

Praise for The Bones of the Earth

"I could not put this book down...this story will keep you totally absorbed and the plot twists are never ending. The research involved in this book is undeniable. Scott Bury has managed to capture the quality of fantasy mixed with the historical reality of the times to present a truly remarkable and magical story. I highly recommend this book!"

—Marilou George, Confessions of a Reader, and reviewer for the Kindle Book Review

"The moment I started reading this book, I found it almost impossible to put it down."

Haresh Daswani, author of Evolution of Insanity

"My heart was beating faster as the main encounter drew near, that is how well this book was written."

—Alan McDermott, author of Gray Justice and Gray Resurrection

"Javor is a brilliant character: brave, fierce, loyal, compassionate...He is simply who he is: wonderful and heroic."

—Elise Stokes, author of the Cassidy Jones series of middle-grade/young adult novels

"Scott Bury has firmly established his place in the fantasy genre.... My intention to read the first chapter or two failed miserably. Several hours later and I found myself half-way through the book...You never know what's around the next curve in the road, hidden in a dark cave, or even whom you can trust. Just when you think it's safe—WHAM! The story pulls you in, and the action pushes you from one page to the next. It's a heck of a good story, and I highly recommend it."

—KD Rush, author of the Rush Report blog

"The real strength of The Bones of the Earth is that Bury has created a realistic character chosen by fate and destiny, who is able to fight magical, mystical forces with his very human strength, skill, and determination. I look forward to reading more."

—Will Granger, author of Anabar's Run and Anabar Rises

"Scott Bury demonstrates his considerable writing skills by masterfully weaving a story that has you holding your breath."

—Roger Eschbacher, author, Dragonfriend: Leonard the Great, Book One

"...an excellent tale that has you on the edge of your seat."

—D.L. Atkinson, author of I Have to Get it Right, The Biter Bit and The 51st State

The Bones of the Earth

By Scott Bury

The Bones of the Earth, Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2011 by Scott Bury

All rights reserved

No part of this story may be used or reproduced in any manner without the prior written permission of the author, except for brief quotations in reviews.

Cover image and design by Lisa Damerst

Edited by Roxanne Bury and Will Granger

Quality control by iAi Independent Authors International

Published by The Written Word Communications Company at Smashwords

Ottawa, Ontario, Canada

www.writtenword.ca

ISBN 978-0-9879141-0-1

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication information is available.

Table of Contents

Foreword

Part 1: Initiation Rites

Chapter 1—Mystery and ecstasy

Chapter 2—The rescue

Chapter 3—Coming home

Chapter 4—The hunt

Chapter 5—The cave

Chapter 6—Pain

Part 2: Tests

Chapter 7—Journeying south

Chapter 8—Attack

Chapter 9—Refugees

Chapter 10—Counter-attack

Chapter 11—Into Dacia

Chapter 12—On the road

Chapter 13—The stricken village

Chapter 14—The Roman outpost

Chapter 15—Dragon attack

Chapter 16—To kill a dragon

Chapter 17—Down from the mountain

Part 3: The Mission

Chapter 18—Old Wisdom

Chapter 19—Constantinople

Chapter 20—Finding the order

Chapter 21—The Abbey

Chapter 22—Novice

Chapter 23—Deeper knowledge

Chapter 24—Initiation

Chapter 25—The barbarian princess

Chapter 26—Examining the dagger

Chapter 27—The Hippodrome

Chapter 28—Fire and glass

Chapter 29—When the Danube was blue

Chapter 30—Barbarians and monsters

Chapter 31—A conversation with the dragon

Chapter 32—Barbarians versus monsters

Chapter 33—The hall of the mountain king

Chapter 34—The goddess' cave

Chapter 35—The people of knowledge

Chapter 36—The spell on the mountain

Epilog: Constantinople

About the author

Foreword from the author

The Bones of the Earth is a work of fiction; some would even say fantasy. However, it is set in a very real time and place, and writing it involved extensive historical research. For that reason, the genre or label I like best is "historical magic realism."

The real setting of this story is eastern Europe in the sixth century CE. The story begins on the southern slopes of the western Carpathian mountains, a region now at the borders of Ukraine, Romania and Hungary, and that may be the origin of the Slavic peoples.

The names may seem strange to those used to reading fiction set in more western locations. They are all old Slavic, Gothic, Greek and Latin names, chosen to make the story as true to the period as possible. The geography, historical details and religious ideas are also as true to the period as I could make them.

But those details are not the point. The most important thing is that you enjoy this story.

For Roxanne, Maurice, Sophia, Nicolas and Evan

Part 1: Initiation Rites

Chapter 1: Mystery and ecstasy

Wait. Wait. Wait.

Wait until the full moon is high, Vorona chanted. Wait until magic fills the night.

They waited as Vorona's steady drumbeat pulled the full moon over the trees.

"Mysyach," she repeated with every drum beat. No one else spoke or even moved. They waited as Mysyach, the moon goddess, slowly revealed her face. On this warm night, they felt a promise being fulfilled: "A full moon the night before the summer solstice is a very rare event," Vorona had said one full moon ago in this same clearing. "It is the time for young men and women to worship, to celebrate their own fertility." They had danced naked to Vorona's beating drum and returned home, exhausted and expectant.

Now, one month later, the night before the summer solstice, they gathered again in the clearing. Vorona's moonlight ceremonies were irresistible, and open only to the unmarried young adults—no children or married people allowed. Twenty such came to the clearing just before moonrise, speaking low and fast in small groups. In the middle were the most popular couple, Mrost the bully and his girlfriend Grat; the others laughed at all their jokes and never dared interrupt them.

As always, Javor was the last to arrive and stood a little apart, wondering what to do. What if they tell me to leave? he thought. He shifted his weight from foot to foot until he spotted Hrech, his only friend. Then he saw Elli talking with her two girlfriends at the side of the clearing. She is prettier than Grat, and nicer, too, he thought as usual. Why does everyone like Grat better? He wondered whether he should go to Hrech or Elli.

No one noticed Vorona arrive; she seemed to appear in the centre of the clearing. Vorona had set herself up as the village's witch: the woman who knew about herbs and remedies, who knew who was too closely related to marry, who dispensed potions and advice about finding a lover or getting a baby. But she was no crone. Perhaps twenty years old, she had long, rich brown hair and curves that Javor had started to notice when he had turned 13. She had big, widely-spaced eyes that she accented by painting dark outlines around them, and they flashed green in daylight and strangely silver by firelight. She had high cheekbones, a delicate face, wide lips and a delicate dimple like a tiny furrow in the end of her nose.

Tonight, she wore a metal necklace and a silvery bracelet. A single piece of amber hung in the centre of her forehead, suspended from a leather band around her head. A long robe of yellow and red, woven in a fiery pattern, hung from her shoulders. The front was cut very low and Javor took a good look at the curve of her breasts in the moonlight. As she turned he could see that the robe's skirts parted at the side, revealing not only her leg but her whole hip. His heart started to beat faster.

The moon's lower edge cleared the tallest tree and Vorona startled them all by crying "Worship, young people!" She lifted her hands. "Mistress of the night, Mysyach, bless us tonight as we pay homage to thee!" A pyramid of wood at her feet burst into flame all at once, quickly building into a bonfire. How did she do that? Javor wondered.

"It is time, young worshippers! Join hands in a circle around the fire and begin the ceremony!" Vorona commanded, then bent her head down and crooned words Javor didn't understand.

"What's she saying?" someone whispered.

"She does this every gathering," Hrech whispered back. "It's some ancient language for speaking to the gods and spirits."

Javor suspected she made it up as she went along.

The young people joined hands around Vorona and the fire. And now came that familiar fear, that empty space below his ribs as Javor wondered whether the others would let him into the circle. Hrech had already taken the hand of Elli's friend, Teshla. Teshla's other hand held Elli's, but Javor pulled them apart and stepped between them. Elli looked startled, but then smiled nervously as her eyes met Javor's.

Teshla clicked her tongue—she didn't like Javor.

But tonight, they could not exclude him. Vorona had commanded them all to dance beneath the full moon. They had to obey their village shaman, even if she was a woman.

