The Propontis, North of the Golden Horn
Arrows fell like rain, some burning, streaking across the night. Men struggling on the shore screamed, dying under the iron hail. Shahr-Baraz, King of Kings, Lord of the Persians and the Medes, spurred his horse forward, hooves rumbling on the plank road. Around him, Persian spearmen surged forward, every third man carrying a torch. The night was a wild confusion of burning lights and darkness. Bonfires roared on the shore, throwing a ruddy, red light on the faces of the soldiers. The Boar cantered down off the bridge, his sword raised, catching the firelight. "Forward! Clear the road!"
A deep-throated roar answered him and spearmen and diquans in full armor poured down onto the beach. Roman soldiers fled before him, throwing down bundles of pitch-soaked brush and lanterns. The King reined in his horse, laughing-a huge booming sound that rolled and echoed across the battlefield-to see the Romans running like hares. More arrows fell amongst the fleeing men. Dark shapes ran between them, gore-streaked swords flashing. More men died. Shahr-Baraz sheathed his sword with a ting and raised the silver visor of his helmet. The metal plate was worked into the face of a man, with a nose and eyes, and inlaid with gold. Wearing a full suit made for hot work, but gave excellent protection.
"My lord?"
The Shahanshah looked down, tugging at his mustaches. "Yes, Lord Piruz?"
The Eastern diquan made a sharp bow, then pointed up the road. "The Romans are falling back along the road, too; should we pursue?"
"No." Shahr-Baraz's voice was firm. A troop of men with long axes and maces clattered past down the wooden ramp from the last of the ships. "Push down the road until you can only just make out the bonfires. Round up the guards and beat the bushes for more Romans and our own men. We'll begin sending the army across at first light. You had better have secured the area by then."
Piruz made another bow and then clanked off into the night. A score of men in full mail and swords followed him. Shahr-Baraz sighed. The Easterner had a black scarf knotted where his breastplate and shoulder armor joined. One of Purandokht's tokens. Some days, the King wondered which of his adopted daughters had more followers. No matter! he thought. They are here, these hotheaded youths, and they fight for me. We can deal with the suitors later, after the war has culled them!
Shahr-Baraz nudged his horse and trotted back up the ramp. The surface swayed under the charger's heavy tread, but the Boar was not concerned. His engineers had built well on the foundation provided by the Arab fleet. Lines of men marched in the other direction as he let the horse trot along. The Boar knew them, passing in the night, by their standards and ornamented shields, by the make of their helms and the fletching of their arrows. Khorasanians, Medes, Daylami archers, Gaur mountaineers, lowlanders from Mesopotamia, the hill chiefs of Tabaristan. All the panoply and glory of Imperial Persia. He passed lanterns too, suspended on the stern posts of the ships making up his bridge.
Khadames had not believed such a thing could be built, even when Shahr-Baraz showed him the passage in one of the old books. A hero of ancient times had done this, crossing over the Hellespont. He had been fighting Greeks, too. Most of the Arab fleet did yeoman duty, lashed together with ropes, making a wooden bridge from one side of the Propontis to the other. A wide swath of buildings across Chalcedon had been looted for the timber to make a roadbed on the back of the fleet. Shields flanked the sides of the wooden road, giving men on the precarious bridge shelter from Roman attacks.
Shahr-Baraz grinned in the darkness, torchlight catching on his strong white teeth. An enormous weight was taken from him, knowing the Arab fleet prowled out in the darkness, watching the approaches to the city, keeping Roman boats from attacking this fragile lifeline between Europe and Asia. He raised a gauntleted hand in salute-the folly of Heraclius and the noble honor of Palmyra and Arabia made this possible. Bless you, Emperor!
"King of Kings." The voice was flat, emotionless, without a hint of human warmth.
Shahr-Baraz gentled his horse, which was not used to the odd smell, and halted. He was on the third ship from the Asian shore, now confronted with two dark figures, cloaked and hooded, showing only the barest glint of iron scale at their hands. "You have news?"
"Yes. Our brothers say the Romans are all dead."
"Good." The Shanzdah had been set to watch and wait, while the guard at the western end of the bridge slept. A wise decision. Shahr-Baraz did not bother to ask how these figures knew what transpired a mile away, where their fellows hunted in the darkness. "Is there more?"
