at the door, confirming in the process of such activity that my control over my vocal cords exceeded that of my control of my jaw, lips, or tongue. My inarticulate groan at least consisted of multiple syllables, but it lacked intelligible phonemes.


    ¡°Yes, it sounds quite awful,¡± Helena¡¯s voice said after I had given up the attempt at speech. ¡°But I do not think a physician will be necessary¡ªI have tended to him before after he ate too many sweets. He is sometimes like a very large, bass-voiced child.¡±


    Taking offense to that, I attempted to shout that Helena was childish herself but only succeeded in groaning more loudly into the mattress. I heard Helena close the door, then her footsteps drew nearer. She closed a second, closer door¡ªthat had to be the bedroom door¡ªas her footsteps drew nearer.


    ¡°I am sorry¡ªbut it is clear your father¡¯s teachings work with your magic, powerfully enough for your cuffs to lay you out completely. I would count it as proof positive that you have inherited his magic and not some other sort of magical talent.¡± Helena¡¯s hands felt at my legs, lifting them onto the bed one at a time as she shoved me into a position that felt just as uncomfortable. Then, with a grunt, she rolled me onto my back, and I could see a smile pointed down in my direction. I could also see that she had hastily donned a robe before answering the door, which hung open now that her hands were otherwise occupied.


    ¡°You tricked me,¡± I said, the words still mostly muddled by the weakened muscles of my face and emerging in an incomprehensible form.


    ¡°Aw, you can¡¯t even talk this time,¡± Helena said, cupping my face with a soft, warm hand. ¡°It¡¯s worse than last time. You¡¯re a lot less frightening like this, you know. You must think me an awful trickster, getting you to use your magic and trigger your cuffs, but I swear by Saint Andrew I didn¡¯t mean to send you keeling over like that.¡± One hand unconsciously moved to her stomach as she continued. ¡°I really do want to know everything your father taught you, I promise. Even if I haven¡¯t the talent to use that knowledge myself. Because, um¡­ well, I do want to know more about you. We hardly talk.¡±


    I glared silently up at her, not trusting my tongue to be capable of articulating intelligible Greek just yet.


    She giggled, hands resting on my chest like soft, warm, little lead weights. ¡°You. Just you.¡± She shook her head, then bent over, crushing the air out of my weakened lungs with her weight as she planted a kiss on my weakened lips. ¡°You asked me if I still liked you¡ªmy turn to ask you. Groan once if you still like me. Twice if you want me to just leave you alone here on the bed until you can find the strength to get up and discipline me for being a despicable deceptress.¡±


    I answered that with a single short grunt.


    ¡°Your answer pleases me,¡± Helena said magnanimously. She lay down next to me, hands sliding over my body as she nibbled playfully on my ear. My chest, liberated of her weight, slowly rose to fill with air. ¡°Now, as we have established we are on good terms, whatever shall I do with you?¡±


    That, too, I answered with a single short hum of my voice.

 Chapter 9: Lessons Learned

    With Helena again in an affectionate mood, I was happy to spend the next several days idle within the confines of the lighthouse on the pretense of illness, revisiting my father¡¯s lessons in private with Helena¡ªgenerally while seated or lying down as a precaution against sudden bouts of weakness inflicted by the anti-mage cuffs. I found that I did not remember the lessons as well as I liked, and the reactions (or lack thereof) from my cuffs were a useful check on my memory.


    I had never before sought to trigger the cuffs¡¯ own hungry magical drain and power their curse of weakness, but under the persuasive influence and focused attention of my companion, I was eager to lay myself out flat as often as needed to reconstruct and rehearse my father¡¯s lessons. Helena asked probing questions, wrote down notes summarizing my words, copied in ink the diagrams that I sketched out in chalk on the slate, and kept me pleasant company when I was incapacitated.


    Some of the incantations I pulled out from my memory were very precisely worded and quite specific to my father¡¯s magic; these laid me low if and only if I performed them correctly. I collected bruises in spite of my precautions and one painful bump on my head that Helena fussed over. Every lesson was rewarded with smiles, kisses, and other affectionate gestures; as sharply as she teased me when I was at my full strength, she was purely sweet when I was weakened by the cold iron cuffs, offering words of admiration, encouragement, and sympathy mixed with gentle and loving affections.


    When I lay at her mercy, I was her prince; when she was at mine, I was merely her master, her moods more mercurial, though not to the point of pushing me away as she had the night of the full moon. Though that evening had clearly sparked an important change in her behavior, I did not try further to pry into the causes of her changes in mind out of fear that she might, once pressed, revert to the Helena who had not wanted to be around me at all.


    Physically, we were markedly gentle with one another, as if a harsh word or forceful movement would break the bond between us. To me, Helena seemed somehow all the more delicate and precious to me after her period of self-imposed solitude and prayer; she, for her part, no longer sought to test my strength and vigor. Tender touches, teaching, and talk of my father¡¯s feats consumed our time, as Helena was curious about the details of his activities.


    What I knew of my father¡¯s battles against the Turkish armies was, in the light of what I had since learned of Osman strategy and tactics, insufficient. After trying to work out details on the slate, I found myself stealing from Helena¡¯s servant-scrounged supply of paper to mark down detailed diagrams. I knew the land well; I knew my father¡¯s mind little, and the versions of his stories he told his sons were long on gore and glory while being short on strategic motivations.


    How had the Turkish columns been supplied? How far had their outriders ranged? Had my father taken efforts to cut off their lines of supply as they marched away from the great Istros River and not told me about it, or had he simply tried to take them head-on?


    Had he employed invisible scouts? Aerial and magical reconnaissance? He had never talked about flying over the enemy armies simply for the purpose of looking; he only talked about the glories of battle, and I had been young enough not to be included in his field council, kept safe at home. Even if he had not made reconnaissance flights himself, several of the Osman generals who had tutored the courts¡¯ princes had spoken of the need to shoot any birds that lingered over an army, on the grounds that many western witches could speak to animals and see through the eyes of those most familiar to them. Had my own homeland been filled with witches who had been part of its failed defense?


    The more stories I told Helena about my father, the more questions I had about his strategic thinking, and the more I regretted the fact that I had been torn from his side before I was old enough to ride to war at his side. A prince must learn the art of war, and I had only been educated in the least secret of the Osman ways of war¡ªof bombards, of sieges, and of the maneuver of galley squadrons anchored by lead-clad paddlewheel cruisers. If I had my father¡¯s magic, I should learn his own secret stratagems, not just his spells.


    I had not even studied the Osman ways of war very closely. Not at the level of a general strategist; the arts of riding, fighting, archery, and shooting had been far more interesting than accounting for the maintenance of magical fireboxes, supplementary coal fuel, the safe transport and storage of powder supplies, the manufacture and salvage of phoenix stones, the provision of galley slaves, and the other matters of material tedium that the old sultan¡¯s hired horde of tutors had tried to drill into Allaedin and the other Osman princes.


    The revealed ignorance bothered me. I had assumed I knew everything about my father, but I could barely remember his lessons¡ªand realized that he had taught me only the first part of the Dragon¡¯s secrets. As pleasant as Helena¡¯s company was, I itched to return to the court; I could remedy my ignorance in part by learning the Osman accounts of his battles better. So, I told Helena I could not pretend illness for too long without worry of contagion or the appearance of one of the sultan¡¯s physicians and rejoined court society.


    <hr>


    The sultan shifted on the throne, settling into a more comfortable slouch, then straightening again uncomfortably. He looked around irritably. ¡°The Greek notion of a throne hall does not suit me,¡± he said, gesturing broadly at the great octagonal chamber, filled with milling officers, officials, and sundry courtiers. ¡°It is very grand, but this grandness provides a volume that seems to inevitably fill itself with triviality and tedium. I have full trust in the Grand Vizier. Today he will hold audience in my place and relay to me any truly important business. I shall be in the harem.<sup>1</sup></a>¡±The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    Silence hung in the air for a moment, and then the susurrus of whispers grew, crashing like a wave as the sultan stood and walked away, flanked by eunuch guards as he walked through the southern arch and to the exit leading into the palace proper.


    This was the first I had heard any mention of the vizier since I recovered from my supposed case of food poisoning and resumed attending court. My presumption was that Pasha Halil had been kept busy with some important task, though it seemed unusual that nobody I looked around, looking to spot Pasha Halil. The man I had been chatting with¡ªblack-haired with a high-pitched tenor voice and a heavy strange accent that I could not place¡ªwas short and therefore easy to see over, but I had not seen the vizier since our evening of playing dice together, and I still did not see him now.


    However, in reaction to the sultan¡¯s pronouncement, a tall pasha who had been standing and chatting with an officer of the guard near the great open silver doors that were the main entrance to the throne room walked purposefully in the direction of the vacated throne. I tried to remember what I could about him: He was Illyrian by birth, though a convert to the Osman religion, hence his high office, and had risen in ranks through the army.


    Then the man sat in the throne, keen eyes flickering around the room, resting on me for one long moment before he spoke. ¡°If a certain someone does not return to where she is supposed to be before her brother wonders where she is, he will be forced to take notice of his little sister¡¯s absence.¡±


    The short, black-haired man who had been standing next to me suddenly vanished. I heard rapid footsteps heading in the direction of the silver doors. A moment later, I realized that I had been speaking with the sultan¡¯s favorite sister. It is not unusual for a talented enchantress to dabble in illusion, and to present the image of another person is not a difficult illusion; however, I suspect that Gulben had found some kind of trinket to assist her in achieving invisibility, as invisibility is another matter entirely from mere disguise.


    To present the image of nothing at all is a complex and difficult illusion because nothing appears to be something quite different from every side; some even go as far as to say that invisibility is the most singularly difficult type of illusion, and that to make a moving person invisible, even a small one, skilled illusionists with a full measure of magical power in their blood will often resort to using a spell focus for assistance. Still, invisibility is such a useful art that such foci are in great demand.


    As the tall Illyrian pasha stared at me, I wished I had such a focus¡ªI had the misfortune to be standing next to the true target of his statement, and as she was suddenly absent, his gaze naturally fell on me. He was a wizard¡ªor at least possessed of some magical talent or item that let him pierce Gulben¡¯s disguise¡ªand appeared to think himself the sultan¡¯s vizier in the continued absence of Pasha Halil. Then his gaze moved elsewhere, and I felt relieved. The business of court resumed, and it was not long before I could have a private conversation with Pasha Mustafa¡¯s astrologer.


    ¡°I believe I still owe you half of my winnings,¡± I said, reaching into my pouch. ¡°I left with eighteen ducats¡ª¡±


    ¡°Ah. I suppose I should not say no to nine ducats,¡± the astrologer said.


    For a moment, I felt torn between greed and correcting his accounting to include the original stake he had loaned me. ¡°I know I did not outmatch Pasha Halil¡¯s luck like you expected,¡± I said. ¡°But it was a lucky night for me.¡±


    ¡°In spite of his winnings, I would say it was quite an unfortunate night for Pasha Halil, though. If he had kept the beys¡¯ trust, he might have been able to mount a defense against certain rumors that circulated that very same night around several other gaming tables elsewhere in the palace¡ªallegations regarding collusion with the Greeks.¡± The astrologer shook his head slowly. ¡°Unscrupulous behavior at the game table is all too often accompanied by unscrupulous behavior elsewhere.¡±


    ¡°On that note,¡± I told him, ¡°I owe you ten ducats, not nine¡ªat the rate Pasha Halil exchanged it, the initial stake you gave me was worth near to two ducats, and half the profit is another eight.¡±


    ¡°Scrupulous, indeed,¡± the astrologer said. ¡°Ten, then¡ªyou drive a hard bargain, but I find I must accept, at least until I can arrange to lose the balance to you at dice.¡±


    ¡°Where is Pasha Halil, exactly?¡± I asked.


    ¡°I am glad you are interested in theology,¡± The astrologer lifted a finger thoughtfully, his expression shifting in a way that made me suspect a lengthy lecture could be forthcoming. ¡°His soul now lies in the realm of dreams, which functions as an isthmus between the mortal realm and divine realm.¡±


    ¡°I see,¡± I said, raising my hand to forestall the rest of the lecture the astrologer was prepared to eagerly give. ¡°Pasha Halil will not be showing up to any more dice games, then. And, I think, neither shall I.¡±


    <hr>


    <div>


    1. </a>Translator¡¯s note: ¡°Harem,¡± meaning ¡°forbidden,¡± refers here to the part of an Osman household in which family members dwell (along with concubines). Notably, unrelated intact males are generally not permitted entrance. Salacious readers should feel admonished and cautioned against making unjust assumptions about Sultan Allaedin¡¯s priorities vis a vis business and pleasure on this occasion. He may have wished to consult with his mother, for example; the mother of a sultan is generally one of his chief advisors. However, even if his priorities related to the unrelated permanent inhabitants of the harem, the disapproving reader is admonished that a young and newly ascended sultan may be expected to sire multiple potential heirs in case of mishap, such as those that had recently fallen many of his brother-heirs, and thus such matters would fall under the aegis of being important royal duties.

 Chapter 10: Friendship

    ¡°Pasha Halil will not be showing up to any more dice games, then. And, I think, neither shall I.¡±


    ¡°A reasonable decision,¡± the astrologer said quietly. ¡°Though if you change your decision, it might let you make friends more easily.¡±


    ¡°You mean that it might let you use me more easily,¡± I retorted, then immediately regretted the heated volume of my reply as several curious pairs of eyes turned in my direction. While the crowd had thinned after the departure of the sultan himself, the sultan¡¯s court still hosted an ample population of curious courtiers who had come to see and be seen¡ªand just as importantly, to chat and eavesdrop.


    The astrologer smiled, stepping closer and speaking quietly enough not to be overheard easily. ¡°Friends use each other all the time¡ªit came out all for the best for you, did it not? Eight ducats is a tidy sum, and Bey Ishak declaring you an honest man who would not cheat at dice is worth ten times that much. The story of the late Pasha Halil cheating at dice has been told a hundred times in a hundred hallways by now, and Bey Ishak is not readily thought a fool.¡±


    ¡°Are you claiming we are friends?¡± I said, quietly this time, holding out ten ducats in my hand. ¡°Doing me two favors does not make you a friend.¡±


    ¡°More, I think. Have you enjoyed your time living in the lighthouse?¡± The astrologer smiled; I nodded, and he continued. ¡°And did you need to spend time late away from the ugly woman you hid up in said lighthouse because she was in her unclean phase? You told me you needed a distraction, and I also provided that. If the ducats and Bey Ishak vouching for your honesty count separately, then I think I have done you five good turns. And here is a sixth¡ªyou may have all of your winnings.¡±


    ¡°Fine. I will just repay you your stake, then.¡± I pocketed eight ducats, then held out the remaining two.