They started an awkward, slow dance around the fire as Vorona continued her keening chant. She threw her hands skyward. "Dance, young lovers, dance! Tonight Mysyach, goddess of the moon is full and ripe! This night is filled with power, with the energy of youth, of life, of strength!" She beat on her small drum, crooning wordlessly. The beat went on and on, faster and faster. The dancers moved frantically to keep up but Vorona was relentless, beating and singing faster and faster.

With a final beat, she stopped. The dancers stopped, too, puffing. "Sit, my children," said Vorona. So now we're her children, are we? The dancers dropped onto the grass. Javor made certain he was lying on his elbows close to Elli. He noticed she didn't move away.

"Tonight, the moon goddess reaches the height of her power. Tonight is a night for youth, for new lives to begin. Tonight the moon goddess breathes life into our crops, begins transforming flowers into fruit. Tonight babies are conceived." The girls giggled nervously.

It's been a long time since a baby was born alive in our village, Javor thought.

"Tonight, my children, the moon goddess's power reaches into our bodies and souls and kindles a fire, an irresistible hunger that can only be satisfied in one way ... "

"How's that, Vorona?" It was Mrost, leering from across the fire.

Vorona glared at Mrost until he lost his smile and looked down. She passed around two wineskins. Javor had drunk sweet, thick undiluted wine before, but this stuff was different. One sip made every sense hard-edged. Javor could hear Elli whispering to Teshla: "... kiss him ..." He could see the fire bright and hot against the black night, could see each of the young people in the ring around it. But the forest beyond vanished, the stars faded. Even the crickets and owls fell silent.

Vorona sang again in her weird language, and Javor thought he could understand her in some roundabout way. All the young people understood. They rose to their feet, joined hands and danced again. Vorona's drum drove them. She threw her head back and sang, voice rising and falling. The dance went on and on, around and around the fire until there was nothing else but the motion and the fire and Vorona's voice.

All at once, the dancers pulled off their rough tunics. Javor felt a moment's panic when Elli let go of his hand to pull her tunic off, and he gasped at the sight of her long neck, her breasts, her belly and hips and thighs in the firelight. He pulled off his own tunic and dropped his trousers, stumbling over them. He and Elli grasped hands again and Elli looked at him with wide eyes, her mouth slightly open, hair over her face as they danced.

He breathed fast and could feel sweat coming between his hand and Elli's. On and on they went, naked before the fire that jumped higher and higher. How does it keep growing if no one is adding fuel? Javor wondered once, and then the beat of the drum and Vorona's voice and the motion of dancing filled his mind and Javor didn't think anymore.

And then Elli's hands were on his shoulders and her mouth was pressing on his. Javor's knees buckled and Elli came down on him. He felt a thrilling shock as her naked belly touched his own. He fell softly onto damp, cold earth, weeds scratching his naked skin. He kissed her, hands roving over her skin. He was afraid when he touched her breasts, but Elli kissed him hard again, open-mouthed, then moved her mouth onto his neck. I should try to make this last, Javor thought, but then he was on top of Elli. She pulled him close and then he was inside her. He moved, awkwardly at first, and Elli gasped once in pain, then pulled him closer. Javor pushed his body up, and some small part of him was still amazed at what was happening. His eyes could see only Elli's, and his body was not under his control. He thrust his hips harder and quickly felt himself flowing into her as Vorona's drum drove them on. He fell to the side, looking at the bonfire, conscious of other couples in the grass around him.

Slowly, reality returned. Javor looked over at Elli, who stared, panting, at the sky. Vorona's drum was slowing, her voice falling. He gradually heard other voices, low and embarrassed.

Javor rose up on one elbow. "Elli ..." But he didn't know what to say, so he kissed her cheek gently. She didn't seem to notice, so he kissed her again, breathing in her scent. His thigh felt wet. He kissed her neck, her shoulder, then her breast, hoping to pull the nipple between his lips. Why didn't I do that before? he wondered, but Elli sat up and pulled away, looking at him with wide eyes. Javor smiled sheepishly. He looked at her, carefully, taking the moment to look at her naked body. She was thin, too thin, really, as they all were. But her breasts were round and high and they made his mouth water. She had almost flawless skin. Her lips were wide and thin but her eyes were large. Those eyes were what Javor had first noticed about Elli.

She gave a little cry, and tears ran down her cheeks. Javor hugged her close, caressing her smooth back. Vorona's drum made three final, slow beats, and Javor could now hear Elli sobbing into his neck. "Sshh, shh," he said. Why is she crying?

Vorona's song ended. Slowly, the night sounds returned, the crickets and frogs and night birds, the sound of the stream and the breeze, the gentle roar of the fire. Javor felt the breeze stirring the hair on his neck, and was conscious of the silky feel of Elli's skin under his hands and pressing against his chest, side and legs, of the slight tickle—did he imagine it?—of her nipples against his ribs.

"Mysyach is sinking into the night, my children," said Vorona. Her voice brought them all back to the present. Now Javor was also conscious of the grass prickling his leg, of the scratches on his back and how cool the night breeze felt. "We have all done well. We have worshipped the goddess. You felt her power in your genitals, her fertility in your wetness. Now dress yourselves and go. The celebration is ended." Elli moved away from him and pulled her tunic over herself. Javor looked for his. What difference does it make which one we each put on? They're all the same.

He looked up, but Elli was already with her friends, talking fast and low. They left the clearing, heading toward the village.

"Go back, my children. Go back to your homes. Sleep while you can. When the sun rises, it will be the solstice, the celebration of the sun."

The fire was dying. Vorona gathered her belongings into a cloth bag, shouldered it and started back to the village. Javor wanted to speak with her, but didn't know what to say.

"Come on, Javor, your parents will be up soon." It was Hrech. Without answering, Javor followed him along the stream. The moon was setting. How long had they danced? "I hope we can get a little sleep before dawn," said Hrech.

"Yah." Without talking any more, they walked back to the village of low, round clay-and-twig huts, half-sunk into the ground, arranged in a flattened circle at the foot of a low hill.

Javor's hut was at one narrow end of the oval, nestled against a small ridge of the hill. Javor's father, Swat, liked to say that the slight rise protected them against the north wind, but Javor could never understand how a rise as high as his waist could provide any shelter.

It was only as he crept through the doorway and fell onto his straw mat that Javor realized how tired he was. He fell asleep immediately. And he dreamed a terrible dream.

He was flying a over wide plain where tall grass browned in the sun. On top of a small hill, a palisade guarded a village. Smoke drifted over the palisade—the village was burning. Bodies lay in front of the huts, and children huddled against the walls, crying for their murdered parents.

Across the plain, horsemen chased people on foot. He wanted to warn the running people about the horsemen, but he could not bring his mouth to open, nor make the smallest noise.

One horseman closed on two men and a woman. The horseman raised a curved shape—a sword. He brought it down sharply, once, twice—the running men fell, twisting, arms flailing, then still. Now, only the woman was left. The horse ran in front of her. The woman darted to one side, then the other, but the horse blocked her. The rider tired of the game quickly, and struck her, too, and she fell.

Javor rose higher, and he could see across the plain. Everywhere, groups of mounted men in dark armour chased terrified villagers on foot. Villages burned. Armoured men raped women. Finally, he descended, watching a group of grinning men taking their turns raping two girls while a village burned behind them. The smoke billowed and concentrated into an enormous man shape.

He forced his lungs to contract as the smoke grew darker and the shape it formed grew more distinct. He could see two great arms, thick as trees, ending in great curved cruel claws.

Javor strained. He pushed and then the scream climbed out of his throat, and he was sitting upright in his bed. The watery dawn light filtered in. He was sweating. To one side, he could hear his parents shifting.

"A dream," he whispered to himself, falling back onto the heather that made up his bed. He gradually slowed his breath, but he could not go back to sleep.

His father got up and smiled. "Time for the ceremony."

Chapter 2: The rescue

Look down. Two young men, boys really, walk across the meadows and forests on the southern slopes of mountains that rise gently, then heave up suddenly to angry grey crags occasionally topped by snow. One of the boys is very tall, with long yellow-gold hair. His long legs propel him swiftly across a meadow thick with yellow and purple flowers. He pays no attention to flies buzzing around him, to crickets and rabbits that leap out of his way.