"Yes. You are wanted beyond the hill."
"Ah. Tell your master I will be there in a little while."
The King of Kings did not bother to wait for a response. He had not managed to get to the scene of the abortive raid in time to even swing a blade, but the dash across the water had roused his appetite. He would eat before he went down into the valley behind the hills. The black wagon could wait, having nowhere to go, save where he directed.
– |The sun had risen, wallowing up out of an eastern sky thick with clouds and haze, by the time Shahr-Baraz rode down into the dell hiding the wagon. Cold mist clung to the ground, coiling among dark-skinned trees and tombs. Slabs of cracked stone rose out of the ground, covered with thorns and vines. The path narrowed, passing between a pair of standing stones. The Boar was sure the locals had chosen this marshy hollow for their graveyard because no one wanted to live there anyway. Surely no land worth planting with wheat, grape, olive, flax or rye had been lost! Even at midday the damp ground under the trees seemed dark and close. A chill hung in the air. The charger snorted, shaking its head, but the King urged it on. Horse and man passed through an opening in a paling of iron poles driven into the ground.
Shahr-Baraz felt the cold eyes of hidden guardians watching him but showed no sign of fear. Tomb-houses loomed up out of the dim light, their doors cracked and splintered. Moss hung from carved lintels and oozed across dirty floors. It was very still, without the sound of bird or man. Only the clop-clop of the charger's iron hooves on the tilted stone road disturbed the heavy silence. He reached a particular tree and stopped, swinging down off the horse. The charger stared at him with wild eyes, but the Boar ignored its entreaty, tying it securely to a low-hanging branch.
"I'll feed you when I get back." His voice sounded hollow in the air.
Beyond the tree, he walked to the left, then right, then ahead, following a path marked by small lead cones placed on the ground. The wards were etched with tiny, spiky symbols. Shahr-Baraz felt their presence as a growing resistance in the air, tugging at his beard, the passage of cold, ghostly fingers over his face and hands. At last he climbed a flight of ancient, crumbling steps and into the ruins of a temple. Only the snag-teeth of columns remained, marking out a double rectangle among tumbled blocks of stone and carvings. The black wagon sat at the center of the platform, heavy and forbidding. Broken mossy slabs floored the temple. Lines and patterns were scratched into the stone. A figure squatted, hands on knees, before the wagon, facing Shahr-Baraz. The King paced forward, stepping carefully, and the resistance in the air suddenly lessened.
Darkness folded around the Boar and he stopped, planting his feet, thumbs hooked into his belt. Though he stood under an open sky, here there was only twilight. High overhead, the sun was reduced to a dim bloated red disk. Walls of slowly moving gray smoke bounded the temple, shutting out the sight of the leprous trees and oddly pale undergrowth among the tombs.
The figure moved, raising its head. There was a rasp of metal on metal. Black-painted ears rose, smooth, muscular limbs flexed and the thing stood. It had the body of a man, olive skinned, belted with leather and a black kilt. The head was that of a great dog, a jackal, shining with red-painted eyes and a glistening iron finish.
What has happened? A voice echoed from the iron mask, splintered and broken by the shape of the mouth. My Eyes tell me that the Romans came against the bridge.
"They did. The Shanzdah were waiting and slew many. My soldiers drove off the rest. The bridge is safe and the army will begin moving across today, if the weather holds and the waters in the strait are quiet."
Excellent. Has the Axumite brought you the box?
"Yes." Shahr-Baraz nodded, curious. He reached into the tunic lying over his armor and pulled forth a small obsidian box covered with glyphs and figures. Some of the pictures were disturbing, showing coiling worms and an odd-looking city like the domain of enormous termites. "I have it safe with me at all times. Do you want it?"
No! This thing must stay closed and with you. Its contents are precious. G'harne does not give up her secrets easily… when the time is right, I will take it from you.
Shahr-Baraz smirked, pocketing the box. "You're afraid of this little box? It's barely big enough for a hen's egg."
Even so. Even so. There was a chuckling sound. Now, where is the Arab, this Mohammed?
Shahr-Baraz laughed, a rich, booming sound. "You cannot see him with your dead eyes?"
No! If I could see him, in the waking world or the hidden, he might perceive me as well. Tell me, is he still across the water?