    ¡°If you will not count me as your friend, then I can hardly accept repayment of a loan to a friend.¡± The astrologer shifted from one foot to the other, looking away from me uncomfortably for a moment.


    ¡°Why do you insist on becoming my friend? And why should you want me to make more friends?¡± I could not deny that the astrologer had done good for me, but I still did not trust the man. Following the direction of his look, I glanced over at the Illyrian pasha who had embraced being Osman, who was in turn sitting on the throne that had once belonged to a Greek emperor who had called himself Roman. Pasha Mustafa stood nearby, addressing the tall Illyrian vizier. I gestured at the vizier. ¡°I am not even a convert, like him¡ªI am one out of several heirs to a dead and deposed prince, a pocket pretender.¡±


    ¡°It would be useful for you if you did convert,¡± the astrologer said. ¡°Advancement to high office within the Sultanate is far easier if you do.¡±


    ¡°If I were to convert,¡± I told the astrologer, ¡°then the possibility of the Vlach people accepting me as their prince in place of Vladislav becomes remote. I should think my usefulness becomes considerably less in such a case as I convert¡ªthe sultan may as well install a foreign governor to rule directly as to prop up a converted pretender as a vassal; I imagine the people would be as restive in either case.¡±


    The astrologer frowned. ¡°I do not know the sultan¡¯s thinking, as he has thus far declined to call upon my services as an advisor. Who has given you the notion that the sultan might use you as a replacement for Vladislav?¡±


    As crediting Helena would have shaped neither of our reputations in a direction I like, I shrugged off his question. ¡°As my father¡¯s heir, should I not wish to someday reclaim his usurped throne? I am the Dragon¡¯s son. What other reason would Pasha Mustafa have for ordering you to try to befriend me?¡±


    The astrologer stared at me for a moment of surprise, his expression wordlessly confirming the answer to my real question, the one I had not asked: Pasha Mustafa had, in fact, ordered him to befriend me. ¡°The pasha did not order me to put you up in the lighthouse¡ªI thought that best on my own account,¡± the astrologer said. ¡°And I do think you worth befriending on your own account¡ª¡±


    ¡°Tell the pasha that if he wishes to use me as a pawn,¡± I said, ¡°he will need to offer a better exchange for my services next time.¡±


    Tossing the coins away, I turned abruptly and walked away, the coins chiming as they struck the intricate mosaics on the floor. I had no business with the court that I was aware of other than being seen, so I weaved my way through the courtiers and out the silver doors.


    <hr>


    ¡°You should apologize to him,¡± Helena told me, stirring the remains of a spinach pie one last time around her plate before setting the fork down on her plate and turning it to the left. ¡°Treating him with contempt like that risks making him your impassioned enemy independent of what his master bids him. While his worship of the Osman¡¯s preferred prophet is misguided both morally and theologically, he is a scholar and a wizard of modest capacity with neither a noble nor a military rank, and reading fortunes in the stars is not the sort of profession that helps one make friends. I can believe he wants for a real friend.¡±


    ¡°He manipulated me into a dangerous situation,¡± I said. ¡°And guilefully persuaded me to fall into sin.¡±This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    ¡°Gaming is not a sin, precisely,¡± Helena said. ¡°The love of money is a root of all kinds of evil, but if you approached the game with neither greed nor covetousness in your heart and told no lies, you did nothing wrong.¡±


    I recalled the possessive sensation I had felt staring down at the small gleaming hoard of coins in front of me¡ªeven when I did not intellectually consider it entirely my possession, it was hard to consider parting with it. I had definitely felt greed, a love of treasure for no other reason than it gleamed and felt right. And to gamble for higher stakes, as was often the pleasure of the high nobles of the court, was unthinkable: My great treasure was Helena, and I could not stand the thought of risking her in a wager. Nor did I want to wager her jewelry, even if those were technically valuable and separable parts of the prize granted to me by Pasha Mustafa; my boast to my brother that Helena¡¯s jewelry was worth the price of two comely female slaves was an accurate one, even if I had deceived Radu by not telling him I valued Helena far more than I valued her jewelry.


    ¡°Have your wits left you behind?¡± Helena¡¯s words interrupted my reverie. ¡°What are your thoughts?¡±


    ¡°I was enraptured by your beauty,¡± I said, reaching out to gently touch her face with my fingers. ¡°And thinking about how precious you are to me.¡±


    She flushed pink, cheeks dimpling in a smile. ¡°And you think I am moon-headed,¡± she said teasingly. ¡°Think on what I have said¡ªhe cannot be too angry if you apologize on the morrow, and perhaps he even could become a true friend to you, as much as one can have a true friend in the Osman court.¡±


    I sighed as I stood, circling the table to stand behind her. ¡°I shall give it a try,¡± I said in her ear, my hands slipping over her shoulders and down her sides.


    She leaned into me affectionately, then squeaked with surprise as my hands slipped under her knees and I lifted her up from behind, her weight divided between her knees and armpits as I cradled her like a barrel.


    ¡°Would you like to sit somewhere more comfortable now that we are finished with dinner? Perhaps the couch?¡± I asked.


    Helena craned her neck sideways. ¡°I had thought that you might like a second helping for dinner.¡±


    ¡°I am not hungry for spinach pie,¡± I said, staring down at the lovely brunette cradled in my arms.


    Helena giggled, her feet fluttering as she kicked off her slippers. ¡°I have sat so much of the day tidying up my notes that my seat is sore. As you are so kindly offering your assistance, you may transport me to bed¡ªI would rather lie down.¡±


    <hr>


    ¡°What is it that you want?¡± The astrologer stepped back from the window quickly, either repelled by what he had seen in the nighttime sky or concerned he might succumb to the disease of defenestration. A prophylactic measure was not unreasonable; continued contagion had been exhibited lately, the death toll having expanded to include two generals and a very comely new blonde imperial concubine that the sultan¡¯s men had bought off a Dalmatian galley, a Venetian of good breeding originally destined for an arranged marriage with one of Negroponte¡¯s triarchs, supposedly an expert in warding off hexes and curses.


    The Venetian woman would doubtless have fetched a handsome ransom returned to her own people, but the Dalmatian captain had guessed from her exceptional beauty, fine breeding, and talents that the sultan¡¯s price would be more generous. Rumor had it that she was an immediate favorite of the sultan for the three days and nights before her sudden demise. While the sultan¡ªor at least, the vizier speaking on behalf of the still-secluded sultan¡ªstill maintained that the earlier defenestrations were accidental, the more recent deaths were considered officially suspicious, and I had approached the astrologer at a time and place where privacy might be expected¡ªin a dark hallway in a part of the palace not yet put to a permanent purpose by its new occupants.


    ¡°I wish to apologize for my earlier rudeness,¡± I said. ¡°You did not deserve my scorn¡ªyou have done me several kind turns, and all I gave you in turn was a pledge to avoid playing dice with you in the future.¡±


    ¡°Is that all?¡± The astrologer edged two steps farther away from the window. ¡°Or have you come to use me, as friends often do to one another?¡±


    I bit my lip. ¡°There is a favor I would beg humbly, knowing that I have not repaid your last favor with kindness. I know you are fluent in Persian¡ªthere are some accounts I wish to read but cannot.¡±


    ¡°And you wish me to read to you? Or write out a translation?¡± The astrologer frowned. ¡°Depending on the length of the accounts, that could take a considerable length of time.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± I said. ¡°But I will play at dice with you, provided the stakes are not too rich for my purse, and you may tell Pasha Mustafa that you have succeeded in befriending the prickly Vlach prince.¡±


    The astrologer chuckled, then held out his hand. ¡°And someday, when you can do me a kind turn, you will, because we are friends. What accounts are these?¡±


    ¡°I wish to read the accounts of how the old sultan pressed my father,¡± I said. ¡°I know only part of the story, and while I dearly love my departed father, I expect his account to have been partial to his own interests and incomplete in certain important strategic particulars that the sultan¡¯s generals knew and that he did not.¡±


    The astrologer looked suddenly nervous again, throwing another glance at the window. ¡°General Turhan died three days ago¡ªare you speaking of his papers?¡±


    ¡°I did not know that General Turhan was involved,¡± I said. ¡°I was looking at accounts that I found after speaking with some of the lesser officers¡ªthere was a bound volume on my father¡¯s defeat in the collection that came on the latest boat from Orestias. However, it is compiled in courtly Persian.¡±


    ¡°Turhan¡¯s sons are away¡ªnear Trebizond by now, depending on whether or not Trebizond¡¯s fleet sallied out to intercept ours.¡± The astrologer paused. ¡°Is it revenge that you seek?¡±


    I shook my head. ¡°What I want is to understand are tactics and strategies¡ªa prince must also be a general, and a dispossessed prince might only be a general. My brother is obtaining practical experience in the field with the sultan¡¯s half-brother even as we speak, and I do not wish to seem useless in comparison.¡±


    The astrologer smiled. ¡°Pasha Mustafa is of a similar opinion. I will help you with your court Persian when I can and also see if I can get ahold of Turhan¡¯s accounts. He was a very literate man.¡±


    I absently rubbed the iron cuffs under my sleeves, wondering what Turhan might have written about my father¡¯s feats. ¡°You are too kind,¡± I said.


    ¡°It is all in my own interest,¡± the astrologer said, a wry smile quirking the corners of his mouth. ¡°But I hope we are now friends.¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± After a moment of deliberation, I clasped the smaller man in a hug, as if the gesture of affection would make the sentiment real. ¡°I will be off on my way, then. See you soon, friend.¡±

 Interlude: The Dragons Landing

    General Turhan encountered the Dragon in the field three times that I am aware of. I have prepared a brief translation of the entries from his seventh diary corresponding to his first encounter with the Dragon. I regret being unable to preserve the original meter of his more poetic entries; General Turhan¡¯s sudden death regrettably prevented him from pursuing a retirement hobby in verse.


    ¡ªYour friend, A.Q.


    <hr>


    The news from north of the Istros is that the Vlach prince has died, and his brother returned to the kingdom, late from the Gothic court. As the distant and barbarous Gothic Empire bows to the priests in the old western Rome rather than to the House of God, it is sure that the new prince¡¯s ears are well-poisoned against the Sultanate, and an expedition¡ªor the threat of one¡ªwill surely be required to restore a proper tributary relationship.


    As the news traveled upriver to reach us in Dunonia and generally moves faster downstream, I would not be surprised if it has already reached Orestias. In anticipation of future orders from Orestias, I have begun the rationing and conservation of coal¡ªI have only three higher-grade mechs with doubled firebox boilers, but a deployment of our coal-fueled contingent could be a highly effective show of force. The Vlachs are poor and rarely fight with mech support, and the presence of a sufficiency of ours should decisively head off any thought of real action.


    <hr>


    It is an unusual day today. This morning, Ziva made a mess of the coffee as she was excited over her new protective amulet¡ªit is a fine jeweled choker and looks fitting on her, yes, but like any woman, she could not stop chattering about it with my other servants. I was perversely pleased when she spilled the pot, for she chastened herself severely and was uncommonly well-behaved and attentive the rest of the morning.


    Then, having been perversely pleased by a ruined pot of coffee, I was perversely vexed by the arrival of a courier bearing what was unequivocally good news. It has been an altogether backwards day.


    The news was simple: The Vlach prince¡¯s tribute arrived before the sultan sent a message to demand it¡ªit seems he is a smart fellow and wishes to immediately resume his predecessor¡¯s arrangement¡ªbut the sultan, in his wisdom, neglected to send me any direct news at all. And here I have irked the villagers and servants by putting away a third of the season¡¯s coal supply. Of course, now that the sultan has bothered to send word, the winter weather is over.


    I may as well retain the collected reserve fuel and powder against a future occasion, and whenever action takes place, I will doubtless be pleased by my foresight in bringing together my few skilled hammermen with a whole cadre of novices for powderless drills with pole-guns<sup>1</sup></a> and bombards.


    <hr>


    Pleasantly bad news¡ªhaving prepared supply for an expedition against the Vlachs to put their new prince in his place, I have been ordered to take advantage of his swiftly proffered vassalage by undertaking a joint expedition, traveling down the Istros, up the Alutus River, and through a pass into Avaria, with Vlad ¡°The Dragon¡± (as he calls himself) supplying a cohort of his finest men for seasoning with battle.


    This will provide the greater opportunity for glory; the sultan is always pleased to have cause to redecorate his map collection, and I will be pleased if I can earn enough glory to earn a more pleasant assignment than watching over the Istros in the northwestern corner of Rumelia. If the river were narrow enough to enforce a toll, my position would at least be lucrative, but as matters stand, this province is neither fruitful nor prestigious.


    <hr>


    There is nothing quite like sailing down the Istros¡ªthe current makes everything go by quickly. Oh, the blue Istros! I find myself wondering what kind of hospitality Prince Vlad will offer us¡ªif he was so quick to offer tribute to the sultan, he is a canny man, and a canny man will know that a bey¡¯s favor is worth a special gift of some kind. I look forward to meeting him.


    ***


    Vlad may call himself the Dragon, but I think it better to say name him as the Snake. Flowery words and a single ship laden with tribute do not make for an obedient vassal; he is obliged to come forth to fight on behalf of the sultan, and not a single Vlach soldier has come to join us. I have spent three days waiting at the rendezvous point and he has sent nothing but messengers with excuses¡ªand by now the Avars will have heard reports of my force waiting at the pass. My choices are to strike north on my own without his support and the Avars having gained three days of warning, or to turn on Jidava and bring the Snake to heel. It is insensible to leave a treacherous snake in my rear quarter, leaving only the latter choice as pragmatic, even if it is not what the sultan ordered.


    The sultan will be displeased in either case, but if the Snake comes promptly to heel like the dog that he is, there could still be time in the campaign season to strike into Avaria and begin the process of seizing the central valley of the Sarmatians.