His companion is smaller with tangled, long black hair. Blotches of soft black fuzz swirl around his chin and down his neck. He scurries to keep up with the blonde's strides and is out of breath. They have been walking fast, nearly running, for hours. It is the solstice, some time past the year's highest noon. Birds are quiet in the hottest part of the day, but insects chirp and hum and trill. Leaves on the trees are still a light green, not yet burned dark by the summer. The air is warm, not hot, not yet.

The dark one gets more anxious with every step. But all morning, the blonde boy has ignored him. The dark boy recognizes this trait in his friend: his ability to focus on one thing to the exclusion of everything else, for hours at a time. In their village, he was called "the dreamer," or worse. Even in normal circumstances, you had to call him by name two or three times to get his attention. But now, he is following the trail of horsemen, mounted raiders, and no matter how many times the dark boy calls "Javor," no matter how futile the quest, he cannot be pulled away.

Sometimes, it is easy to see the trampled grass or broken twigs and bushes, or a torn bit of cloth on a branch. Often, the light-haired boy seems to follow signs that his dark companion cannot see, and every time the dark boy doubts his friend and thinks they have lost the trail, he sees another sign—horse droppings, the surest of all, or once, a girl's colourfully embroidered apron.

The dark boy begins touching every oak and birch tree they pass to pray to their spirits for protection, help, sanity for his friend. "You know, we keep going east. East is bad luck, Javor," he puffs as they start up a slope.

Javor ignores that, too. At the crest of a ridge, he looks around, sees something that his friend cannot, continues at his same obsessive pace.

"You realize," his friend says, trying hard to keep up, "that we fall farther behind them with every step we take. They're on horses." Still no response, so he reaches out and grabs Javor's arm, forcing him to stop.

The blonde turns and looks at his friend without recognizing him. "Javor, we're chasing mounted warriors," the dark boy repeats. "We'll never catch up."

Javor blinks and looks uncomfortable. He seems to realize where he is, comes out of the trance he can put himself into.

"We've been chasing them for hours, and we have no more hope now of ever catching up to them than we ever did. Let's go back home."

"Home?" Javor says it like he has never heard the word before. "No. We have to get the girls back, Hrech."

Javor looks at Hrech, his best friend—his only friend—but what he sees is the morning in the village, all the villagers in their best, whitest clothes, the men in their embroidered vests, women in embroidered aprons and garlands of flowers, all standing in a circle around the oak tree on top of the holy hill.

He remembers how Vorona, the shaman, led the villagers in the hymn to Zaria, the heavenly bride of the sun, to pull the sun over the horizon. They lifted freshly-cut maple branches and sang to the kupalo, the spirits who came out of the forest at the end of winter to spend the summer under the growing grain. The sun rose; Javor saw Elli wearing flowers in her hair, dancing with the other marriageable girls in a separate circle around Grat, the popular girl who had been chosen to be kupailo. The kupailo girl threw out wreaths of flowers; the girls who caught them would be married by fall. The kupailo was supposed to be the most beautiful, but Javor thought Elli was prettier than Grat.

Javor watched intently, hoping and at the same time dreading that Elli would catch a wreath. Before she could, they heard a rapid drumming noise. Someone yelled "horsemen!"

Down the hill, in front of a cloud of dust, mounted men rode fast toward the village. Javor counted: five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. Immediately, the villagers dropped their maple branches and ran for their homes—there was no time to get to the holody, the wooden stockade around the low hill. Riders were invariably soldiers, and that meant trouble.

The women hid in their huts while the men gathered in the centre of the village. The riders reined in hard enough to make their horses rear. They were all armoured and helmeted, with long black hair and beards. They all wore leather armour reinforced with iron strips and studs. Each had a shield on his back, straps over each shoulder, a sword at his side and a small battle-axe on his saddle.

The leader was a large man. In their armour, his shoulders looked to Javor to be wider than any he had ever seen, and his bare forearms rippled with muscle. He bore a horrible scar across his nose. He barked "Who headman here is?" in a strong, strange accent.

Roslaw stepped forward. "We are a peaceful village, sir. We want no trouble."

The rider stared at him. "I Krajan am, Lord of this region in the name of King Bayan," he barked. "This village owe tribute to Bayan, King of the Avars, Overlord of the Empire."

"But Maurice is the Roman emperor," said Old Oresh. The oldest man in the village, he looked up at the man on horseback, swaying a little.

Krajan guided his horse over to Oresh. So fast Javor could hardly see it, Krajan struck Oresh with an iron bar. The old man toppled face-first into the ground and lay still. From a hut, a woman screamed.

"Rome dead is!" Krajan bellowed. "Bayan supreme is! This village owe tribute and support to men of Bayan! You!" he pointed his cudgel at Roslaw. "Food for my men and horses! Bread, meat, wine! Now!"

Terrified, Roslaw ran for his hut. "Borys, some feed for their horses. Hurry!"

Javor heard a yell, rough laughter and girls' screams. One of the Avars had dismounted and was pulling two young women by the hair toward his fellows. With a shock, Javor realized they were Grat and Elli. Stupidly, they had hidden behind a haystack to watch what was going on, and the rider had caught them. The girls struggled and cried uselessly. The rider brought them to his leader.

Krajan dismounted and grabbed Elli by the chin. His mouth twisted into a horrible smile.

"Elli!" Javor yelled and lunged toward them, but his father, Swat, caught him from behind, pinning his arms and pushing him to the ground.

"No, Javor! They'll kill you!" Javor managed to break free in time to see the girls' mothers run out, screaming. Another raider stepped in front of them and savagely hit them with a heavy club. All the other villagers groaned, but no one had the courage to move. The women tried to get up, but the Avar hit Grat's mother on the head again. She fell into the dust and did not move. Elli's mother backed away on hands and knees, crying.

Roslaw and some other men ran up with bags of food. "No, please, leave the girls alone! Take the food, take it all, but leave our daughters!"

Krajan backhanded Roslaw savagely. The warrior's heavy leather and steel gauntlet made a sickening crushing sound as it connected with the headman's face, and Roslaw slumped into the dirt, bleeding from the nose and mouth.

Mladen, Elli's father, sprang forward with a scythe, screaming "Everyone together! We outnumber them!" Faster than anyone could see, another raider drew a sword and slashed down. The scythe clattered to the hard ground, Mladen's severed hand still gripping it. The Avars cheered and laughed; Mladen fell to his knees, gasping and staring in disbelief at the empty space at the end of his arm. Blood spurted over and over again onto the ground, splashing Elli and Grat until the Avar thrust his sword into Mladen's neck, then kicked his body down. Elli's mother shrieked. The village men cried out, but still no one dared move.

Krajan, the leader, looked down from his horse. "We take these," he declared flatly. His men packed the food into their saddlebags; two of them tied the girls' hands in front of them, then loaded them, crying but complacent, onto the backs of their horses. Laughing, the Avars rode down the hill and into the forest.

"We can't save them." Hrech's insistent tone brought Javor back to the moment. He realized they were both still in their dress clothes, bright white now stained with mud and sweat and grass. "Even if you do catch up to them, you can't fight them," Hrech said. "There are at least 10 of them, all of them heavily armed. And they know how to fight and they don't hesitate to kill anyone."

"I can't just do nothing," Javor said, his voice hoarse. He swatted absent-mindedly at a fly near his face. "I have to try to get them back. No one else is doing anything."

Hrech nodded, remembering how the village women had come out of their huts to join their men as the Avars rode away. Only when the thundering sound of hoof beats had faded into the distance, when the raiders were surely gone, did the women begin to wail and the men to cry.

Elli's mother helped Grat's mother to her feet. She turned to scream at Roslaw, the headman. "Do something!" Blood smeared the dirt on her face from where the Avar had knocked her down. "They've killed my husband! They'll kill my daughter! They'll rape her! Get them back!"

"What can we do?" Roslaw protested. He held one hand over his eye and his own blood seeped between his fingers.

