A Burning Sea by Theodore Brun (i am reading a book txt) 📕

other hand, I suppose one soldier can accept the word of another. Come then! Swear on this Var of yours and begin your service.’

‘Before I do, I ask one condition, Majesty.’

‘Condition?’

‘When the siege is at an end, if I have served you well, that I be released from my oath to return to the north. Queen Lilla has unfinished business there. My place is beside her to see it accomplished.’

‘Hm,’ he grunted. ‘You know many would not dare speak to an emperor like that.’

‘I meant no offence.’ His eyes flicked to Lilla. ‘But without your assent to this, I cannot serve you.’

‘I see your queen means much to you.’

‘I owe her much already, Majesty.’

Leo gave an abrupt snort. ‘You’re right, Queen Lilla. This one is loyal indeed. . . Although I heard he holds few qualms for those to whom he owes nothing.’

‘Majesty?’

‘Lord Katāros tells me you slew Arbasdos’s best spatharios. The general will not love you for it.’

‘I don’t suppose he does. The fight was his choice, my lord.’

‘No doubt.’ The emperor nodded thoughtfully. ‘Did you know you had a friend in the general’s household?’ So saying, he signalled to an attendant. The man vanished into one of the recesses surrounding the huge octagonal hall and returned quickly. In his hands was an object Erlan knew only too well.

Wrathling.

‘Silanos sent this here. A gift for his emperor, he said. Although he must have known I have no need of it. I believe he meant it to come back to you.’ He took it from the servant and held it out to Erlan, hilt first. Erlan took it and felt a thrill of recognition as his fingers curled around its grip.

‘It suits you well.’

Erlan dropped to his knees. ‘Majesty.’

‘Come, Northman. On your feet – please. There’s time enough for grovelling.’ He nodded to Lilla. ‘Well, Queen Lilla. So be it. Your man shall serve me till death, or else the siege is ended. Whichever comes the sooner.’

‘Majesty,’ she murmured, bowing her head, but not before her eyes had flashed in triumph at Erlan.

As for him, his heart swelled with new purpose, and for a moment he was overcome with such gratitude to his new lord that it came close to love. And yet, no sooner had he felt this in the depths of his heart than a cold and bitter splinter entered there too. . .

Vassili’s words. You must drink his blood.

Or else be bound by the Watcher’s curse for ever.

A riddle too strange, or too dark, to fathom.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

After the requisite backslapping and bear hugs when first they were reunited, Einar took the news that he was now in the service of an emperor as he took most things: lubricated with a jar or two of the city’s finest.

‘So you’re saying if I want to help Queen Lilla and get back home before I lose the last of my teeth, then I have to spend the foreseeable future kissing the arse of this golden prince?’ Einar tugged at the braid hanging off his chin and took another massive gulp from his wine cup.

‘Something like that,’ conceded Erlan.

‘Sort of an arse-cheek each, is it?’

‘Hm! You can have first pick.’

‘Delightful. Though I can’t say I’m in a mad hurry to get home. I expect what’s waiting for us back there – that is, if we ever get home –’ he slurred, ‘will be a sight less cosy than what this city has to offer.’

‘Beginning to like the place, are you?’ Truly, the Fat-Bellied looked as happy as a pig in slurry.

Einar wrinkled his nose. ‘It has its diversions.’

‘Long-haired ones, I’m guessing.’

‘A man’s got to eat. So to speak.’

‘Well, Fat-Belly,’ said Erlan, giving him another slap on the shoulder. ‘Personally, I don’t know what to make of this place. But Lilla has her plan. And whatever she thinks she can get out of this Leo fellow, she’s counting on us.’

‘Best not fuck it up for the lass then, hey?’ Einar bashed his cup against Erlan’s and a shard of pottery went flying. ‘Drink up.’

Once they had been equipped with the uniform of the emperor’s personal guard – white tunic, white cloak, white-plumed helm, polished scale armour that would have cost a small fortune in silver back in the north, and white shield – they reported to the commander of the palace guard. A tall, efficient man, as spare of frame as he was with his words, his name was Alexios. ‘We carry spear and shield. Then again,’ he added, ‘we shouldn’t have to fight. Not unless every soldier in Byzantium is already dead.’

‘That’s good to know,’ said Einar approvingly. ‘But if I do have to fight, it’ll be with this old fellow.’ The Sveär tapped the tip of his battered axe. The long handle was scored with old marks and cuts, each one a memento to another man’s attempt to kill him. But its blade was nearly a foot long, polished to a mirror and sharp as sin. Alexios peered at the weapon doubtfully. ‘An axe?’

‘Aye, a bloody axe,’ barked Einar. ‘I can paint the thing white if it makes you happier.’

‘That won’t be necessary. And you?’

‘I have this,’ said Erlan, touching Wrathling’s hilt. ‘But I’ll use a spear if I must. A man can’t carry too much steel. In my experience.’

‘I know something of your experience,’ replied Alexios. ‘You killed Georgios.’

‘Georgios?’

‘He was Arbasdos’s best spatharios. Some say the best in the city. And a friend of mine.’

‘Someone should have told me.’

The guard commander held Erlan’s gaze for a long moment, his face calm and unreadable. ‘I would have done the same,’ he said at length. ‘In your position.’

‘Not that it’s worth much. . . but I’m sorry you lost your friend.’

Alexios grunted. ‘We all die. Not everyone lives when they have the chance. But he did. . . at least until you came along. . . Now, most of your immediate duties will be ceremonial.’

‘Ceremonial?’

‘He means mostly we’ll be standing around,’ explained Einar.

Erlan nodded. After his time