    <hr>


    Jidava¡¯s walls were no bar to us; the people, having no real defense against a force with a mech vanguard, offered no resistance. They simply opened the gate and greeted us with fearful obeisance. The prince¡¯s men retreated up into the hills north the day before we arrived. My scouts reported that his army was of disappointing size¡ªless than thirty knights and less than a hundred men-at-arms in total. I have given leave to my officers to requisition freely from Jidava¡¯s stores and people¡ªit is nothing less than what the Snake Prince owes¡ªand have sent the scouts ranging out after the trail of his men to make sure of their location.


    We will march on the morrow.


    <hr>


    It falls upon me to reflect carefully now upon the events of the preceding three days, for I made sport of the first day of our pursuit and skipped my usual journaling, and the following days have been unfortunately hectic. However, while the facts are fresh in my mind, I must set them down and apologize to myself later for the shakiness of my script when I prepare a report for the sultan. I pray only that this is not the last thing I enter into this diary.


    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    Our scouts found the prince¡¯s men camped a distance that would have been a full day¡¯s march on flat ground, within an old ruin, which they were actively improving as a defensive position and a shelter. Aware of the strain of a hilly hike, I paced ourselves for a day and a half of marching, but to ensure we did not alarm the Vlach cowards with the glow of a fire in the distance, I ordered no open fires at our camp, but for the mechs to be run idle through the night for cooking heat and warmth, sending dark smoke into the sky that would not be lit from below by flames. Our supply of coal was generous enough that I did not fret using coal power in place of wood fires.


    Unless my orders were disobeyed without my knowledge, the only lights in camp were those inside the command tent, where I hosted several of my officers and discussed strategy by lamplight. The command tent had felted walls but a small hole in the top for ventilation, through which a little light might be visible from directly above.


    First, there was a sudden strong gust of wind that rocked the command tent and a noise like a rippling sail, which faded rapidly. Then it grew a little louder, and the tent rocked a little bit from a weaker gust. The pair of newly impressed camp followers who had been tasked with serving drinks and snacks during our strategy session spoke in their local Vlach dialect in hushed tones with one another and then ran out of the tent together, a move that so surprised us that we did not pursue. It was a chilly night, they did not even have sandals on, and we were in the middle of an encamped army full of men who could be expected to take sharp notice of a pair of unclad maidens bouncing through the darkness¡ªin a situation where runaways would be so easily caught, why would they choose to try to escape?


    I had barely stood when suddenly, the right-hand side of the tent flushed with a dim orange light, as if the men outside had lit a great bonfire nearby. Screams split the night as I ran out of the tent. Ahead, I could see the flicker of a cluster of pale limbs moving away, the camp followers¡¯ skin so pale as to practically glow against the dark of night as they dashed past wakeful soldiers whose attention was drawn elsewhere. To my right, a dozen tents were burning merrily, and I could see a few smaller fires on the ground. As I stared, one of the smaller fires stood up and staggered towards me, flapping its arms in panic as it screamed ¡°Put me out!¡± in the Slavonic dialect common to many of the Rumelian troops I had recruited from within my province.


    The noise like a rippling of a sail sounded again behind me, then it was directly above me while screaming pierced the night behind me. I looked up in time to watch the moon and stars come back into view, something large and dark passing overhead. Behind me, the command tent had collapsed and was on fire. Underneath the collapsed burning tent, I could hear a cacophony of voices, my three most trusted officers and my darling concubine Ziva trapped within.


    ¡°We are attacked from the air!¡± I cried out. ¡°Get bows and loose when you can see it! Hammermen, fetch your pole-guns!¡± A pole-gun is usually braced at an angle. The idea that struck my mind then, I think rightly, was that a pole-gun would be, if anything, easier to fire at an angle near the vertical, even if it is not the task one usually drills into hammermen and pole-guns are not commonly used for hunting birds¡ªat best, one uses a half-upright angle for maximum range. I should someday test this with experienced hammermen, perhaps looking to the top of a tree for a near-vertical practice target.


    Unfortunately, that idea was the last thing in my mind through the end of the attack. As soon as I ordered hammermen and archers to respond, a blast of some kind knocked all sense out of my mind, replacing it with darkness that lifted only when I awoke on the chilly ground. I can only assume a powder barrel had gone up, or perhaps a powder cart. When I came to, it was fairly dark and quiet, my army having scattered and only the earliest pre-dawn gray illuminating my surroundings. A light rain was falling, the ground muddy and churned.


    Underneath the remains of the command tent, two of my officers were charred beyond recognition; a third was only partially charred, and Ziva, protected partly by the magic of her amulet, seemed merely to have been cooked to death, her body only lightly browned and easily identified, which somehow seemed worse. She looked delectable even in death, but she was clearly and unequivocally dead. There were other dead and other survivors.


    I had a light, mournful breakfast with the dawn. Another hour of searching after dawn had allowed us to scour the camp and take full stock of the damage. Perhaps one man in ten out of my army was dead; it was not easy to tell. Of the living, I had gathered together fewer than a tenth of my men and barely a dozen horses, the rest having scattered into the night in all directions. I still had my mechs with me, as they had survived the chaos of the nighttime fire attack, but for managing them I had only one adequately trained mage, two basic command rods, and a pair of well-born men who, like me, had the capacity to use a command rod as a focus wizard to compel the obedience of the bound elemental spirits that inhabited our mechs.


    In principle, I could advance uphill. I would still have the advantage on the prince¡¯s men if I were to meet them in an open field, and my mechs could counter whatever flimsy fortifications they had erected in the ruin they had hidden in. However, the night¡¯s attack worried me more. The prince was no snake¡ªhe was a deadly viper, or perhaps a monstrous serpent. A wyrm? I fear he has chosen his own name correctly and is, in truth, a dragon. The locals have a legend that the prophet George slew a dragon with his spear¡ªapocryphal or not, I am no George.


    So, I found myself obliged to prudently retreat, sweet Ziva¡¯s mortal remains wrapped in a rug and hung across the back of one horse. I loaded up several carts with coal and, past that, the most useful and easily salvaged bits of supply that I could find. The rest of the dead and the scattered supplies around the campsite had to be left behind. I hoped I could reassemble more of my army but feared I might not be able to.


    It has turned out that much of my army fled downhill; along the way to the river and to the boats that would take us downstream to the Istros, I gathered perhaps another seventh part of my original army along the way to the river, adding up to one man in four out of the expeditionary force I had brought with me. I could¡ªperhaps should¡ªhave waited to gather more, but the morale of the men was broken, and I do not know how to counter a flying attacker who brings fire by night.


    If I survive this dreadful failure and the sultan¡¯s displeasure, I shall make a study of this topic.


    <hr>


    <div>


    1</a>.Translator¡¯s note: The term midfa is used now for arquebuses with striking hammers attached to the weapon right next to their phoenix stones, but it is clear that Turhan¡¯s account refers to the older pole-guns that were in fashion before hook-guns (arquebuses), which required the use of separate striking hammers.

 Chapter 11: Declarations

    After passing through the silver doors of the great throne room, I sat near the astrologer, who was speaking in low tones with an emir with a tall pointed hat.


    The sultan was absent, as had become the usual pattern; less usually, the grand vizier was also absent. The throne was not empty, however; the vizier¡¯s son-in-law, Pasha Mahmud, sat cross-legged within the seat of the throne, a position that surely would have been uncomfortable for an older or less limber man. Although a pasha, Madmud did not have a very Turkish look about him. He could easily have been Rumelian or Greek, an impression aided by the fact that his voice carried a faint but ambiguous foreign accent; the accent had been thicker when I first arrived at court, at which point he had been a barely bearded young man.


    ¡°Greetings from Rome upon the Tanais River, Your Imperial Majesty,¡± the herald began, bowing low.


    Pasha Mahmud stood suddenly, gesturing with open hands. ¡°Hold! I am not the sultan, and you should not address me as such. You may refer to me as Your Excellency.¡±


    The herald straightened. ¡°Your Excellency, please admit me to an audience with your sovereign,¡± he said crossly. ¡°I was advised this was a day of imperial audience.¡±


    ¡°It is. I hear with the sultan¡¯s ear. The missive you would deliver to him, you may deliver to me. His Imperial Majesty prefers not to be disturbed by routine matters.¡± The pasha sat back down, gesturing at the herald.


    ¡°You will deliver my missive to the sultan?¡± The herald looked back at the man.


    ¡°If I believe it merits his attention, I will deliver your missive to the vizier, and then he will deliver it to the sultan.¡± Pasha Mahmud held up a finger, continuing his explanation. ¡°The vizier is an important man and is himself possessed of a busy schedule; for today¡¯s audience day, I am his deputy, and so I hear with the vizier¡¯s ear. As the vizier hears with the sultan¡¯s ear, thus I hear with the sultan¡¯s ear, as I previously mentioned.¡±


    The herald frowned, holding a furled scroll in one hand. ¡°Most honorable deputy vizier, my missive is of great importance. I was charged to deliver this into the emperor¡¯s hands.¡±


    ¡°Read it to me, then.¡± The pasha leaned back in his seat. ¡°As I told you, I hear with the vizier¡¯s ear, and he hears with the sultan¡¯s ear; if your missive is truly important, the sultan will hear it.¡±


    The herald hesitated, his hand hovering over the wax seal of the furled scroll. ¡°You wish me to break the seal and read this missive aloud?¡±


    ¡°Yes, and do not tarry further.¡± The pasha waved his hand. ¡°The captain of the guard already inspected the seal when he verified your credentials, did he not?¡±


    The herald nodded. ¡°Yes, Your Excellency.¡± He cracked the seal and took a deep breath as he unfurled the scroll. Then he began to orate, his trained herald¡¯s voice ringing within the domed arches of the grand octagonal hall and filling it with echoes. ¡°To His Imperial Majesty Sultan Allaedin, who misnames himself Sultan of Rome, who is a son of the pusillanimous pretender Murad whose modest physical stature towered above his faithfulness as a ruler, having twice abandoned his stolen throne, who is a grandson of a fratricidal pretender by way of a she-goat, who is a great-grandson of the wife of a wretched excuse for a sultan by means of the virility of a passing stableboy, and who has been delivered this missive by the faithful hands of a herald duly appointed by the Ministry of Foreign Affairs of the Golden Empire, I deliver an important imperative.¡±


    The hall was so quiet that I could hear clearly the quick breath the herald took before he continued into the main body of the missive, which laid out a long series of grievances alternated with demands, threats, and a meandering history of sorts presented with considerable detail but questionable accuracy. Long ago, Koschei had received a collection of high-born Byzantines fleeing the sack of Constantinople by Venetians, including several dozen senators and a princess; he had married the latter and been proclaimed Emperor of Rome by the former.


    As the Emperor of Rome requires a Rome to rule over, he then founded a third Rome to govern from¡ªand by founded, I mean that he renamed the city of Tanais, sitting where the Tanais River meets the Cimmerian Sea. Most still call it by that name.


    The threats and demands grew broader over the course of the message, starting with a demand for withdrawal from Constantinople (¡°the second Rome¡±) on pain of ¡°dire consequences¡± and concluding with a demand that the Osman retreat from Europe entirely and contain themselves within ¡°the lands of the Trojans¡± or face the prospect of ¡°begging the heartless Ming for the return of some portion of the Osman ancestral lands in the Orient.¡±


    The herald had the rapt attention of the full court most of the way through his final sentence: ¡°With sincere hope for a peaceful resolution of our differences and disputes, your benign neighbor Koschei, first of his name, Emperor and Autocrat of the Romans, Emperor Undying of the Golden Empire, Grand Duke of Ruthenia, King of Cimmeria, Khan of Khazaria, et cetera.¡±


    As the litany of titles marked the end of the missive, an indistinct murmur rose up halfway through the herald¡¯s final sentence. The murmur grew to fill the room, beginning with a susurrus of whispers and rising to a dull rumble as everyone wished to be heard by their neighbor over the rising din over the echoing of everyone else¡¯s voices in a high-arched octagonal chamber that echoed fiercely. When the wave of sound had ebbed, the deputy vizier spoke.


    ¡°I would prefer you had paraphrased the beginning rather than the end,¡± Pasha Mahmud said drily. ¡°Speaking with the voice of an emperor or not, you have spoken grave insults against His Imperial Majesty.¡±


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    The herald drew back his head, clearly feeling insulted himself. He held up the scroll, pointing at the bottom. ¡°The message ends with et cetera¡ªif what I have spoken is an abridgement of the Undying Emperor¡¯s words, it was an abridgement by the scribe who put pen to paper. May I be struck down if I have delivered anything more or less than the Emperor¡¯s message as it was entrusted to me.¡± The man gripped an egg-shaped amulet around his neck, which thrummed audibly as it flared with light.


    Pasha Mustafa came quietly up to the throne, whispering in Pasha Mahmud¡¯s ear. The deputy vizier nodded. ¡°The sultan is much beloved by his subjects, and the insults you have spoken, even if entrusted to you as a matter of diplomacy, place risk upon your safety in this city. The house guard will escort you to a protected place while an appropriate response is considered.¡± He turned his face up, addressing the whole hall rather than the herald. ¡°And with that, I must regrettably call the audience to an early end. I cannot hear more petitions or missives today. Return tomorrow, and your voices may be then heard.¡±


    The young pasha unfolded his legs and stood, flexing his knees for a moment while a pair of large eunuchs flanked the herald. Then he turned abruptly to walk out through a back hallway, his steps quick as the chamber flooded with noise and activity, half the courtiers turning to gossip and half immediately making their way to the exit.


    The emir who had been speaking with the astrologer was in the latter half. After a nervous adjustment of his towering hat, he walked briskly away to the silver doors that would lead him out of the throne room. The astrologer turned and waved at me, and I came closer.


    ¡°I see travel in your future,¡± he said enigmatically.


    ¡°Is that a horoscope, or¡­¡± I gestured at the herald, who by this point had nearly reached an exit, one that led into the palace. ¡°Or, um, about what he said.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± the astrologer said, which seemed to be hardly an answer.


    I glared. ¡°Which?¡±


    ¡°Both, naturally. I feel very confident. You may expect to depart the city within the week. Please visit me in my chamber before you leave.¡± The astrologer gave me an enigmatic smile, which by now I recognized as a sign I could expect no more answers for the time being.


    <hr>


    ¡°You cannot leave me here,¡± Helena said, her gaze skittering from wall to wall as if following a sea of spiders.