"We can all go after them!" said one man.

"They've already killed Mladen and Oresh!" Roslaw barked. "You go after them, they'll kill you, too!"

"Not if we all stayed together!" said someone else. "Like Mladen said!"

"Who here even has a sword? Who's willing to die today?" With one eye, Roslaw glared at each man, one by one. Each one looked down. "Exactly. There's no point in all of us getting killed."

Hrech put his hands on his friend's shoulders. "They're gone, Javor. They might as well have died in a pestilence. And if you don't stop this madness, you'll just get yourself killed."

Javor blinked. He looked down the Avars' trail, where it skirted a stand of poplars and beeches. Two boys armed with a knife and a wood-axe don't stand a chance against heavily armed, trained and experienced warriors on horseback—who probably had friends they were meeting, he realized. I am going to be responsible for killing my only friend. "Hrech, go back home if you want to," he said. "I'm going on."

Hrech sighed. "I can't leave you out here, far from home, alone," he said. He did not say No one else is likely to come looking for you. Not for Javor. Maybe they would search for someone else, anyone else, but Hrech was almost the only one in their village, other than Javor's parents, who cared at all about the strange, tall blonde boy. Weird, they said. Strange. Touched. Nobody ever said stupid, no one except Mean Mrost, who delighted in making people feel bad. No, Javor was not stupid, Hrech thought. But he certainly had his own way of looking at things.

"So what's your plan?" Hrech asked. Javor looked at him blankly again. "Do you have a plan?"

Javor had to admit that he had none. He had set after the raiders in heat and anger, thinking only of Elli, the girl he loved, whom he last saw crying and afraid.

He still could not understand it. He knew people could be cruel—he had suffered the cruelty of children often enough. But to kill men just to show how tough you were... to steal food from hungry people... to beat women so you could take their daughters...

He shook his head as he followed the trampled underbrush and broken branches of horses' passing.

He also could not believe what the other villagers, his people, his relatives had done: nothing. They buried Oresh and Mladen, they laid Grat's mother down on a straw bed. They talked and argued and yelled and cried.

But they just let the Avars take the girls away.

He remembered how his father, Swat, had sat down beside Roslaw with a pitcher of ale. "I know we don't have much. But if we gathered everything we have, food, ale, the few treasures any of us have, maybe we could negotiate with them, get the girls back."

Roslaw just shook his head.

"It's too dangerous," said Bogdan, a small nervous man with a continual tic in his left eye. "They would just take what we offered for the girls and kill everyone who came to talk!"

"We would need to arm ourselves," Swat had tried to say reasonably. But other men gathered and the whole thing became a squabbling, useless argument.

It was at that point that Javor had known what had to be done—what he had to do. He could almost see himself doing it. He went quietly to his hut, found the little wooden case his mother had shown him the day before and took out his great-grandfather's long dagger. Even in the dim light of the hut, he could see the angles and spirals on the blade, the fish-shape of the handle. The blade's curve was comforting, as if there were no other shape a blade could be. Like a big tooth. He wrapped it in a soft cloth and tucked it into his belt, then stepped out of the hut and toward the edge of the village.

At that moment, he heard a sound like an owl's call from the hut. Anyone else would have wondered about that: why is there an owl in my hut? Why is it calling during the day? But Javor was focused on something else.

"Where are you going?" said a voice at his side. Javor jumped, but it was only Hrech.

"I'm going after Elli and Grat. Are you coming or not?"

"Are you crazy? Are you trying to get killed? Do you even have a weapon?"

Javor took out the fish-handled dagger. Hrech goggled. "Where did you get that?"

"It was my great-grandfather's. Come on."

"Javor, you can't," Hrech sputtered, arguing what would become for him a refrain for the day. "You can't catch up with mounted men when you're on foot. And even if you do, what could you do by yourself?"

"I have to do something. No one else is."

"No one else is stupid enough!" Hrech felt more afraid now even than when the raiders were in the village. "You're one boy against 10 armed men, and all you have is a fancy knife!"

Javor took long strides into the grass the horses had trampled. Behind him, the adults argued and cried and whimpered, oblivious to the two boys leaving. "They've got to stop to rest sometime. I'll keep going and sooner or later, I'll catch up with them. Are you going with me?"

Hrech scrambled to keep up with Javor's long strides. Poor guy never has been able to see straight, he thought. "The only thing you're going to accomplish is to get yourself killed."

"I don't care. If Elli's gone..." What? He did not think past that. "I've got to do something," he repeated. He started to run along Avars' trail.

Hrech knew he could not stop Javor, but he also knew his friend would not be able to survive on his own. Javor was bigger and physically stronger—he didn't know it, but he was the strongest bachelor in the village—but Javor acted very young, like a child. "I'm with you," Hrech panted. "But I'll need a weapon, too." He ran as fast as he could back to the village and found Swat's axe beside Javor's hut. By the time he had caught up to Javor again, he did not have enough breath to argue anymore. So he had followed Javor. By noon, his throat was parched.

He finally made Javor stop to drink at a clear stream. Javor hadn't realized just how thirsty he was, even though the sun was high and hot. He touched his hair: it was hot on top, wet in the back. He drank some more, then splashed water over his head. Hrech did the same.

"I don't care what you do. I'm taking a breather," Hrech said. Javor said nothing, but sat beside his friend in the shade of a birch tree. Hrech looked up at his friend. He could see Javor withdrawing into himself. His jaw went slack, his lips parted slightly. He stared at the birch tree as if he were trying to count its leaves, but his eyes were not focused. Hrech knew he had to say something to bring Javor back to the here-and-now. "So, what now?"

Javor looked up the stream bank, where the Avars' trail led into the trees. "Our only hope is that the riders are not too worried about putting much distance between themselves and us, and that they'll stop soon to rest and eat. But then, they'll probably rape the girls."

Hrech winced. It was another trait of Javor's to say out loud exactly the thing you didn't want to think about.

They hadn't taken any food or anything for the night. But Javor remembered Elli screaming as the rider dragged her by her long hair. And he thought of all the men of his village, waiting for someone else to make the first move. If we had all rushed them when Mladen did, we would have saved the girls. But who else would be dead?

"I hate to repeat myself, Javor, but we're two kids with a knife and a wood-axe, and there are ten of them with armour and swords and gods know what else," Hrech argued. "We won't stand a chance."

"We'll catch up with them at night, sneak into their camp quietly, free the girls and steal the horses," Javor replied, surprising himself. "The moon will still be pretty big tonight,and the sky will be clear. We'll have enough light."

"There'll be at least one on watch," Hrech protested.

"Then we'll have to kill him quietly," Javor answered. Where did these words, these ideas, come from? "We'll have to be careful not to make any noise that would alert them. But they won't be expecting us. They've done this before, I'll bet. And I'll bet that every time, the poor villagers were too afraid of getting killed to follow and rescue two girls.

"I think they'll get really drunk, eat everything they can, rape the girls, then tie them up and fall asleep. We'll sneak up when they're deep asleep. If there's one on guard, we'll have to kill him quickly before he can alert the others. I'll sneak up behind him and ... and cut his throat." Javor felt the dagger's fish-shaped handle. The way it fit in his palm calmed him. "You untie their horses and lead them away, but be sure you don't make any noise doing it. Then we'll untie the girls. They'll probably be tied up near the guard. Then we'll get out of there as fast as we can." He was making this up as he went along, but it all seemed to make sense.

"They'll follow us, you know, to get the girls back. And to revenge their dead guard," Hrech said.

"You're right. Well, we'll have to kill all of them. First save the girls, take them someplace safe, then sneak back and cut their throats while they sleep."

"I—I don't think I can do that, Javor."

"You've killed chickens and pigs, haven't you?"

"I can't kill a sleeping man," Hrech said in a very small voice.

Javor turned to look at Hrech directly, something he almost never did. "Do you know what they're going to do to the girls? First, they'll rape them repeatedly. They'll each take their turns with them, keeping them for their amusement as they ride back to wherever the Avars stay. When they get tired of them, they'll kill them and leave their bodies to the vultures and dogs. And they'll go to another village and take more girls.