"Yes," Shahr-Baraz nodded, "safe on the European shore. His army screens the city, watching for us while we labor on the bridge. It has been slow work-he failed to capture the town of Perinthus, so he lacks a good harbor for his ships-but we have finished. Soon we will be able to assail the city itself."
Do not hurry. There are friends coming to join us, from the North.
"Ah. The Avars have agreed to fight at our side, then?"
Yes. Khagan Bayan is coming with a great host of men. With them at our side, we will field more than a hundred thousand fighters.
"Can you send a message to your Eyes with Bayan?" The Boar tugged at his mustaches, thinking.
Yes. It is difficult, hidden as I am, but possible. What would you have him learn? The voice seemed puzzled, which brought a brief flicker of amusement to the Boar.
"Our situation here is precarious-though I'm sure you don't think so. Our army is far from home, living from forage and looting amongst the Roman villas. The Arab army is in equal straits. I have learned from a friend amongst the Arabs the Roman fleet blockades the southern mouth of the Hellespont, trapping our allies in the Propontis. The Roman fleet may have brought more troops-a new army, perhaps a Western army-which will attempt to relieve the city. At the moment, we have the strength to besiege and surround Constantinople, but not to take it by main strength."
We have discussed this. All you need to do is force a battle. I will take care of the rest.
"So you say, but I do not trust your plan. It is too complicated. The Fates are fickle and unkind, always waiting to trip up unwary men. Now-the Romans have spies everywhere, watching us. It is impossible for us to root them all out, to hide ourselves from their eyes, not in their own country. Bayan and his Avars, therefore, must move into the vicinity of the city quietly and carefully and out of sight. There will be no communication between us, save by your powers. The Romans will not come out of their city unless they think victory over us is assured."
Ah, we must appear threatening, but weak enough to defeat in open battle. An injured rabbit, thrashing in the underbrush. Very well, I will influence the khagan.
"Good. We will see if we can defeat the Romans by human skill and arms. If I fail, then you will have your chance." Shahr-Baraz smirked, wondering if the jackal-headed man could understand what passed between the sorcerer and the King. "When will you cross over?"
Not soon! This is not a simple matter. I will continue to sleep, watching and waiting.
The Boar snorted. "Missing your head, are you? Afraid of this Arab?"
Do not mock me! The power that moves in the Quraysh is like the sun, indescribable, unsurpassed. If he knew-if that power knew-that I was your ally, he would turn against you. That would be a deadly struggle.
"You could not defeat it, then?" Shahr-Baraz pressed, stepping a foot closer to the black wagon and its inhabitant. Inside, encased in gold and lead, bounded around with spells and wards, lay the corpse of a prince. Despite its missing head, the body remained alive in some horrific way. "Could you fight it to a draw?"
I am not afraid of this Arab or the power that has woken in him. The voice was petulant. But such a struggle would wreck all these lands, perhaps shatter the world. Even I, who know the secrets of death and life alike, prefer to walk and speak and live in a green world.
"Ah. Then we must avoid discovery, eh? Well, you seem snug in your box. I have heard from our 'friend' Lord Mohammed carries your head in his ship, safe and sound. Of course, if the ship should sink…"
Do not say such things!
"Hah! Don't worry-it is quite safe, I'm sure. A bold ploy of yours-I'm not sure that I would be so free with my head." Shahr-Baraz swallowed the rest of his laughter. The chill in the air deepened and an almost palpable anger began to radiate from the wagon. "Peace! Peace. I will not mock you… much. Tell me this, if you can; when the time comes to move you, will a ship suffice, or will we need the bridge?"
A dry hiss echoed in the air, but the chill withdrew and the air lightened. The bridge would be best… if the wooden road were covered with earth, or the boats lined with saplings, that would be very effective.
"Saplings?" Shahr-Baraz shook his head. "I'll keep a fast galley on hand, waiting below these cliffs, on the shore. Once the army is across, we dare not keep the bridge up-it's too easy a target for the Roman fleet and impossible to protect. I want those ships free."
There was no answer, only a brooding silence. After a few moments, the King retraced his steps, careful to leave the tiny lead cones untouched, and returned to his horse. The jackal-headed man remained, squatting once again, waiting patiently. The dim red sun continued to ride high in the sky, casting a baleful light on the dead tombs.