    ¡°This is your city,¡± I said. ¡°Would you want to go away to war with me?¡±


    ¡°Yes. No. But I cannot stay here in the palace without you. It isn¡¯t safe.¡± Helena¡¯s hands fluttered as she turned in place, coming to rest on her abdomen. ¡°I don¡¯t want to be alone.¡±


    I folded my arms around her, holding her in place and resting my chin on top of her head. ¡°One thing at a time,¡± I said. ¡°What if I put you up elsewhere in the city?¡±


    ¡°If¡­ maybe¡­ but¡­¡± Helena¡¯s face rubbed against my chest, and she breathed more evenly, quiet for a moment. ¡°If I am by myself, no matter where I am, I am vulnerable to anyone who wishes a lever to move you with. Or hurt you. And there is no guarantee that one of the pashas may not decide to make a different use of the lighthouse.¡±


    ¡°What would they think if I took a trip to the slave market to sell you off?¡± As she stiffened in my arms, I hastily clarified. ¡°I would only pretend to sell you off so that they think I am no longer attached to you. But instead of actually selling you, I stash you away in a hut or house somewhere. Then, when I return, I can fetch you back, and if anyone challenges the lie, I could say I had bought you back from your new master. Since you are accounted homely in the eyes of the court, it would be no surprise that I do not value you well enough to keep you when I am ordered away.¡±


    Helena sniffed softly, her face pressed against my chest.


    ¡°I do not mean that you are ugly,¡± I said. ¡°Just that you were seen as such in court. You are lovely, from head to toe.¡± I kissed the top of her head, then bent down to scatter more kisses upon the rest of her, stopping only once I had, by virtue of persistence, wrested a cheerful giggle out of her. Her moods had been quite changeable lately, accompanied by rapid shifts in appetite¡ªat some times gripped by distaste for what had come up from the kitchens and at others interested in stealing every morsel of some particular food from my plate.


    Having gotten one giggle, I picked her up. ¡°So. What do you say to my pretending to get rid of you?¡±


    ¡°As long as you don¡¯t really sell me off,¡± she said, a nervous frown again creasing her face. ¡°I do not like the idea of going anywhere near the slave market.¡±


    ¡°You are too precious,¡± I said, kissing her firmly on the lips. I adjusted my grip so that her legs rested in the crook of my elbow, turning my hand towards her body with open wiggling fingers. ¡°Now, will you take my word when I declare that you are a prized jewel I will not throw away, or must I tickle you until you cry mercy?¡±


    She giggled and writhed before my fingers touched her, the idea of being tickled enough by itself to effect a reaction. ¡°No, no. I will take your word! Mercy!¡±


    <hr>


    As I made my way across the gangway, my chest slung over my shoulder, Pasha Mustafa nodded in greeting.


    ¡°You are not bringing your leman along?¡± He quirked an eyebrow.


    ¡°Would that have been a good idea? I have been told women are poor luck on a ship.¡± I adjusted the heavy chest uncomfortably.


    ¡°Some say so, yes,¡± Pasha Mustafa said. ¡°But I have seen plenty of ships sail with a mainly female slave cargo without mishap. I think the much-told misfortune is related only to the working members of the crew of a ship. There are some inconveniences with such an approach, which are why I have not brought mine, but I am old enough that my blood burns less hotly¡ªat your age, with your first woman in hand, frankly, I expected you besotted to the point of inseparability. You certainly have spent enough time ensconced in that lighthouse.¡±


    ¡°She was pleasant enough,¡± I said with a cold expression. ¡°But aside from the reputation for ill fortune, I doubt her company would be worth the trouble of managing her affections and appetites aboard a warship full of envious sailors and soldiers who have no shipboard leman of their own, even a homely one. So, I sold her off¡ªI expect I can get a replacement later, easily enough.¡±


    ¡°A keen insight,¡± Pasha Mustafa said, frowning up at me with a concerned look, as if I had somehow disappointed him. ¡°Discipline on the sea is a different matter than on land, and while the men will tolerate special privileges for a pasha or a captain, your standing is lesser as far as they are concerned¡ªI planned to treat you as a junior officer, and the standing of a junior officer is not so great as to frighten off all challenges to your authority over your leman.¡±


    ¡°May I ask our destination?¡± I said. The weight of the chest was uncomfortable on my shoulder, and I shifted from foot to foot.


    The pasha gave me a smile that did not reach his eyes. ¡°You may ask our destination¡ªbut we are at war and not yet cast off. The captain does not even know yet. Stow your chest in the fourth cabin to the right and then make your way to the engine room¡ªanyone you find playing at dice or cards along your way, tell them to get to work. A ship this size always has shirkers.¡±

 Chapter 12: Steaming Away

    ¡°Anyone you find playing at dice or cards along your way, tell them to get to work. A ship this size always has shirkers.¡± Pasha Mustafa¡¯s smile did not reach his eyes.


    I bobbed my head obediently but not deeply, as the weight of the chest made a bow impractical. ¡°Yes, Your Excellency.¡± Hastening away, I headed aft into the dark opening beneath the gun deck, opening the fourth door that I found on my right and pushing my chest in ahead of myself into the nook that I supposed counted as a cabin. It was long but narrow, feeling little larger than a closet, with the luxury of a small round window open to the air¡ªa porthole¡ªand a pair of canvas hammocks, one stowed in the left-hand corner next to the door and the other stowed in the right-hand corner next to the porthole, a pair of vacant hooks fixed into each wall halfway in between.


    Whether or not I would have a bunkmate was an open question; since I had not brought Helena as a leman, the room was theoretically under capacity, though in such close quarters I expected that even Helena would quickly lose patience with me in spite of her usual fondness for me. The cabin was sparsely furnished with a hinged piece of wood secured to the wall with another pair of sliding brass bars, likely intended as a desk or table; a sturdy chest like the one I had brought could serve as a chair.


    Still, it was luxury compared to being packed belowdecks, as there was at least a source of fresh air. The cover to the porthole was dangling open, a thick wooden plug attached to the wall with a short rope. A sliding brass bar mounted on the wall next to the opening would be used to fix the plug in place. When I poked my head out of the porthole, I could see at close hand the lead sheathing that protected the hull of the ship. As the cabin was below the bombard deck, the outer wall of the cabin was flush against the ship¡¯s hull, presenting a sheer vertical climb for would-be boarders interested in trying to contest control of the wheelboat¡¯s main artillery battery.


    Having inspected the ship and the room, I turned my gaze to the city, hoping that I could see and recognize the roof of the little house I had gotten for Helena, formerly the residence of a fisherman (since deceased) and purchased from his sister, an elderly widow, on the condition that she could continue to live there. While I was not sure I had spotted the house, I did see a brown-haired figure standing on the docks and looking back at me, a hunchbacked figure in a drab dark cloak. I waved at her, and she waved back at me before scurrying away out of my sight.


    Having given my goodbye to the only person in the city I felt true affection for, I stepped back from the porthole. It was time for me to see to my duties and prove myself to Pasha Mustafa. I had not been inside a steamer¡¯s engine room before, but I knew that heat in general and steam in particular rose, which suggested to me that the engine room would be at least partly below the axis of the singular great wheel aft of the ship. The engine room would be a deck or two lower and near the aft end of the ship. Thus oriented on first principles, I left my cabin, walking to the end of the corridor to where ladders granted access below or above.


    Climbing down one level, I soon found a dice game in progress, several scruffy seamen huddled in a supply room lit by a caged sprite. Remembering Pasha Mustafa¡¯s order, I cleared my throat loudly and spoke. ¡°Get to work,¡± I said.


    Sour looks turned my way. ¡°Who are you?¡± The man who spoke had a scar on his face that, though a truly ugly scar, nevertheless improved his appearance by the law of mathematical averaging. The other faces turned in my direction were less exceptional, though they all deviated from a noble appearance in a similar direction.


    ¡°What matters is that in saying that, I spoke with the voice of His Excellency Pasha Mustafa,¡± I said, thinking back to the way that Pasha Mustafa¡¯s smile had not reached his eyes. ¡°Not my own voice.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s yer own voice say, then?¡± The second man to speak was the most handsome of the company, resembling a pinched weasel, but a healthy pinched weasel. ¡°Boat ain¡¯t started going anywhere yet.¡±


    ¡°I could perhaps drop a pair of knucklebones once or twice,¡± I said, affecting affability. ¡°Since Pasha Mustafa is still on deck.¡±


    ¡°Bid on in, then,¡± said the scar-faced man, gesturing at a tray resembling a boat with small numbered chambers. It was filled with small silver coins, most of them on the seven spot, though the slow rocking of the boat made stacking up a mast impractical.


    Silently, I thanked the astrologer for his instruction, fishing three akcheh out of a pouch tucked inside of my doublet. ¡°I can¡¯t play for too long. A couple of rounds, maybe?¡± I said, showing the three coins in my hand before placing a coin on the seven spot by way of a late ante.


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    The weasel passed me the dice. ¡°On with it,¡± he said.


    I cast the dice, and they came up double ones. ¡°Ah, a pig,¡± I said, collecting the scattered coins out of the boat all around the mast. ¡°Lucky me.¡±


    ¡°Lucky indeed,¡± the scar-faced man said, picking up the dice. ¡°Come on, king me¡­¡± The dice did not obey him, coming up five and one instead, and he laid a coin on the freshly emptied six spot.


    The dice worked around to me again, and I rolled double threes, picking up the scar-faced man¡¯s coin from the six spot. The weasel gave me a curious look as the scar-faced man rolled a seven, making the mast richer. A few rolls later, the dice came back to me, and I held the dice up to speak without rolling. I could feel the weight of the iron cuffs around my wrists, concealed by the sleeves of my doublet, and was reminded that mystery was my ally. Common sailors would not know who I was, whether or not I had magic to go along with my noble bearing, or that I wore cuffs that would suck my magic out to turn it against me if I tried to use it.


    ¡°I have rolled twice¡ªa pig, then a six divided into double threes. Though I would love to give you the opportunity to take the handful of coins I have won back from me, it is time for this game to end. Shall I see if I can end it by rolling sixes doubled for a third double in a row, or would you rather divide the pot amongst yourselves evenly and get to your duty stations?¡± I tossed the dice in my hand a couple of times, as if feeling the weight of their luck. ¡°I¡¯ve been told my horoscope looks favorable for dicing this day.¡±


    The weasel looked at me nervously before conferring with his comrades, a fierce whispered negotiation that passed quite quickly in what sounded like an Illyrian dialect, then held out his hand for the dice. ¡°Sounds like they need me in the engine room,¡± he said, grabbing what might have been his fair share out of the tray before shouldering past me.


    From the frown on the scar-faced man¡¯s face as he began to count the remaining silver coins, he had doubts about the fairness of the sudden division of the pot, but as the engine room was also my eventual destination, I followed the weasel rather than linger to learn if the others felt short-changed. We traveled down another deck into the very bowels of the ship, hot and damp, the corridors and hatches uncomfortable for a man with my length of limb. Once I stepped inside the engine room itself, though, I was able to stand up straight and stretch my arms; the engine room had a high ceiling, spanning the full height of both lower decks.


    ¡°Mirko¡ªthere you are. I want the firebox scoured.¡± The chief engineer was a stout, brawny man who looked too thick to squeeze through the long, narrow aperture of the great firebox that sat beneath a row of boilers. ¡°It¡¯s rare we have it cool enough for a good scouring, and I doubt the pasha will give us long before he demands we set off. He must be still waiting for his astrologer and the princeling.¡±


    The weasel¡ªwho I now knew was named Mirko¡ªsullenly took up a scouring brush in one hand and a polishing cloth with the other and crawled into the firebox. Indirectly named by the chief engineer, I did not speak, but I nevertheless responded by moving, clasping my hands behind my back.


    ¡°Who are you? Are you a wizard?¡± The chief engineer looked hopeful. ¡°Hopefully, you¡¯re a better one than Kemal; I don¡¯t think he is able to open the firebox¡¯s portal all the way. We haven¡¯t matched our design cruising speed in months, not without kicking in the auxiliaries and burning coal.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± I said, suddenly aware of the iron cuffs under my sleeves, cold against my skin. ¡°Pasha Mustafa sent me down here¡ªI am to act as a junior officer on this expedition.¡±


    ¡°Hm. Training, then. Well, stay out of the way and watch closely,¡± the chief engineer said.


    This proved more difficult than I had expected. It was a crowded, dirty, and busy place, even if it had felt spacious with the high ceiling and was brightly lit with a perpetual light¡ªan extravagance, but an extravagance that would not put a stray open flame near coal dust¡ªand there was no wasted space. Although I did not participate in any of the scrubbing, cleaning, and tidying that the chief engineer felt was important to accomplish while the engines were cold in the hours before the ship launched, nor in the ritual to reactivate the firebox, nor in the loading of the auxiliary coal burners, I emerged from the engine room hours with stains of ash and coal on my clothes.


    <hr>


    The astrologer met me on the gun deck as the ship steamed through the strait at a slow cruise, the auxiliary burners quiet and the land to either side looming as dark, threatening masses. Half a dozen galleys trailed in our wake under oar power, oarsmen straining to keep up with the relentless elemental power churning the paddlewheel. Our ultimate destination had still not been announced, and we had not launched until full dark. Instead of following the coastline as we exited the strait, we continued straight into open waters some distance before stopping, a beacon dangled off the aft end of the gun deck.


    ¡°Why are we stopping?¡± I asked. ¡°And where are we going?¡±


    The astrologer shrugged. ¡°For the first¡ªprobably, it is time to start towing the galleys. The oarsmen will be tired by now, and we are out of easy sight of land. For the second¡ªthe stars make it clear enough we have gone north into the Axine Sea. So, what do you think?¡±


    A rumble from below announced the firing of the auxiliary burners, and I could smell a whiff of coal smoke. Even towing the galleys, the steam cruiser could cross the Axine Sea in short order.


    ¡°We are striking at the Golden Empire, then, before the emperor receives the sultan¡¯s reply.¡± I looked expectantly at the astrologer, his face illuminated by the flickering beacon.


    ¡°I think Pasha Mustafa would say that we are the sultan¡¯s reply,¡± the astrologer said.

 Chapter 13: Mail Service

    ¡°I think Pasha Mustafa would say that we are the sultan¡¯s reply,¡± the astrologer said.


    Glancing back at the pair of galleys that had lined up to attach tow lines to either side of the rigid frame that held the axle of the steamer¡¯s paddlewheel and the other two pairs of galleys lining up behind them, I reflected for a brief moment on the fact that a diplomatic reply only required a single ship for transmission and that the steamer would be able to deliver any diplomatic missive more quickly if it was not engaged in towing.