"If Elli and Grat are really lucky, the raiders will sell them to a slave trader and they'll go to Persia or someplace even farther and live the rest of their lives as slaves for some prince. Either way, we'll never see them again alive, unless we do something right now. Are you with me or not?"

Hrech fell into step without another word, his face miserable.

At nightfall, they stopped by a stream to rest and drink. They found some nuts and sour pears. Hrech fell asleep, but Javor couldn't. Elli, he thought. He thought of her thin legs, cut and dirty, of the tears on her face as she was pushed astride the horse.

When the moon rose, Javor woke Hrech and they slowly followed the horses' tracks. From the droppings, they knew they had almost caught up to the riders. The group must have stopped long before nightfall and had a lazy afternoon.

The trail soon led into the forest. Javor and Hrech crept ahead, trying not to make any noise, listening. Javor winced every time they broke a twig or made a branch swish.

Soon, they heard a girl's sobs. The moonlight would not penetrate the shadows under the trees, so Javor felt his way toward the sound. Hrech stepped on his heels and whispered "sorry." A twig cracked underfoot and the sobs stopped with a sudden inward breath. Javor squinted: a darker shadow under a tree seemed head-shaped. Javor fell to his knees and found himself touching Elli's soft hair. Her fist was in her mouth. Grat was beside her, trembling with the effort to stop sobbing.

The girls were bound to the tree with a thin rope looped around their waists and wrists. Hrech stepped around Javor to cut the rope with the axe, frustrated because Javor never seemed to know how to do anything practical. He pulled Grat to her feet. "Where are the soldiers?" he whispered. No answer. "Did they let you go?" Javor and Hrech led the girls to a narrow path. "Are you hurt?" Hrech asked as they stumbled along, but Elli would only shake her head. She pointed toward a clearing. When they reached it, the girls would go no closer. Leaving Hrech with the girls and holding his dagger in front of him, Javor stepped into the clearing.

It was hard to make out at first what he saw in the moonlight, but when his foot struck something that rolled, understanding hit him like a cold wave. It was a severed head; the Avar helmet rolled off it and continued a short distance before it fell over in the grass.

Javor was surrounded by the dismembered bodies of the whole troop. Ten heavily armoured men had been literally torn apart—maybe more. They may have had friends. Everywhere he looked there were legs, arms, torso, heads. A shadowy heap turned out to be a horse, its throat torn open. Javor turned and turned, his head swimming. What could have done this?

Trembling, he returned to Hrech and the girls. He could only shake his head when Hrech asked, "What is it? What's there? What is scaring you all so?" They found the path and went the opposite way they had come, hoping it would lead home. In the next clearing they came to, they found two of the soldiers' horses, grazing, wearing their saddles and bridles. The boys took the reins. No one thought of riding the horses—no one in their village had a horse and no one knew how to get on, let alone hold on and ride.

Finding their way home was easy—they just followed the same path that had brought them to the raiders' camp. Hrech and Javor fell behind the girls and whispered. "What was in that clearing?" Hrech demanded.

"The soldiers. They'd been torn apart."

"What do you mean?"

"What I said. Arms and legs and heads ripped apart."

"More soldiers? Greeks?"

"No. That wasn't done by swords. It was like—like when you eat a chicken and pull the meat off the bones. It was ... I don't know. Unbelievable."

They drank at a stream. Hrech made a fire while Elli and Grat washed. They had nothing to dry themselves with and shivered, even though the night was warm. Grat didn't say anything, only sobbed continually. Finally, they huddled together for warmth. Again, Hrech fell asleep. Javor felt weary, too, but could not sleep. If he closed his eyes, he saw the dead, mutilated raiders in the field. It's no more than they deserved, he thought. But still—what had done that?

Elli was awake, too. Grat was crying, but she seemed half asleep. "Did they hurt you, Elli?" Javor asked.

She shook her head. She answered haltingly, pausing and shuddering. "Nothing serious. They hit us to make us stop crying when we set out. We kept slipping off the horses, and they would get mad and slap us when we fell off." She absently rubbed her face, remembering pain. Javor could see tears glistening on her face in the sinking moonlight.

"Did they touch you?" Javor asked. He hesitated. "Did they...did they rape you?"

Elli shook her head. "Not yet. They were going to. I knew it." Her voice started to tremble. "They actually gave us some food. They made a camp where you found us and ate the food that Roslaw gave them, and gave us a little. And they started to drink some strong wine. They made us drink, too. Grat got sick ..."

"What happened to them?"

Elli looked down. "I don't know," she said in a shaking whisper. "At sunset, they tied us to a tree. I thought they would rape us then—they were all gathered around. But their horses started to make a lot of noise and they ran to see why. One stayed to guard us. Then there was a horrible noise, a roar like a bear, only worse, louder ... then the men were screaming. Our guard ran to his friends and then he screamed. Then he... he stopped." Elli bit her lip. Javor could see her hands shaking as she pulled her tunic closer to her body.

"Did you see anything?"

Elli shook her head. She stared at Javor, trying to tell him something with her eyes, but no words would come. Javor put his arms around her and pulled her closer, chafing her arms to try to warm her up. When her trembling subsided, she nuzzled her head under Javor's chin.

"I could not see anything but the trees. There was a lot of commotion, movement, I could tell men were running this way and that. There was sound, like branches breaking, but... wet. I think it was the arms and legs of the men, breaking." She buried her face in his chest, like she had after Vorona's celebration. Her tears dripped onto Javor's skin.

Eventually, Elli fell asleep, but Javor could not. He listened intently, but the only sounds were crickets, frogs and birds. Once, far off, a wolf howled.

When the sun rose at last, Javor woke the others. They silently set off again for home, leading the horses, conscious of how hungry they were.

Chapter 3: Coming home

The girls couldn't walk very fast, and it took all day to get home. Grat cried all the way and by afternoon developed a limp.

Hrech tried to cheer the girls. "Everyone is going to be thrilled to see you back at the village. There's going to be a big party!"

The girls did not look any happier. Javor chimed in with "Yah, everyone is going to celebrate. They'll be so happy!" He put his arm around Elli and patted her shoulder like his father used to do to him when he was small.

That surprised Hrech—Javor had never been able to follow his lead spontaneously like that before.

"My mother," Grat sobbed. She fell to her knees.

"I'm sure she's okay, Grat," Hrech lied, his hands on her shoulders. "I saw her with the other ladies before Javor and I left. She was just a little roughed up."

Hrech's words did not reassure Grat. She sat in the tall grass, weeping. The boys could not get her to stand.

Elli put her head on Javor's shoulder. Like a pot boiling over, her grief finally came out, but unlike Grat, Elli cried quietly. Once she sniffed "Papa, oh, Papa," but nothing else was intelligible.

They stayed in that spot until the boys pulled the girls toward a stream and made them drink cool, fresh water. The girls stopped crying, but Grat could not look at either of the boys.

Finally, Hrech managed to get them moving again. It was a sombre journey. Grat wept almost continuously, but at least she managed to keep walking. Elli followed her, eyes unfocused.

A rabbit suddenly hopped through high grass. "Hey, look at the bunny!" Javor cried out. "I hope she's not too far from home! Hey, bunny—why do you wiggle your nose? Do I smell so bad?" He laughed and looked at the girls, but they did not respond.

"Look, the bunny is running toward those trees," Javor continued, trying hard to break through the girls' mood. "Hey, do you think it wants to climb the tree?" He looked at the others, grinning.

The girls ignored him, and Hrech just gave him a strange look. No one ever gets my jokes, Javor thought.

Javor had another idea. "Hey, do you girls want to climb a tree?" They all stopped and stared at him. Javor jumped to the closest tree, grabbed a branch and pulled himself up. He loved climbing trees. He looked down at the others. "Come on up. It's nice here among the leaves. You can see far, it's comfortable. Come on."

The other three looked at him with expressions that he could not read—he could not read many expressions. He jumped down and gave up trying to cheer anyone. The walk home continued in silence except for the sound of wind in the leaves and the calls of birds. He looked up at the sky, at the high, wispy clouds fanning out like white hair, and below them, another layer of puffy white clouds, like small loaves of flat bread.

His mind drifted forward, and Javor pictured coming home with the unhurt girls. He imagined a shout from the circle of huts as a lookout saw them approaching. He could see a crowd running out to greet them at the foot of the hill below the village. His father would clap him on the shoulder and say "My boy, my boy!" He could see his father glowing with pride, see his mother smiling and weeping at the same time, her worries banished, relieved that her last son had returned. He imagined Roslaw, the headman, clapping him on both shoulders, grinning from ear to ear, proclaiming him the hero. The villagers would give him flowers and bread and mugs of ale. Elli's mother would hug him, and then Elli would kiss him again, and so would Grat, and even that scrawny, nasty Mrost would have to congratulate him and acknowledge him as the hero. And the next day, they would resume their interrupted solstice celebration and Javor, would jump over the bonfire and everyone would cheer.

And Elli will be my girl, and we will be betrothed and then married before the fall.

He did not let himself think of the dead Avars, or of Elli's murdered father.

The sun was setting before they saw Nastasiu's circle of huts nestled against the hill.

"Something's wrong," said Hrech. There was no sound coming from the village, no dogs barking, no babies crying. No one shouted as the four young people and two horses came closer. No one came running out to clap Javor on the shoulders.

Hrech ran to the first hut and then stopped dead. The hut had collapsed, its thatched roof spilling onto the ground. A corner post, thicker around than a man could reach with two hands, had been broken as if over someone's knee.

Then they heard weeping and sobbing. They saw bodies between the huts. A dog sprawled, its neck broken. Mara, Javor's neighbour, slumped over a rock, legs at unnatural angles. Her children cried over her body. As the four young people turned to survey the scene, they saw men and women binding each other's wounds.

Javor went to a man sitting in the dirt, holding his head. "What happened?" The man turned around; it was Roslaw, his face covered in fresh blood. There was a new bruise under his eye in addition to the scar he had received from Krajan, the Avar.

"Where were you?" he asked.

"We brought the girls back. Did more soldiers come?"

Roslaw shook his head and turned away. Tekla, his wife, a very thin woman with bulging eyes and grey-streaked black hair, answered. "Not soldiers, boy," she said. She appeared shaken but unhurt."A monster. A monster. It killed so many, then ..." and she broke down, kneeling in the dust, weeping.

The only thing that Javor could say was "There's no such thing as monsters..." He turned. Elli's eyes were wide, searching around the village. Grat just held Hrech's hand, insensate.

Elli shrieked "Mama!" and ran across the village. Lyuba, her mother, came out of her hut, eyes wide in disbelief. Mother and daughter embraced, weeping. Javor could see a red wound across Lyuba's forehead from the Avar's blow.

Hrech led Grat to her hut; her mother had not come out. "You'd better check your home, Javor," he said.

Javor felt as if there was only an empty space in the middle of his body. He ran to the end of the village.

His hut was standing, but the thatch over the doorway was gone, as if ripped away by a huge claw. In the dying red light he saw his father lying face-down in front of the door. In his hand was his long scythe. Javor could not breathe. One side of his father's skull was caved in and matted with blood. Slowly, Javor bent down and stepped carefully over the body into the hut, not daring to think about his mother.

He had to wait until his eyes adjusted to the gloom, and then he saw Ketia lying on the floor, her back against the cold oven, as if she were trying to warm her back. But her legs were splayed awkwardly, and her head was slumped forward.

Javor put his hand on her shoulder and felt wetness: blood. He pushed her head up and it lolled to one side. Javor was numb. He couldn't move. His hands dropped and then his stomach heaved. He barely had time to move his head away from his mother's body before he spewed a thin stream of bile onto the ground.

When the retching passed, Javor carefully pulled his mother toward him, holding her head gently so that it would not fall too far forward. He pressed her tightly to his chest, hoping that his life, his heartbeat, could somehow flow into hers. He did not hear the thin whine coming from his throat, did not feel the tears on his face. He wept, rocking his mother's body until night filled the hut.

Hands gently laid Ketia on the floor. Other hands pulled him out of the hut, but he could not see whose they were because his eyes were blurred. He stumbled into the arms of ... he blinked until his vision cleared. Photius, the Greek traveller, the strange man who had wandered into the village two days earlier, the day before the solstice.

Javor found his feet and stared at the stranger in his wide-brimmed hat and ragged grey cloak, holding his long walking staff, unscratched, unhurt.

Javor's mind reeled back. He saw his father two days earlier, walking into the woods to gather honey before the sun set. That was when the stranger had walked into the village: tall, thin, older than any many Javor had ever seen before, wearing a long grey cloak and a strange hat with a wide brim that were almost exactly the same shade as his long grey beard. He carried a long walking staff, but it seemed unnecessary.

He strolled casually into the centre of the village, where the men were resting and talking after working in the fields and before going home for their evening meal. The women would have supper ready when the sun's rays shone level, into the eyes.

"Good evening, gentle folk," the stranger said with a heavy accent. "Can you tell me the name of this village?"

"Holody," said Roslaw, the headman. They actually called the village Nastasiu. Holody meant simply "fort"—they did not trust outsiders. Best to give away as little as possible. The holody was a small log palisade around one of the hills beside the village.

"What a charming little hamlet." As if he were a native, the old man sat on a stone among the villagers. "And would you kind people have a bit of water for a thirsty traveller?" Someone passed him a clay cup and he gulped it down, then held it out for more and got it. Would they give me water if I just held out a cup? Javor wondered.

All the villagers stared at the old man without saying anything. Finally, Roslaw demanded "And who might you be, stranger?"

"My name is Photius." A Greek!

"And where do you come from, and where are you going?" Roslaw asked.

"I come from Constantinople, but by way of long journeys through many troubled lands, and I am headed north."

"What are you looking for?" Roslaw continued, but he was drowned out by an excited babble as the village's entire adult male population forgot their caution and marvelled at this rarest of sights, a stranger.

"Constantinople! Have you seen Constantinople?" "Are its walls really made of gold?" "Were they built by a god?" "Is the war with the Persians over?" "Is Justinian still the emperor?"

The stranger was laughing. "So many questions! I'll answer them all, of course, but first you must answer a question or two of mine. Is there somewhere I can spend the night? And can I get a little something to eat here?"

Looking at Photius' wrinkled face, Javor had a horrifying thought. "What do you know about this?" he demanded, his voice a hoarse whisper.

The old man shook his head, his long beard waving. "Less than you, my boy. Please, sit by the fire." He pulled out a wineskin from under his cloak and gave Javor a drink. Then he gave him a small piece of cake. Somehow the cake was nourishing. He felt stronger, calmer.

The sun had set and the sky was nearly black. In the firelight, the Greek traveller appeared strange, different from anyone Javor knew in some way that he could not define.

"I'm terribly sorry about your parents, boy," said Photius in a gentle, yet hoarse voice. "About your whole village. First raiders, now this—it's too much in two days."

"I'm not a boy anymore. I'm 15 now."

"Ah. Well, that may be fortunate." The old man took a drink of wine.

"Who did this? Did you see?"

Photius nodded. "Oh, yes. A monster."

"Don't tell me stories ..."

"No story, Javor. It was a monster, twice the size of a man. It swept into the village like a whirlwind, knocking down houses and killing to inflict terror. It was looking for something, something it found in your house."

"In my house?"

"It came straight toward your hut. Your father tried to bar it, threatened it with his scythe, but the monster knocked him down in a heartbeat. Your mother didn't even have time to scream. At least, for them, it was quick."

"But why?"

"Think, Javor. What did your family have that no one else in this village has?"

The answer hit Javor like a bucket of cold water. The amulet! He sprang to his feet, stepped gingerly past his father's body again—someone had pulled Swat to one side and arranged his arms and legs so he did not look quite as horrifying. Inside, he tried not to look at his mother, but saw that someone had straightened her neck and arranged her hands across her chest.