    ¡°A forceful reply is intended, then.¡± I did not feel enthusiastic about the prospect of fighting and killing for the Sultanate, even if rising in the ranks of the Sultanate¡¯s military was my only obvious method of improving my future prospects. Nor did I have confidence that I would necessarily survive such service; soldiers have been known to die in an untimely manner in battles.


    The astrologer nodded. ¡°That is the essence of our mission. The pasha will naturally have some latitude in where and how he chooses to apply force. The sultan is young, his attention is divided, and his orders reached the pasha indirectly, through the intermediary of the vizier.¡±


    The astrologer¡¯s logic seemed sound to me. I could remember easily enough the diffused disarray of responsibility and obedience that had played out between Pasha Mustafa and Pasha Halil when the latter had been vizier and the former was delegated to organizing the ill-fated company of princes. The effective length of Mustafa¡¯s leash had, in the end, resulted in Helena entering my life, so I could not complain too strenuously about the consequences of Mustafa¡¯s interpretations; however, it was quite clear those orders had been stretched to include Radu and me in what was little better than a suicide mission.


    After a long moment of silence between the two of us, during which I, deep in thought, said nothing in reply, the astrologer cleared his throat, holding up a folded packet of paper. ¡°I have the account of General Turhan¡¯s second contest against your father.¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± I said, bowing politely. ¡°I look forward to reading it.¡±


    <hr>


    The ordinary speed of travel between the Strait of Constantinople and the Cimmerian Strait is about three weeks with decent winds because the normal route between the two sees about three hundred leagues<sup>1</sup></a> of coastline¡ªwell over a thousand miles. The deeper parts of the Axine Sea, like any great sea, are reputed to be the home of fantastical and dangerous monsters¡ªnot merely the ordinary dangers of sharks and mermaids, but leviathans, krakens, and serpents.


    Indeed, the great purple leviathan that terrorized Constantinople in Justinian¡¯s time is said to have come from the hidden depths of the Axine Sea, stirred from his home by a greedy trader who wished to make a short trip directly between the two straits. A more mundane risk is getting lost or becalmed; navigation on the high seas is a slippery affair, at least if one does not have a skilled diviner on board.


    Pasha Mustafa wished to arrive at his destination swiftly, directly, and without warning. He had brought the court¡¯s most skilled astrologer and was not concerned about the possibility of awakening a new purple leviathan with the rumbling of a steamship. Accordingly, he ordered us to take a direct route from strait to strait, a distance of perhaps as little as one hundred leagues. With a steam engine turning a powerful paddlewheel, we could traverse a league of open ocean per hour regardless of the state of wind or wave¡ªalthough, thanks to the burden of towing half a dozen galleys, generating sufficient force to overcome the resistance would require running the auxiliary burners constantly.


    It is not customary in the Osman navy to run a steamship¡¯s complement in full-strength shifts to drive its engines at full flank power day and night¡ªa firebox-fueled nighttime cruising speed requires substantially less shoveling of coal¡ªbut Pasha Mustafa was insistent. After our first night of traveling, I slept half the morning, spent the day taking a redundant inventory of our supply of bombards, arquebuses, mech-portable field guns, and associated powder and munitions¡ªthen had a shift supervising the engine room, after which I staggered wearily to my cabin.


    I stank of coal dust and ash. A quick tap of a phoenix stone and I had lit my lamp; then I barred the door for privacy, stripped my clothes, and opened the porthole with the intention of shaking my clothing out so that it would not be deeply stained and dingy.


    ¡°That coal dust gets everywhere,¡± I muttered angrily as I looked down at my bare body, seeing streaks of black and gray. ¡°I need a proper bath.¡±


    I grabbed my hose and stuck my arm out of the porthole, shaking vigorously in the night air to try to get the worst of it out. Then, suddenly, there was the sound of a soprano voice from outside the ship.


    ¡°Nice hose,¡± the voice said. ¡°Have you also nice legs to suit?¡±


    Startled, I let go of the hose, then stuck my head out of the porthole. Below, I could see a woman¡¯s head bobbing in the water, her hand holding onto my hose as she cut through the water, easily keeping up with the ship.


    ¡°I like to think so,¡± I replied, the vanity of youth surfacing without deliberate thought.


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    The smile that split her face was wide enough that I could see her pearl-white teeth gleam by moonlight, and she wiggled to bring her chest out of the surface, giving me a kindly complete view of feminine attributes that had been previously concealed beneath the dark nighttime waters of the Axine Sea. I briefly saw the tip of an inhuman tail breach the water behind her, fluttering quickly.


    ¡°Come on down and I¡¯ll give them back to you,¡± said the mermaid playfully.


    ¡°I can hardly fit myself through the porthole,¡± I said. ¡°Nor would I have such an easy time climbing back up. Please toss them back up.¡±


    The mermaid sighed, the deep breath causing her chest to heave in a fashion that tended to draw attention away from her face. ¡°Surely you could come for a swim? You did say you needed a proper bath.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± I said firmly. ¡°I¡¯m not going swimming.¡± While I could not deny there was a certain instinctive appeal, swimming with iron weights around my wrists enchanted to provide me with sudden bouts of weakness if I lost control of my magic seemed a very bad idea. ¡°You¡¯re very lovely, but¡­¡±


    For a long moment, I paused in thought.


    ¡°But?¡± The mermaid prompted. ¡°Do you not know how to swim?¡±


    I shook my head, seizing on the best excuse I could come up with. ¡°But without my hose, I cannot leave my cabin¡ªI will be embarrassed.¡±


    ¡°Are your legs so skinny and bony that the other sailors will make fun of you?¡± The mermaid¡¯s mouth screwed sideways with visible distaste.


    ¡°No!¡± My pride answered before I had a chance to think. Even though the woman I was speaking with was not entirely human, I felt the need to impress her in proportion to her beauty, which was considerable. ¡°I¡­ um¡­ I have mighty thews, but I do not want to make the other sailors feel bad about how inadequate their own legs are in comparison. My legs must be dressed in hose to avoid jealousy from my fellow sailors. Exposing them would be immodest, and modesty is a virtue.¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± she said, licking her lips. ¡°And if I toss the hose up, you will come swim with me? I mean, do you promise to swim with me by¡­¡± She hesitated, glancing around at the ship. ¡°By the esteem in which you hold the prophet sacred to the great Osman sultans?¡±


    ¡°I would rather swim with you than worship the prophet sacred to the Osman sultans,¡± I said, and she flung the hose up at me before I had finished speaking. Catching in my extended arm the wad of soggy fabric, I shook my head. ¡°The latter I will never do, not in a hundred years. You are lovely¡ªbut I shall not swim with you tonight.¡±


    The mermaid frowned. ¡°But you are on an Osman ship. You do not worship their prophet?¡±


    Two other heads popped out of the water behind her, dark hair flowing in the water behind them as they, too, kept an easy pace alongside the moving steamer that few human swimmers could match. The one on the left breached the water to expose her own chest before she spoke, framed by glorious long tresses that covered her shoulders and trailed behind her in the water. ¡°We sisters of the water are so lonely for men, so far from the land. A man like you with mighty thews could satisfy all three of us all by himself, I am sure. Don¡¯t you want to come for a swim?¡±


    I shook my head firmly. ¡°No.¡±


    Shutting the porthole to end the increasingly awkward conversation, I hung the hose out to dry over the spare hammock, put out the lamp, and went to sleep in my hammock.


    <hr>


    ¡°And that¡¯s how Ladon got the scar on his face,¡± Mirko said, his face looking even more like a weasel than usual.


    The young janissary sitting directly across from him looked over at the scar-faced man, winced, and then spoke. ¡°That must have hurt.¡±


    The scar-faced man¡ªLadon¡ªglanced over at his friend, biting his lip before shrugging wordlessly.


    ¡°He doesn¡¯t like to talk about it,¡± Mirko added hastily. ¡°Sorry for bringing up the bad memories, Ladon, but I had to let the landsmen know what kind of dangers haunt the center of the Axine Sea this far from land. Not just sharks¡ªnot just purple leviathans¡ªbut serpents and krakens!¡±


    ¡°Krakens, too?¡± The janissary¡¯s eyes widened; so did the eyes of his comrades sitting to either side.


    ¡°And mermaids,¡± I interjected.


    Mirko rolled his eyes. ¡°Don¡¯t listen to him; he¡¯s new¡ªthere are no such things as mermaids. I¡¯ve sailed the seven seas and seen all kinds of things, but never a mermaid.¡±


    ¡°I met three of them last night,¡± I said. ¡°Quite friendly and eager for company. They wanted to go for a swim.¡±


    Mirko just rolled his eyes. ¡°Liar,¡± he said. ¡°You¡¯ve not seen a mermaid, much less three of them¡ªI¡¯ve never seen a mermaid.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re just jealous,¡± I said. ¡°They don¡¯t like men with skinny legs. Probably took one look at you when you were on deck and dove back down. When it was just me sticking my head out of the porthole, though, then they were ready to talk.¡±


    Ladon rubbed his muscular thighs unconsciously. ¡°Were they pretty?¡±


    Mirko let out an exasperated sigh as he shook his head.


    ¡°Very pretty,¡± I said. ¡°Faces like angels.¡± I made a cupping gesture in front of my chest, my intent directed as much at antagonizing Mirko as answering the question. ¡°And ample assets. But you¡¯ll have to leave Mirko behind if you want to talk to them¡ªclearly they¡¯d rather avoid him, since he¡¯s been everywhere without seeing them.¡±


    Ladon nodded as Mirko rolled his eyes.


    ¡°Well,¡± I said. ¡°It¡¯s time for Mirko and me to report to the engine room for the next shift. No need for us to waste more of your time arguing over mermaids.¡±


    That third night was the last either of us saw of Ladon. On the fourth night, Mirko refused to talk with me at all, carrying out my orders in the engine room with sullen silence; the fifth night I was off shift and allowed time to rest, but then land was sighted, a piece of the Taurican coastline a little bit to the west of the Cimmerian Strait, and there was an early wake-up call.


    It was time for us to deliver the sultan¡¯s reply to the Golden Emperor.


    <hr>


    <div>


    1</a>Translator¡¯s note: The word used here literally means ¡°cord¡± rather than ¡°league,¡± but to avoid confusion in this Loegrian translation, I have chosen to translate to a Loegrian unit of crudely comparable length to avoid confusion with the well-known customary Loegrian unit corresponding to the standard length of a surveyor¡¯s cord, i.e., one eightieth of a mile.

 Chapter 14: A Straitened Reply

    It was time for us to deliver the sultan¡¯s reply to the Golden Emperor.


    As we approached the Taurican coast, all lights were shuttered or brought below decks. The engine of the steamship was shut down, and the men cautioned against talking above a whisper. The tow cables were reversed, with the galleys full of untimely rousted but well-rested oarsmen towing the steamship with its cold heavy boilers. To the aft, the paddlewheel turned idly, pushed by the water instead of pushing it.


    I stood high on the gun deck, as it afforded the best view short of climbing the stacks. With my night vision undimmed by lamp or lantern, I could even dimly see shapes bobbing in the water behind the ship that might have been a familiar trio of mermaids.


    Dark cliffs loomed above the crashing waves as the Osman force landed. The galleys beached and unloaded first; of the first wave of men, half advanced up the beach and the other half stayed in place. It took significant and complex work to unload the chase bombards from the galleys; other men sloshed back and forth through the waves to help with lowering cargo from the steamship and guiding or dragging it to shore. The latter included oxen teams and carts, several dozen horses, and the pasha¡¯s contingent of mechs¡ªall had been kept aboard the steamship, as trying to manage one on the deck of a mere galley would have been unwise.


    The mechs were the most difficult to unload successfully. Oxen can swim, in a pinch, and carts generally mostly float. Mechs, however, generally have negative buoyancy¡ªenough to sink a cart if they were lowered on top of one, and indeed enough that even walking through sand or mud can be difficult. Each one needed its boilers stoked before being lowered into the sloshing waves with wide sand shoes attached, and the elemental spirits within were not accustomed to the kind of slow, clumsy waddle needed to make it onto land. One was dropped when a worn rope snapped, and another tripped on its own sand shoes, landing in the waves.


    The pasha himself was lowered down into the water off the side of the steamship in a small boat, which was rowed until it grounded on the beach. I accompanied the pasha. No sooner were we in the water than I took off my boots, holding them up in my hands, which earned me some strange looks from my fellow passengers. When we grounded, I hopped out of the boat. Coarse wet sand sank beneath my feet as I walked up the beach.


    ¡°You¡¯ll have sandy toes,¡± one of my fellow junior officers muttered, just quietly enough not to be easily overheard. His name was Mevlana; he had a minor knack for fire magic and noble enough breeding that he would have been an officer even if he had no magic. His hopes for glory had been lowered on discovering that he was only the third-best fire mage in the pasha¡¯s force, and he had been engaged in earnest prayer and fasting in the hopes that a dose of piety would improve his miraculous ability to command fire and elemental spirits, which was a divine blessing also shared by his father, brother, uncle, and grandfather.


    ¡°Better than wet boots,¡± I replied with a friendly grin. I did not hate Mevlana; in spite of our many differences, I felt an odd measure of kinship with him that came to the fore when he worked with fire.


    Mevlana did not return my grin. Instead, he snorted with the conspicuous contempt due to a fellow officer who was credited with neither piety nor magic nor family connections within the inner circles of the Sultanate¡ªand with all the sea-wise experience expected of a cavalry officer who had spent the first three days of the voyage sick from the motion of the waves.


    My feet were still squishing through wetted sand when there was a great crash. A large wave had knocked over a mech, its boiler suddenly chilled and guttering with a hiss of steam just audible over the frothing water shooting up the beach at us. We all broke into a quick jog, but the wave still caught us, splashing all the way up to my knees.


    As the water drew back, Pasha Mustafa turned, squinting at the moonlit mass of metal being splashed by waves, his shoes squirting water out of their seams.


    ¡°That¡¯s a third one down. We will have to leave them behind at first and get them caught up later,¡± Pasha Mustafa said, counting carts and coming to a decision. ¡°The bombards are a higher priority for the oxen. Mevlana¡ªyou will take two squads to get the soaked mechs ashore, dried out, and restarted, and catch up when you can. The rest of you will tell the men to get ready for a double-time march lasting through dawn. Arquebuses are to be carried unloaded; we do not want to wake the city with a misfire if it sleeps.¡±


    ¡°But surely, the steamship sailors could¡ª¡± Mevlana looked unhappy with his assignment.


    Pasha Mustafa shook his head. ¡°They have another part to play soon enough. Be off with you.¡± As the young officer jogged off to gather men, the pasha continued, speaking to the rest of us. ¡°The steamship¡¯s gun deck is a superior firing platform, not that we have enough oxen and carts to unload its battery in any case. But you do not need to know the details of what the steamship shall do¡ªwhat you do need to know to direct our forces, though, is what we are doing here on Taurica. I have been remiss in not explaining earlier, and I am afraid I must be brief.¡±


    As he continued, the astrologer nodded along knowingly, having heard it all before; the others looked intent and curious.


    ¡°The heart of the Golden Empire is Cimmeria¡ªthat is where the capital lies,¡± Pasha Mustafa said. ¡°Water trade rules every nation. If we strike here, we can cut off Cimmeria from nine parts out of ten of its trade with the wider world outside the Empire, throttle even some of its commerce with Ruthenia, and prevent them from sending an army anywhere quickly.¡±


    ¡°What of Koschei¡¯s iron roads?¡± This was another young officer, one named Iskender (or Alexander if one addressed him in his mother¡¯s tongue), a fighting thaumaturge who had a mid-length harquebus, a pair of light pistols with flared muzzles for easy handling of load, and a bandolier of metal cartridges alternating between large and small, brass with a silver base.


    Pasha Mustafa shook his head. ¡°Koschei¡¯s so-called great iron roads are a curiosity and an extravagance, mimicry of the Gothic Empire¡¯s shorter iron roads without understanding. Not a carriage can ride an iron road but the one made especially for it, and the longer it is, the less frequently that lone carriage will reach any one place and the more easily it will get stuck somewhere far from repair or replacement. All the more often if the governor of an outlying province wishes an excuse to delay sending taxes or tributes. No¡ªtrade goods and troops cannot possibly travel that way quickly and in quantity in the way that they do by ship.¡±


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    Wanting to seem intelligent even if I knew little about railroads¡ªat the time, I had heard of them only as iron roads and had implausibly imagined that they were paved with flat iron sheets¡ªI nodded enthusiastically.


    ¡°You see? The Dragon¡¯s son learned about such things from his father, who was raised in the Gothic court around the time of the construction of their first iron road.¡± Pasha Mustafa smiled. ¡°While Koschei¡¯s high officials can travel in style in their little steam carriages, the fastest route of commerce between Ruthenia and Cimmeria is the coastwise trade. And as Taurica is not quite an island, and the Putrid Sea not at all navigable, the coastwise trade all passes around Taurica and through this strait, flanked by Pantikapaion and Hermonassa. It is narrow enough to be commanded by bombards from either side. We shall take Pantikapaion and thereby command the strait. Any questions?¡±


    ¡°Do we even have supply sufficient for a siege?¡± The question seemed impertinent to me, but it came from Bey Ishak, who¡ªbeing well respected, of high rank, and therefore in command of the landed force once Pasha Mustafa returned to the steamship¡ªhad to be answered.


    ¡°Bey Ishak, I have faith in your ability to avoid a siege of any real length,¡± Pasha Mustafa said, his words revealing his intention to return to the ship. ¡°Pantikapaion¡¯s walls were not built on a foundation of wards, like Troy¡ªnor have they been rebuilt since before the invention of the bombard,¡± Pasha Mustafa said. ¡°Indeed, I suspect the imperial governor stationed in Hermonassa would see a substantial increase in their fortifications as a threat to secure the Greek cities¡¯ present factual independence from the Golden Empire. You may scrounge the countryside for requisition for a few days if you find yourself required to reduce their land-facing walls, but it should not take longer than that.¡±


    The pasha then gave us detailed orders of movement. We would march overland double-time to Pantikapaion while the ships¡ªmanned by barely more than skeleton crews¡ªsailed away under the pasha¡¯s personal command to execute the rest of his plan, which he was loath to disclose.


    Due perhaps to the fact that I had the sand dusted off my feet and my boots back on before the rest of the pasha¡¯s hand-picked officers, I was attached to a squad that was to be sent in the vanguard of the force, a group of old-fashioned cavalrymen from the east with bows and lances. I would say I was placed in command of it, but in truth, my responsibility exceeded my actual authority. The men only answered to their bannerman, and their bannerman took my orders as suggestions.


    For example, several, including their bannerman, had pistols, yet they laughed when I relayed the pasha¡¯s demand that firearms be carried unloaded while traveling through the dark of night. Rather than insist in the face of that contempt and look all the more the fool when they denied me a second time, I shrugged, loaded my own pistols, and then sealed them with wax plugs to ensure the ball and shot would not fall out if they were jostled during the ride.


    ¡°Very well. I suppose it is practical,¡± I said. ¡°But I will want a bow to loose arrows from in case we come into trouble that can be handled more quietly¡ªwill one of you lend me his spare?¡±


    ¡°You have already armed yourself well enough against the pasha¡¯s orders,¡± said the bannerman in his thick eastern accent, and the men laughed. ¡°You have more gun than any of us.¡±


    This was an arguable claim; the bannerman had a brace of four pistols and one of the other men had three, while I had only two. However, my pistols were double-barreled beauties from a very good gunsmith, quietly provided by the astrologer¡ªlikely, therefore, indirectly by the pasha and at his order. If ¡°more gun¡± were to be calculated as an amorphous quantity of firepower linked to phoenix stones, metal tubes, powder, and shot, then perhaps I did indeed have ¡°more gun¡± than any of the rest of them.


    ¡°Very well,¡± I said. ¡°I shall fire, then, if I need to fight. But let no man fire before me¡ªif he does, I shall surely be obliged to fire after him in order to silence the pasha¡¯s complaint.¡±

 Chapter 15: Coordination

    ¡°Very well,¡± I said. ¡°I shall fire, then, if I need to fight. But let no man fire before me¡ªif he does, I shall surely be obliged to fire after him in order to silence the pasha¡¯s complaint.¡±


    The bannerman¡¯s confident grin wavered for a moment. ¡°Have no worry, young lord; we are all able enough with bow and lance. My brother can loose a single arrow to down a running stag by moonlight from a hundred paces.¡±


    Being inappropriately armed for silent combat beyond sword¡¯s reach, I hung back to the rear of the formation as we spread out in advance of oxen and infantrymen. In a well-practiced routine, the men rode out ahead by pairs and trios, coming back into view to wave a light-colored flag along the best route, returning to report if they found something of particular interest, such as a farmhouse, a stream, or a ditch that might present a hazard in the dark. My night vision was sorely tested in the period between moonset and growing false dawn, for no man can see well or far by starlight alone. The spyglass tucked into my pocket was useless for addressing the lack of light.


    That dark starlight stretch of our journey was nearly silent, the exception being a brief and unfortunate encounter between a trio of my soldiers and a wakeful farmer whose fate and family I would prefer not to discuss in any great detail. No guns were fired, and as the wife¡¯s screams were both muffled and brief, I could not say that there had been as much noise as a gunshot. Once I arrived, though, I wished I had been given such an excuse to prove I had made my threatening statement in earnest. While a confessor later assured me that I was responsible only by negligence rather than malice, sins of omission rather than commission, I felt the need to perform substantial penance.


    In the dark, shrouded shadow of the deepest dark of night, though, I did nothing but give the scene a quick glance, my hands briefly touching the shield hanging from my saddle and the handle of one of my pistols. Silently, I was glad I could not see as well as I had during the assault through the streets of Constantinople, and glad also for the darkness.


    <hr>


    Dawn found me on the peak of a hill southwest of Pantikapaion, my squad waiting on the lee side of the hill as I lay in the grass and watched the city below. With the light of the dawn, naturally, there followed the opening of the gates for daily business. To the east, I could hear a rumble of thunder, a plume of black smoke rising into view moments later. A few minutes later, a caique came into view, its sails spread wide to catch the hands of the generously swift sirocco that had rescued it from the hidden source of both smoke and thunder, turning so sharply that it lost several baskets of fish off the side as the helmsman forced the rudder into motion with fear-fueled strength.


    It was not much later that the paddlewheel steamship came into view, threatening a sparsely populated harbor with the weapons on its central elevated gundeck. The timing of the attack meant that most fishermen were out of harbor in their best fishing spots¡ªas the light of the rising sun stirs the fish into hunger, only the laziest of fishermen will wait until dawn to launch their boats. The largest ships in the harbor were a pair of galliots; had they been ready to set out and rushed past the steamship in different directions, one might have escaped.


    One early cannon shot sounded from atop the walls, the ball falling well short of the steamship. Men swarmed towards and up the eastern wall of the city as bells rang, the city moving into a state of alarm. Carts moved through the streets of the city with urgency, bringing precious powder supplies from central storage to the eastern wall. Then the moment I had been waiting for came: Men on fast horses riding out of the city, likely messengers. Two headed west on the road to Theosodia, and another two followed the coastal road in the direction of Nymphaion, either scouts or messengers. We could not conceal long the fact of the presence of an Osman force attacking Pantikapaion, but we could hope to delay any messages begging for the assistance of the city¡¯s neighbors.


    ¡°You three¡ªtake the western road,¡± I said, pointing at a trio of my soldiers whose names I did not yet know. The riders headed in that direction would likely find themselves trapped by Bey Ishak and the rest of the army, but a lone rider can sometimes evade an entire army if he sees it well enough in advance. ¡°Everyone else except for you two¡ªsouth.¡±


    The two men I excepted were the bannerman and his younger brother. As I mounted my horse, the bannerman spoke to question my decision. ¡°What do we do, watch you and play dice?¡±


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    ¡°Watch for birds,¡± I said, pointing back at the city. ¡°They may send a pigeon as well, and you said your brother was the best archer. And you have the best eyes.¡±


    I drew one double-barreled pistol, pointing the muzzle to the sky before pulling the wax plugs off in case a ball had come loose from the wadding and dropped. Then I strapped my shield to my left arm and headed north to help intercept the men traveling west from the city. Three men were not many to catch two, even with an army on the opposite side. However, more importantly, I, as a junior officer, had run out of orders to follow and give, and I would rather have my next orders straight from Bey Ishak¡¯s mouth than relayed through a messenger.


    After all, matters had not gone to plan. Bey Ishak and the main force were late. Pasha Mustafa¡¯s plan had called for him to arrive with the sunrise, taking advantage of the cover of darkness to set up bombards within range of the city before the city¡¯s own artillerists could strike with whatever cannon they had. I had not known the pasha¡¯s plans for the use of his steamship, but I assumed the plan was to press the city on both sides at once to overwhelm its morale and force a sudden surrender. It was a clever plan, but with no way to communicate, there had been no way to coordinate adjustments to the schedule. The six great naval bombards that had been mounted as chase weapons in our galleys were very heavy; my guess was that they had proven more difficult to manage than Pasha Mustafa had expected when he drew up his marching orders for Bey Ishak.


    When the westbound messengers veered north to avoid the riders who had come out from concealment behind the hill, I did not follow in the wake of my men northwards to chase them; instead, I turned west, riding along the road. If their destination was Theodosia, they would wish to return to the road sooner or later, and I would find Bey Ishak all the more quickly along the road.


    <hr>


    ¡°Where are the rest of your men?¡± Bey Ishak had a worried look on his face. ¡°Have they all been lost?¡± He was riding in the vanguard of the army, staying ahead of the cloud of choking dust kicked up by a thousand men.


    ¡°None had been lost when I left them¡ªthey are scattered chasing down enemy riders,¡± I said. ¡°You did say to hunt down enemy scouts, though I suspect them messengers instead.¡±


    Bey Ishak nodded. ¡°As useful,¡± he said. ¡°Though there will be no surprising the city. I have heard cannonfire already¡ªthey must be testing their ranges.¡±


    I glanced back. ¡°We are not very far¡ªone more row of hills and you will see it. As far as the cannonfire goes, the pasha engaged with the steamship. He is holding the harbor closed.¡±


    More cannonfire rumbled, a call and a response followed by a regular successive rumbling.


    ¡°Battle must be joined already¡ªand without me,¡± Bey Ishak said, shaking his head. He turned to shout behind him. ¡°Step lively, men, we are nearly there!¡± Waving his arm over his head, he spurred his horse forward.


    I followed, the two of us drawing ahead of the army along with another officer, Bey Ishak¡¯s aide, who was also mounted. At a canter, we wound around the next hill very shortly, setting eyes on the city. In the distance, beyond the city, I could see the column of smoke that marked the position of the steamship, a slanted column indicating movement and maneuver.


    Bey Ishak slowed, squinting. ¡°What is going on?¡±


    ¡°This way to see better, my lord,¡± I said, pointing up at the hill where I had lain. There was another crack of thunder from a bombard, and then a louder and deeper explosion two seconds later. ¡°There is something going on in the harbor.¡±


    Putting action to words, I was first up the hill, rejoining the bannerman and his brother, the precious spyglass put to my eye to make out what detail I could. From there, I could see the paddlewheel of the ship churning as it tried to maneuver. A trio of nimble galleys had come from somewhere, presumably the other side of the strait. The remnants of a fourth ship of some kind, less nimble, floated in scorched pieces, casualty of the greater explosion I had heard¡ªlikely its powder stores had been set alight, whether by misfortunate accident of its crew or by the work of an opposing gun or fire mage. As the bey joined me on the hill, his own spyglass clutched in one hand, one galley sent forth a volley of mortar fire from amidships, three shots leading to two explosions on the low elongated foredeck of the steamship, the third shell being either a dud or a clean miss into the water.


    ¡°Hermonassa has already sent aid.¡± Bey Ishak shook his head. ¡°The Golden Empire is already in the fight. If they can land soldiers from Hermonassa, we shall be outnumbered quite badly. This could not have gone worse.¡±


    The bannerman and his brother nodded in agreement as a flock of birds flew overhead¡ªpigeons. I eyed them suspiciously. I did not think trained messenger pigeons would be sent in a great flock together, but I was ready to practice my authority. ¡°Bannerman, did I not tell you to watch for birds?¡±


    The bannerman looked over at the retreating flock, then loosed an arrow in their direction. It flew in a high curved arc, passing some twenty or thirty yards beneath the flock as it dropped. ¡°My apologies, young lord,¡± he said, nodding deeply to me and then the bey in a gesture that might have been a display of respect.