Her hands: he could see her delicate, clever hands taking out a wooden box from somewhere in the hut—her hiding spot. He could see her hand brushing her long hair over her shoulder, then lifting the wooden lid with an air of reverence and expectation. It was evening, and it was dark in the hut. Ketia lit one candle, so Javor knew she thought was she was about to show him was important. She looked into his eyes, and he knew that she expected Javor to be thrilled about whatever was in the box.

Javor remembered hearing the neighbours, Borys and Mara, gossiping with Javor's father outside. "Can you imagine!" Mara was saying. "Right in front of everyone, she takes a stranger into her house!"

"He's an old man. I hope Vorona doesn't wear him out tonight!" Borys laughed. Mara and Swat laughed along.

Swat spoke up. "It will be good for Vorona, to have a man in her bed—" Borys and Mara laughed loudly at that.

"Mama, why am I so different from both you and Papa?" Javor asked suddenly.

Ketia was used to Javor's sudden shifts in focus. "We're all a little different from our parents, Javor."

"Yes, but Hrech looks like his mother, and a little like his father. So does Elli. But I'm so much taller than you and Papa."

"My grandfather was a very tall man, taller than you," she answered. "You'll still grow a little, so you could reach his height. And I want to show you something he gave to me. He told me to give it to my most deserving son. Now hush.

"Grandfather Medvediu was the biggest man in the town—the family lived in a real town in those days, far to the south of here. Not only was he big, he was the most handsome. All the ladies of the town said so. His golden hair gleamed in the sun. Like yours, Javor.

"Grandfather was a hero. He was in the Emperor's army, and when he was young he went to fight against the Persians." This was Javor's favourite story. He had heard it regularly since he could remember and never tired of it.

"Grandfather Medvediu was a very brave man, and in the wars he won some treasures. Some he sold on his way home, but some he kept."

"Did he really kill a giant, Mama?" Javor asked as he always did at this point in the story.

"Oh, yes. He was the bravest soldier in the army. One day, Grandfather Medvediu's group found themselves in the mighty Caucasus Mountains." Ketia's voice always took on a dreamy quality at this point. "A giant had been harassing the people of the Caucasus. It was a huge ogre who stole sheep and killed shepherds. It would come into the villages and demand food."

"All the Emperor's soldiers were afraid to face the giant, but not your great-grandfather. He took a sword and his armour and he climbed up the mountain to the giant's cave. He challenged the giant: 'Hey, ugly! Come and fight someone who knows how to fight,' he said. And the giant came out. It was twice as tall as Grandfather, and it carried an enormous club. It swung that club right at Grandfather's head, but your great-grandfather ducked and drew his sword."

"Their fight went on for a day and a night, but finally your tireless great-grandfather dealt a killing blow. He almost cut the giant's head completely off, and when its body fell off that mountainside into a deep canyon, no one could find it.

"The giant's cave was filled with treasures, but most of them were slick with the ogre's slimy touch. Grandfather Medvediu did find two things that were fit for human touch."

This was new—an element in the story that Ketia had never told him before. She pulled out a bundle wrapped in a soft white cloth from the box. Javor leaned forward for a closer look until he could feel the heat from the candle against his cheek. He held his breath while Ketia opened the cloth to reveal a long dagger with a whitish handle carved to resemble a fish. Javor took it in his hand and carefully felt the edge; it was sharper than any blade he had ever seen and glinted in the candlelight. The side of the blade was engraved with a spiral pattern and many small markings. "Runes," said his mother. "They're magical." But that was all she knew.

There was a second item in the cloth: a flat piece of grey metal, about the size of Javor's fist, but with an odd shape: ovoid, but with a flat side. It looks like a fish's scale. Or a snake's. It had a chain attached to a loop on top. Its centre was depressed and carved into a strange pattern. Around the edge were small figures, more runes; Javor had never seen writing, had never even heard of it. "These are magical, Javor. And since you will be a man tomorrow, I am showing them to you for the first time. They are my heirlooms, and when I die they will be yours. My grandfather told me that together, they would protect me against evil. And that is why the three of us are alive today, Javor, in such an evil world." She took the dagger and the amulet, wrapped them carefully in the cloth and replaced them in the little wooden box.

Protect us from evil? Some magic. It's protected this family so well, most of its children are dead.

The box was nothing but splinters. The cloth that had wrapped the amulet and the dagger was ripped. The monster had been after the amulet. Javor's hand went to his rope belt and felt the dagger, covered with a fold of his tunic. It felt reassuring, somehow.

The magic is real. I took the dagger away, and the monster came and killed them.

Mama, Papa, I am sorry! I did not know!

He staggered outside and poured out his story to Photius: everything his mother had ever told him about her grandfather Medvediu, the amulet and the dagger, how he had taken the dagger to rescue the girls, how the Avars had been killed and dismembered. "And now, my father, my mother..." His voice dried into a croak. He reached for Photius' wine-skin and drank, but did not taste it.

His uncle and aunt came up; they were unhurt. The killer had passed them by. His aunt led him to her house, put him to bed on a pallet of straw. After two days of trauma and chase, Javor quickly fell into exhausted sleep.

And when the rising sun woke him again, he knew what he had to do.

Chapter 4: The hunt

By mid-morning, when Javor was expecting the air to get hot, low, dark clouds came out of the north, growling. A north wind, dry and chill, carried a strange odour too faint to really identify. Javor felt annoyed because he could not quite identify it before it blew away. He stopped to shift the heavy pack on his shoulders.

Photius looked back over his shoulder."Are you tired, my boy? Or have you recovered from yesterday?" he asked.

"I'll never recover." His voice sounded strange to him: hoarse, deeper than before. He hiked the pack higher on his back and stepped past Photius.

They had been walking since just past sunrise, heading north by northeast. The killer's trail wasn't hard to find: a path of trampled grass and broken bushes and trees, scattered with debris. It led across the pastures and then into the forest beyond, and then up into the higher hills. Along the way lay mementos of the killer's passage: footprints, broken trees, and several times, parts of human bodies. Javor gagged the first time he had seen a woman's leg, bloody and twisted, lying lost in tall grass.

"I want revenge," Javor had said in the village under the morning's first light.

"Revenge?" Roslaw had said. Most of the headman's face was a bruise. There was a nasty red scar under one eye and he was even gruffer than normal. "Javor, you're brave, no one would deny that. But there's a difference between bringing back two girls whose kidnappers have been killed for you, and facing that thing. You would not stand a chance."

"I'm going. Who's coming with me?"

Only the Greek traveler, Photius, answered. "I'll come with you, young man. I, too, want this monster dead. Its destruction is part of my mission." Javor had wondered what he meant by that, but did not ask. He focused on gathering what he needed.

With barely a word, the villagers had helped him pack. His uncle, Swat's older brother, gave him fresh trousers, a tunic, boots and a cloak. His aunt brought bread, fruit and other food, enough for him and Photius for two days, three if they stretched it.

Javor had tucked his great-grandfather's dagger into his rope-belt and tugged on it to make sure it would stay. He had taken his father's small axe, the same one that Hrech had taken, in what felt like a different life. To remember him when I kill that murderer. When he had walked out of the village, Photius had walked in step beside him. Javor had taken one last look behind him, to see his people gathered at the edge of the village; Roslaw had waved, and so had his uncle; his aunt had wrung her hands and cried. And he had seen Elli, who had just looked at him, her fist in front of her mouth, her eyes wide.

But no one had said anything.

Javor had looked at the sky. Clouds moving from the west. It'll be a nice day.

Good day for hunting.

Javor had shrugged to adjust the pack, and had walked north-east without saying goodbye.

"Do you want to take a rest?" Photius was saying. He was having no trouble keeping up with Javor's long strides. It was the first time they had spoken since leaving the village.

"I want revenge," Javor repeated. "Now tell me the truth: who killed my parents?"

"Your people told you: it was a monster," Photius said seriously.

"Look, I know everyone was terrified," Javor snarled. "So if it was man who was so terrible, he was a monster, I understand. Now tell me about him. Was he alone? How was he armed? How big was he? What did he look like? I'm going to track him down and do to him what he did... he did to my..." Javor choked. He could not breathe. All he could see was his father, his dark hair soaked with blood. He could feel his mother's little body in his arms. He choked and wheezed and his whole body shook. The pack slipped off his shoulders and pulled him backward, until he was lying awkwardly on the pack, his knees bent painfully.