    Bey Ishak ignored the exchange, his gaze instead fixed on the steamship as it moved forward in a slowly turning arc and crunched into a galley diagonally. A pair of men on the steamship¡¯s deck maneuvered a thin tube around on its prow-mounted swivel, directing liquid fire down at the wrecked vessel below to deter boarders. Liquid fire was a secret alchemical art made famous by the Greeks that now, along with Constantinople, belonged to the Sultanate. Then a man standing in the forecastle of one of the other two galleys flared with brilliant light, a line that connected him and a copper tank connected to the distant fire tube, ending in a fiery explosion of the reservoir of the fire projector.


    Thus, the steamship¡¯s nose was on fire as its paddlewheel began to churn in the opposite direction, its battery of bombards firing in an irregular sequence. One of the galleys shuddered partway through the volley, slewing sideways as oars splintered and then starting to slowly roll due to the great hole opened in its side. The last galley turned about, opening its sails to catch the sirocco and flee north, leaving three wrecks behind and countless little bobbing dots in the water, a mixture of flotsam and swimming crewmen that was indistinguishable to me at such a distance.


    The steamship, turning as best as it could, grounded itself at the end of the thin spit of land that blocked most of the southern entrance to the strait, the paddlewheel coming to an abrupt halt as it stuck into mud or sand. The sudden shock had the effect of sending flaming debris sliding up the foredeck and then back down as the ship¡¯s rear end had become elevated. From the vigorous thrashing movements seen within the fire as it danced upon the water, there must have been still-living crewmen entangled with the mess of debris and liquid fire that had been swept off the prow.


    A set of three little dots in a triangular formation broke the surface of the Axine Sea just south of the strait, then began moving rapidly north before submerging below the surface. A large mottled shadow like that of a great school of fish followed behind in the bright shallow waters of the strait. Not for the first time, I wished I had an eagle¡¯s eyes to see more clearly what was taking place so far away¡ªeven with a spyglass in hand, men were little more than dots.

 Interlude III: A Lost Battle

    ¡°Lieutenant Ognyan Spitignov reporting for duty, sir.¡±


    Major Iakov Maksimov Tsarevich of the House of the Sixth Heir-Son (albeit in a collateral line quite far from its line of inheritance), commandant of Hermonassa¡¯s garrison, stared at the paper on his desk as if he had not just finished reading it and as if it were infinitely more important than the owner of the clear tenor voice that had just spoken. After a good ten heartbeats of staring at the line giving the number of turnips that had spoiled in storage the previous month (eighty-two, although a suspicious smudge suggested it might have been originally written down as eighty-one), Major Iakov looked up.


    And up.


    He recognized the style of uniform¡ªit looked like the mass-produced kit produced by Khoryvsk¡¯s imperial academy for its cadets¡ªbut he hadn¡¯t known they came in quite that size, and surely a custom-made uniform would have been tailored to be more stylish and flattering. The new officer¡¯s head brushed the doorframe, and so did his shoulders. Granted, it was not an exceptionally tall or wide door, but still, that made him the third or fourth tallest man in the garrison and the second widest, just behind the head cook. A thin scraggle of hair on the lieutenant¡¯s chubby chin¡ªrounded but not doubled¡ªpromised the eventual growth of a real beard and offered the disquieting possibility that the youth had not finished growing the rest of his body to full size.


    For a moment, the major found himself wondering if his new officer could eat eighty-two turnips in one sitting, then he pushed the intrusive thought aside. ¡°Welcome to Hermonassa, kid,¡± he said. ¡°I have your file somewhere, but I haven¡¯t had a chance to look at it. Matters are always busy around here. Which one are you? I was supposed to get three new officers on the next packet.¡±


    The large, young man fished in his shirt pocket, unfolding a crumpled and stained envelope. ¡°They sent it with me,¡± he said, holding it. ¡°You were supposed to get a different cadet¡ªer, lieutenant. I was available as a replacement to fill the gap.¡±


    ¡°Who did you replace?¡± The major frowned. He¡¯d been expecting two Ruthenian lieutenants and a Khazar banneret, all three fresh out of Tanais¡¯s imperial academy, including a warding specialist, an elemental war mage rated proficient with both spirit command and offensive spellwork, and a thaumaturge cross-trained as a mechanic.


    ¡°All of them, sir.¡± The lieutenant clasped his hands behind his back.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been shortchanged again. Someday, they¡¯ll run a spur line from the capital down this way. We won¡¯t have to shuttle troops back and forth by ship, and they won¡¯t be able to keep using divination of poor weather as an excuse to keep postponing the packets.¡± The major¡¯s nose wrinkled as he reached out to take the envelope, detecting an unpleasant scent as he leaned closer to the large, young man. It was marked confidential. Somehow, though, in spite of the physical the file had been through, the wax seal was still intact and attached. ¡°You had your own confidential file in hand and didn¡¯t look at it?¡±


    ¡°Of course not, sir,¡± the lieutenant said. ¡°That would be against the rules.¡±


    The major broke the seal on the ill-treated envelope, unfolding the rumpled and stained contents and smoothing them on his desk to read. The first page was standard nonsense¡ªage (older than expected from the kid¡¯s babyfaced appearance), height, weight, rank, date of commission into service (two years ago), prior postings (directly into the capital¡¯s reserves rather than into active service¡ªthat explained why he was still calling himself a cadet), physical fitness evaluation (surprisingly good, considering the kid¡¯s apparent weight), and any notable earned merits or demerits in service (none).


    The second page was an academy record, which was more interesting. Imperial scholarship¡ªmeaning no family of note¡ªand an extended course of study that had stretched to seven years, based on truly remarkable magical aptitudes. They had graded him at journeyman competence in the command of elemental spirits within the first two years of its program and graduated him with comparable marks in offensive spellwork, defensive enchantments, and even thaumaturgy. In other words, a star prospect, other than the lack of family wealth or connections.


    Hermonassa was on the periphery of the Golden Empire, an outpost of sophisticated civilization located on the outskirts of the wild Caucasus region. Unless one was interested in taking sides in local sheep-rustling raids or bride-rustling raids, there was not very much to do, and the city was mainly populated by Khazars, the eponymous inhabitants of the westernmost of the Undying Emperor¡¯s three kingdoms. Ognyan was an unusual name, but it was not a Khazar name. Why would a promising young war mage with that much magical talent be sent to Hermonassa?


    <hr>


    Ognyan was carefully folding his clothing when the bells started ringing. Back in Tanais, when he¡¯d been given the assignment, he¡¯d been told that Hermonassa was too large to face any real threat from pirates and too well-fortified to be threatened by Circassian raiders. The true threats were revolt from the peasantry, rebellion from the nobility, or¡ªworse¡ªboth combined.


    After losing their Tanais palace, the House of the Sixth Heir-Son¡¯s presence in the imperial capital had become more limited, and they had begun to invest more heavily in the south. The recent engagement of one of their more prominent daughters to Banneret Iosef ben Bulan had attracted the quiet attention of the Ministry of Internal Affairs. The House of the Sixth Heir-Son had a wealth of daughters in its last two generations, so engagement to a talented young Khazar mage freshly graduated from the Tanais¡¯s imperial military academy was not, by itself, unusual¡ªbut it had been the third such engagement in the space of less than two years, and it was not the only house of imperial nobility that had begun to take on a regional character.


    Equally suspicious was the fact that Major Iakov Maksimov, in three years at his post, had never failed to request specific junior officers as replacements for those rotating out. Hence the last-minute change in orders sending the junior officers to Tyras with Lieutenant Ognyan Spitignov sent in his place to Hermonassa.


    Personally, Ognyan would have preferred to go to Tyras himself¡ªbut even the mere possibility of treachery in the empire¡¯s underbelly needed to be taken as seriously as guaranteed conflict beyond the Golden Empire¡¯s borders. Hermonassa was too important as a junction of control over strait traffic, and the political maneuvers that had displaced the House of the Sixth Heir-Son from imperial favor also placed in question that house¡¯s loyalty. His deployment served two purposes¡ªone was to slow the growth of the noble house¡¯s network of loyal affiliates in the city, and the other was to provide a reliable assessment of the risk of rebellion.


    Ognyan set the fully folded shirt in its place in a drawer, then quickly but methodically donned his armor. His sword belt went on over that, and the utility belt next, a dozen useful little tools counterbalancing the heavy blade. There was a chance that his arrival had been correctly interpreted as a sign of interest by the Ministry of Internal Affairs and precipitated a rebellion, advancing a traitorous timeline of planned rebellion. With Ognyan¡¯s level of proficiency in the command of elemental spirits, the traitors might feel compelled to act while they still had full control over the garrison¡¯s mech complement.


    <hr>


    Standing on top of a battlement of the walls west of Hermonassa¡¯s harbor next to his commanding officer, Lieutenant Ognyan Spitignov stared at the unfamiliar craft in the distance, magnified and slightly distorted by the transparent orb in his hand. The wheel slowly turning at its rear and the black smoke pouring from its twin towers told him that it was a steamship; the comparative size and rippling wake of the fishing boat ahead of it told him that it was vastly larger and faster than the paddlewheel river barges he had sometimes seen plying the great rivers of the Golden Empire.


    ¡°What the devil are they doing attacking Pantikapaion? It is not as if we are at war with the Sultanate,¡± the major muttered under his breath.


    Ognyan ignored the question. While he knew that answering the question of a superior officer was generally appropriate, he also knew that his superior officer was not one to be trusted with sensitive facts about the troops that, if all was proceeding according to schedule, were already marching west from Tyras. Additionally, he knew from his briefings that it generally took ships and news three weeks to transit the Axine Sea. Simple mathematics dictated that not enough time had passed for the sultan¡¯s attack to be a response to the surprise invasion of Wallachia.


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    Not unless the sultan had a spy with a magic mirror and access to the Ministry of War¡¯s inner circles. So, it could be a response, but if it was, it was one very swiftly and decisively launched by an enemy with dangerous levels of access within the Golden Empire.


    ¡°Sir, I would gladly volunteer to direct mechs in a boarding action against the enemy.¡± Ognyan looked down at his superior officer, wondering about the man¡¯s true allegiances.


    ¡°That won¡¯t be necessary,¡± Major Iakov said. ¡°It would be extremely ill-advised to try to use mechs in a boarding action¡ªnot that you have any familiarity with our stable of spirits yet. This is not an academy exercise.¡±


    ¡°Sir¡ªare you proposing that we simply allow the Sultanate¡¯s warship to command the strait?¡± Ognyan¡¯s voice took on a sharp edge. A traitor could act very effectively by refusing to act.


    ¡°Of course not¡ªI have sent orders to commandeer every capable fighting ship to send them packing.¡± The major lowered his spyglass, looking up at the large junior officer. ¡°Mechs are simply not practical instruments for boarding actions. They are simply too heavy; simply transporting them by ship is a difficult endeavor. You would lose at least half in your first crossing attempt, and we need them here to defend the city. Your interest in volunteering is appreciated, however¡ªyour file says you are capable with offensive spellwork. Report to Captain Manomir.¡±


    ¡°Yes, sir,¡± Ognyan said. He jogged down the stairs, into the city, and east to the harbor. Finding Captain Manomir was a task in and of itself; the harbor was crowded with a chaotic mixture of sailors and soldiers, all shouting at each other at once, mostly not in Ruthenian.


    After several false starts, Captain Manomir was located at a tavern, supervising as a squad of soldiers went through the tavern¡¯s clientele, looking at the hands of each man. If he had the callouses of an oarsman, he was sent out the front door to meet with more soldiers; if he did not, he was dismissed out of the guarded back door of the tavern.


    ¡°You are lucky that we have not already left,¡± Captain Manomir told the large junior officer. ¡°The ship¡¯s captain let his crew out and about the city, and there weren¡¯t enough ready oarsmen. We will likely be the last galley out¡ªthe one at the fourth slip to the left out of here, not that you can miss it. Go to the forecastle and stay there; you will be out of the way of the sailors.¡±


    ¡°Yes, sir,¡± Ognyan said to the man¡¯s already-turned back, then made his way back out of the tavern by the front door. There were two galleys already on their way out to the strait, another making ready to cast off, and a fourth galley still sitting in the harbor amidst an array of small boats, sailing craft, and little fishing boats. He followed the trickle of men with calloused hands from the tavern to the last galley.


    Nobody challenged him as he boarded and made his way to the forecastle, which Ognyan found concerning, especially as he passed an unguarded powder barrel. Even in a hasty deployment, security was important. The Sultanate could have seeded the docks with saboteurs prior to their assault, and a ship could be sunk by one suicidal saboteur with a phoenix stone and ten heartbeats alone with a powder barrel.


    He waited in the forecastle, looking back into the ship, a wand held concealed in one hand, watching each man that boarded the ship like a hawk. Then the ship set into motion, and he turned his eyes to the enemy. The decks were higher than the galley¡¯s forecastle, by a margin large enough that Ognyan found himself forced to accept that a boarding action would require either specialized equipment or substantial climbing. Few mechs had the strength-to-weight ratio to climb well, and most were not equipped with hands with high-friction grips, either. Major Iakov was right to hold his mechs in reserve.


    Without so much as an arquebus at hand, Ognyan watched the battle, murmuring protective spells under his breath as he took out a silver knife¡ªhis athame¡ªand a pouch of powdered silver. His skin tingled as he finished the first protective spell, scars carved into his body spelling out runes of protective power. He opened the pouch and swiped the athame¡¯s tip over the surface of the railing as he continued to chant, carving out a ward around the forecastle with his left hand. He could at least try to shield himself from gunfire. Even if he did not have the necessary preparatory time or power to shield the whole ship from heavy cannons, no enemy arquebusier would be able to shoot any of the imperial arquebusiers gathered in the forecastle. The ward would likely hold against a cannon shot, at least a lighter one, and his personal ward would continue to protect his skin against arquebus fire even the forecastle ward fell.


    His power streaming into the ward and waiting for an opportunity, Ognyan continued to watch and learn. The steamship was outnumbered four to one, but it had at least as many heavy guns aboard as all four galleys combined. It was a dedicated warship, with a thick hull sheathed in lead; but with only one source of motive power positioned directly at its rear, it maneuvered sluggishly, capable of great speed but not capable of turning as nimbly as a galley.


    Then there was a great noise from one side, and small pieces of debris rained down, wood and cloth and bloody bits of flesh bouncing off the ward with flashes of bluish-white light, and the steamship was only outnumbered three to one. Ognyan held his breath as the steamer rammed into the lead galley; then watched with horror as the men aboard the galley were raked with fire. But the fire was not driven by magic; no, it came from a tube.


    Ognyan¡¯s wand slipped forward in his right hand, and he gripped it firmly as he stopped reinforcing the forecastle ward. He pulled his magnifying orb from another pouch on his belt, looking more closely at the damaged nose of the ship. There¡ªa copper tank, connected to the fire. He shouted, pointing as he invoked a powerful lance of heated wind in a narrow channel, a sharpened shaft of air heated to its separation point and transmitted at the speed of his shout.


    The air cut into the copper tank, puncturing a hole into which a filled sail¡¯s worth of heated air was injected into the flammable alchemical substance. The tank ruptured, generating its own undirected blast of heat and pressure and spreading clinging fire across the nose of the steamship.


    The steamship returned fire, a ragged volley of one bombard after another. Faint blue light flickered as the forecastle ward shattered, deflecting the first accurate shot into the water to the side. Three more shots landed harmlessly to either side in the water, and then a fifth shot skimmed along the left oarbank, shattering dozens of oars before punching a hole in the side of the ship. The ship slewed sideways as the men of the right oarbank unwittingly pulled one more time, the motion pulling water into the hole and the water pulling the left side of the ship down further.


    Ognyan slipped his wand back into its place on his belt, keeping a grip on his athame as he scrambled to keep standing as the ship slowly rolled sideways. Men screamed as they fell into the water. In the distance, the last of the four galleys turned around.


    ¡°Traitorous cowards,¡± Ognyan said. Then the ship turned more, and he could not keep standing on the deck; the deck was above him, coated with a layer of retreating air bubbles. He grabbed at the railing as it receded away from him. A moment later, he had landed on the shallow sea floor, the surface of the water visible above him but very far away.


    Above him, silhouetted by the morning sunlight dancing through the gleaming surface of the shallow Cimmerian Sea, was a creature with two arms, a mane of hair, a feminine torso, and a long, powerful finned tail.


    ¡°Hey!¡± he called out, a bubble of air escaping his mouth as he walked along the sandy sea bottom, waving his open left hand. His right hand stayed tucked behind his back, silver athame concealed within.


    The creature spun, swimming swiftly in his direction. A mermaid. Ognyan could recall from his lessons that sources were divided on the nature of mermaids¡ªwhether they were elemental spirits made flesh or some kind of magical creature or fictional was not clear. He could now eliminate one of those three possibilities. It had the face of a beautiful woman.


    He smiled as it came near, and it smiled back. When it reached out as if to grasp him by the shoulders, he suddenly pivoted against the sea floor, yanking the creature¡¯s hair and pulling it into a chokehold with his left arm, hooking his legs around its hips. Its anatomy was humanlike enough that the familiar and well-practiced move worked, though instead of being pinned against the ground, the violent thrashing of the creature¡¯s tail lifted Ognyan off the sea floor, both of them spinning weightlessly through the water.


    Ognyan ignored the disorienting movement around him, the hair obscuring his vision, and the burning of his lungs as he brought his right hand to bear with its silver blade. The mermaid screamed as he cut the first thin line into its back, but he kept his strokes steady and quick, connecting one line to another. Then he transferred the knife to his mouth, spots appearing in his vision as he pressed his ring finger against the blade.


    He pressed his right hand against the bleeding back of the mermaid. Three short chanted words, three bubbles of precious air gone. The mermaid shuddered and was still. He pulled the knife out from between his teeth.


    ¡°Surface,¡± he said, bending forward to force one more word out without bringing water into his lungs.


    The burning sensation in his lungs grew ever stronger. Hair still covered his eyes. When he could not bear it any longer, he opened his mouth, gasping, pulling in a mixture of air, hair, and water. He coughed with a sense of relief. Then he pushed more magic into the bloody runes carved into the beautiful back of the mermaid, using his left hand to steer his mermaid mount by the hair, turning to face the morning sun as he breathed long, deep, ragged breaths, relieved to be alive. He was so low in the water that he could rarely see anything past the nearest waves lapping around his head, but the morning sun gave him the bearing he knew he needed to return to friendly.


    Another head like that of a beautiful woman surfaced in the water to the south, nearer to the flaming wreckage floating on the water, a puzzled expression visible as the creature drew nearer. Ognyan stared back, the weight of the silver blade steady in his hand. The creature looked away first, its head turning away as it ducked back beneath the water, a rippling shadow moving away.

 Chapter 16: Diplomacy

    ¡°I am told you are nearly as fluent in Greek as Iskender,¡± Bey Ishak said, lowering his spyglass but keeping his gaze fixed on the distant steamer grounded on the spit. ¡°I have a task for you.¡±


    ¡°It is not my mother tongue, sir,¡± I said, modestly. ¡°But I have been practicing regularly.¡±


    ¡°As would I, if I kept a high-bred Greek pet who spoke not a word of Turkish,¡± the bey said. ¡°But I do not, and I have too few thaumaturges to spare Iskender. You seem steady enough of nerve to rely upon¡ªI saw the dogs and children at that farmhouse, and I remember how your nerve held steady when we were cheated at the dice table. I need a man who is stern of heart, severe of aspect, and speaks the language of the natives of the city.¡±


    The fact that he knew of Helena unsettled me; the description of her as a ¡°pet¡± felt insulting, though it was an insult I was obliged to ignore. Even if I could have afforded to take offense on her behalf, the pragmatic reality was that by the laws of the Sultanate, she was little more than a ¡°pet,¡± no matter that I loved her. She had been a gift of looted property, a prize of war whose ownership would remain just as mutable as that of a fine horse, dog, or falcon unless I married her or she bore a child that I acknowledged.


    My acquisition of her had not been in any way secret, but I had thought that the homely slave of a hostage prince would be easily enough forgotten. Helena¡¯s decision to disguise her beauty had embarrassed Pasha Mustafa; the acuity of his vision called into question in front of everyone; if others remembered, then surely it meant they had continued to talk about it in spite of my hiding Helena away out of sight. With relevance in the sultan¡¯s court came vulnerability, so I was doubly glad that I had taken her out of the palace under the pretense of selling her off before my journey, finding her a humble house where she could remain hidden.


    Once Bey Ishak had completed giving me his instructions, I repeated them back to him, proving that I had memorized his orders correctly. By now, the army was in sight from the city, moving at the sluggish speed of bombards dragged by ox teams. For all that my unit had silenced one early-waking farmer, I felt sure others would have noticed the arrival of the army, but the panicked burst of activity I could see as little dots representing men ran along the walls and through the city suggested that the city had truly been caught by surprise.


    If only the army had arrived earlier, it might have come within range of the walls before being noticed. I checked my equipage one last time and then set off down the hill. The bannerman and his brother followed twenty paces behind as I rode towards the city gate, my pistols re-plugged and stowed in my saddlebags, my shield hanging from my saddle. I was near a hundred yards from the gate when an arrow sailed out from the wall, landing point-first in the dirt¡ªeither poorly aimed or a warning. I halted, raising my hands above my head, a pale beige scarf clasped in my right hand.


    ¡°A parley!¡± I shouted. ¡°I come to parley!¡± Nervously, I glanced back over my shoulder.


    Behind me, the bannerman and his brother backed their horses up a little bit, bows held but neither raised nor knocked. I did not know whether they felt confident in their ability to return fire or were sensibly cautious of the defenders¡¯ advantage in numbers and position on the heights of the city wall. Farther away, Bey Ishak¡¯s army spilled outward to either side of the road, filling the low ground between and in front of two hills as the long file of the army on the move spread into offensive ranks. The bombards were nearly last, with three mechs trailing behind them in a rear guard.


    To the left of the army, I could see that Bey Ishak was still standing on the hill that I left him on, though his aide had ridden away. For a commander to give orders in the field and exercise any kind of stratagem requiring control of his army, he must know what the situation is, and there is no easier way to know the state of a battlefield than to see it from above. In the middle of the mix of a melee, a commander can be a great boost to morale but quite thoroughly and unfortunately unaware of the state of battle.


    ¡°Dismount,¡± came the return call from the gatehouse, a shout audible above the creak of chains as the main gates shut. ¡°And come forward.¡±


    I was halfway between my horse and the closing gates when two men emerged from the wall, presumably from a concealed postern gate. The first man¡¯s hair was salted with white but not fully gray; like me, he was armored but only lightly armed, a simple one-handed sword on his belt. His breastplate had orichalcum inlay¡ªlikely enchanted and therefore vastly superior protection to my plated mail¡ªbut the rest of him was festooned with an explosion of colorful cloth. One leg of his hose was tight, and the other was in bagged folds, and his sleeves were both slashed and puffed, looking like a pair of pillows.


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    The second man was dressed more simply but more impressively, in silk clothes dyed a stark black¡ªa rare color that had become fashionable in Venice recently. The art of making a good black dye had not reached Wallachia by the time I left, and the fashion had not been transmitted across the lines of hostility between the Serene Republic and the Sultanate. The man in black did not wear a sword on his belt, simply a pouch, an eating knife, and a thin silver dagger with a gemstone set in the pommel.


    ¡°Hail, and well met,¡± I said, sketching out a bow as I addressed the two men in Greek, unsure which would speak with me.


    ¡°Hail,¡± the man in black replied, giving me only a curt nod as the colorful man returned the bow silently but in full. ¡°Who are you, and wherefore do you wish to parley? Are you here simply to demand tribute?¡±


    ¡°I am the Dragon¡¯s son, but today, I come to you as an agent of Bey Ishak, who serves at the order of Pasha Mustafa, who serves at the order of Sultan Alaeddin,¡± I said. ¡°I am here to demand your prompt surrender without the waste of a fight.¡±


    ¡°Well, Dragon¡¯s son, we are well supplied by the bounty of the sea,¡± the man replied. ¡°These walls have stood off many hungry armies in the past and have not been breached by force for a thousand years.¡±


    ¡°Do you not pay tribute to the Golden Emperor?¡± I asked, curious enough to overlook his rude failure to introduce himself. ¡°If the walls have not been breached in a thousand years, then surely that means the city has surrendered without a fight before. Several times, I should think. Did you fend off the Mongols?¡±


    Taken aback, the man coughed, surprised enough to swallow words that lodged irritably in his throat as he found their use foreclosed. ¡°The tribute we pay to the Undying Emperor is a voluntary affair, and to our benefit,¡± the man said. ¡°Foreign ships taking port at Tanais pay higher fees. Nor can they continue upriver. Tanais trade is quite valuable to us.¡±


    I pointed northwest. ¡°The sultan wishes to close the sea trade to Tanais. You may save both tribute and docking fees. Bey Ishak promises that if you surrender today, when he has waited for zero sunsets outside of your walls, he will have zero sixteenth parts of the city sacked. Then he will demand a tithe of zero boys and men out of every forty infidels of suitable age to be impressed into Sultan Alaeddin¡¯s service. He further pledges that so long as he is governor of Pantikapaion, he will collect a head tax of but one akcheh per infidel citizen per year, as he has seen but one sunrise outside of your walls.¡±


    The man with the pillowed sleeves gave me a confused look. The man in the black silk was simply silent.


    ¡°You do know what is meant by zero, yes? It is none at all.¡± I said, attempting to clarify.


    ¡°I know the Hindu number system with its empty digit; I use it for my accounting,¡± snapped the man in black. ¡°What I fail to understand is what this threat is meant to entail. A fraction of zero out of anything is simply the same as zero.¡±


    ¡°Those are the words of his promise,¡± I said. ¡°Precisely as he gave them to me.¡± I then repeated the bey¡¯s promise, more carefully and slowly. ¡°It is upon you to reach the rational epigogic conclusion.¡±


    ¡°He offers nothing, and he has nothing.¡± The man in black crossed his arms. ¡°We have several skilled earth mages who can prevent any undermining, and I do not see the sort of numbers and ladders required to overwhelm the wall by scaling. He will sit outside of the walls for a little while and then leave when hunger or the Golden Emperor drives him away. Which shall not take long¡ªHermonassa stands across the strait.¡±


    ¡°Hermonassa has sent its best,¡± I argued. ¡°And that best¡ªfour warships¡ªwas routed handily by a single steamship. As for your walls, they are much thinner than the walls of Constantinople, which Sultan Alaeddin breached in a single day¡ªI know, for I was there.¡±


    ¡°Preposterous propaganda,¡± the man in black blustered, but then sent a quick, nervous glance in the direction of his companion, who shrugged minutely.


    ¡°The bey has mighty mechs and great bombards at his disposal,¡± I pointed out, looking at the stubborn black-clad man even though my words were aimed more at his companion, who I guessed knew more about military matters. ¡°Your ancient walls will not stand long against modern weapons.¡±


    The man in black crossed his arms. ¡°Is there anything else?¡±


    Reflexively, I wanted to argue further, but I could not even say to myself why I should hope for the bey¡¯s gambit to succeed. The Sultanate did not deserve enlargement, and if the citizens of Pantikapaion could fend off the bey¡¯s army until imperial forces arrived, it would probably be all the better for them. They knew their defenses better than I did¡ªand with the whole of the bey¡¯s army now in sight, they knew the strength of the Sultanate¡¯s available forces as well as I did.


    ¡°I will transmit your rejection to him,¡± I said in place of any further argument, ¡°but may I know who you are? The bey will not credit an anonymous statement.¡±


    ¡°I am Theophilos Romulides,¡± the black-clad man said. ¡°And I am a councilor of this city. You may tell the bey that he cannot bluff his way through our walls.¡±


    With that, Theophilos turned, followed by the other man. I watched them as they went, already conversing in low tones to one another, but did not spot the postern gate. When they neared the wall, Theophilos gestured, and a small thick cloud of smoke erupted to conceal them. When it dissipated, they were gone, and archers on the top of the wall had begun to finger their bows. I took that as my cue to leave.


    ¡°When next you want to parley, send a man out,¡± I shouted, directing my voice to the top of the wall and the men I could see there. I did not tarry longer, heading for my horse. It was a very short walk; as I had been standing there talking, the horse had ambled slowly in my direction while it grazed. I checked my pistols and my shield before mounting, then rode back to speak with the bey.


    I thought that the bey would be most sorely disappointed by the response from the city.