Photius knelt beside him and brushed his fingertips over Javor's temples and eyes, murmuring low. Javor took a great, shuddering breath and stood. He blinked, shook his head, then picked up his pack and strode ahead again.

"It was a monster, Javor," said Photius, walking just behind him. "Really. Not a man. It was enormous, man-shaped but twice as high. Scaly grey skin. Massive arms and legs, with sharp claws as long as your hand. A mouth like a boar's, but filled with fangs like an enormous lizard. It suddenly appeared in the town just after dawn, and no one even saw it coming. It broke heavy timbers like you would break a piece of kindling."

The wanderer's words filled Javor with a creeping horror, a loathing somehow coupled with familiarity. He felt he could imagine the creature, not only how it looked but what its voice, its roar sounded like, how the thing smelled.

"It knocked down a hut, and the people inside ran screaming. The fiend hit the woman there with its fist and broke her back as she ran. Your headman, Roslaw, tried to throw a hunting spear at it, and it just bounced off its skin. The monster slashed at him, and Roslaw was lucky to keep his head on his shoulders.

"But the monster had a purpose. It went straight toward your hut. Your father tried to stop it—he stood in front with his heavy scythe, and he hit the monster with a blow that would have sliced an ox. But the fiend barely felt it. It slashed and pulled down half the roof and then hit your father on the head. For what it's worth, my boy, I think your father's end was swift."

"Please, don't tell me what it did to my mother," Javor interrupted. "I know enough, already."

At sunset they camped beneath a stand of stunted trees. Photius built a fire while Javor looked for some wild fruit or berries, but they ate most of the food that Javor's aunt had given them. Javor stared into the fire, but all he could see was his father.

He saw Swat standing in front of his house, swinging the heavy scythe. Behind him, his mother in the doorway, crying, pulling her husband. Swat swung the scythe again, but a monstrous claw swept down. Swat dodged and the claw hit the thatch, bringing it down on Swat's legs. The man stumbled and the claw hit him, hard, on the head. Swat fell flat onto the ground and did not move.

Javor saw the doorway torn apart, saw his mother fall back...he squeezed his eyes tight, then looked into the darkness around him. At anything but his mother.

Photius came close and raised his hand. Javor flinched back, but the old man shook his head. Tentatively, he reached closer again until his fingertips touched Javor's eyelids. "Sleep now, son," said the old man. "Tomorrow, we enter the monster's own territory."

The sun rose behind murky clouds and a northern breeze chilled Javor. They broke their fast with clear water from a spring, a few berries and two of Photius' mysteriously sustaining cakes.

They followed the faint path through the grass. As they went on, the grass became shorter, the ground stonier and the killer's trail fainter. Soon, Javor couldn't even distinguish it, but Photius forged ahead, confident.

Past a small rise, the thin grass disappeared into a loosely-packed scrabble. A few bent, withered trees with hardly any leaves clung weakly to the hillside. Ahead, a brackish creek wandered sluggishly to the east. At the bank, Photius said "Take care now, son. Don't touch the water," and they hopped carefully from stone to stone across a natural ford. Javor could see craggy mountains ahead; surprisingly, they had no snow on their tops. The whole vista seemed dead and repellent. Javor gagged on the reek of rotting animal carcasses.

"Take care, I say," Photius repeated. "This is no place to quail." Photius gave Javor a sip from his wineskin. Javor had drunk ale, even the heavy wodova the villagers brewed, but he had never known anything like this liquor. A heat he never felt before spread throughout his body, to the tips of his fingers and toes. "That should sustain you. Take heart now, lad. The test is soon."

"What test?" asked Javor. But the old man just smiled grimly and tucked the wineskin back into the folds of his cloak. And Javor knew what he meant.

The sun rose higher but cast no more light. The path started to rise again through dusty hills while the sky seemed to get lower. All morning, the old man told stories that Javor barely heard. All he could think of was his mother's broken body, his father's crushed skull.

"They live in the desolate lands, you know," the old man was saying. "The far north, the north-east; and in latter days, many have been coming from the east toward the north-west, around the edges of the civilized world."

"Why?" asked Javor, surprised at his own interest.

"Civilization is abhorrent to them," said the old man, delighted to have an interested audience at last. "Civilized men learn how the world works, which gives them power over darkness and ignorance. The monsters know this and hate it. Their power is based on fear and ignorance."

"Why? What difference does civilization make?"

"Knowledge, my boy. Knowledge banishes ignorance, banishes fear."

"I don't see how knowing about monsters makes them any less powerful or fearsome," Javor answered. He was getting angry. He still did not know whether he believed the story about a monster. But then, what broke those heavy timbers? It took four men to move those.

"Knowledge erodes their power, my boy. First, and most obviously, the more we know about our enemy, the easier it is to defeat him. We must learn the monster's weaknesses, you see."

Photius stopped walking and swung his pack off his back, then sat on a rock. "Tell me, do you believe in gods?"

Javor stopped, too. "Well, yes, like Perun and the Dazhbog and the Chernobog."

"Why?"

Javor opened his mouth but could think of no answer.

"Is it because your parents told you they were real? They told you all the stories, and the headman and the shaman and all the other people you know repeated them. So, why can you not believe in monsters?"

"I have seen Perun's lightning and the dawn of Zaria. And I have lost brothers and sisters to the Chernobog."

"Ah—the dark god. You refer to the pestilences."

Javor nodded. "But I have never seen a monster or anything like one."

"Do you believe in bears? Wolves? How often have you come face-to-face with one?"

"I have seen a bear and I have seen what wolves do. I have seen a whole chicken coop ripped apart and all the chickens killed by a fox, I have seen the bones of deer in the forest after they've been killed by wolves. But I have never seen any sign of a monster."

"Until now. Javor, how else could you explain the effects you saw on your own home? Or what your own people are telling you?"

Javor was getting angry. What does he want from me? "People are stupid. My people are stupid. They could have fought off those raiders if they had stood together. And they tell each other tales and then believe them! One man catches a small deer, but by the time the story gets around the village, it's a herd of wild oxen! So, no, I don't believe my people!"

"True. If you talk to three different people in the village, you'll get three different descriptions of the monster. That's the way it is with people, and evil things everywhere thrive on that. So do the gods, mind you. No one knows where they come from or what they want, or how strong they really are or what their weaknesses are. Soon the rumour of them is greater and far worse than they are themselves. A man in your own village, Borys I think his name was, told me about a dragon that ate a whole village in the south. I have heard that tale in other villages, too. But the name of the destroyed village always changes, and with each telling, the beast does something worse and gets bigger and stronger. And if the monster's reputation is so fearsome, soon it doesn't have to do anything but show up to make people run in panic, and the monster can take what he wants without any bother."

"Are ... are you saying the monster that killed my parents isn't so bad?"

"No, unfortunately, my lad, in this case we've seen just how bad it is. But we're going to find out its weaknesses." He set out along the trail again, and Javor followed.

By midday, they were climbing the steep, rocky slopes of a grey mountain. The air grew steadily colder and the clouds got lower and darker. Above, Javor could see only grey: grey rocks reaching dizzyingly upward, grey skies. No white or green.

They stopped for a rest at a small ravine cut by a mountain stream. Photius sat against a rock and shared some of his wine and his mysterious, invigorating bread.

"We are now about to enter a truly dangerous area, my young friend," he said, gazing calmly up the mountain.

"How do you know?" Javor didn't see anything about the slope immediately above them that set it apart from the part they had just climbed.

"The aura of this place is black, dead. There are loathsome things ahead."

Javor let his pack slip to the ground and looked at the old man. He was sitting on the ground, leaning back against a boulder, and from Javor's perspective it seemed the rock was almost a continuation of Photius' head.

Then Photius' head seemed to move. It got longer, higher, and something black rose over the top. No—some animal, a huge snake was rising from behind the rock. In an instant, it towered over Photius. Covered in gleaming black scales, it curved its hideous neck downward again in a fluid motion, opening its maw wider, wider, so wide that Javor thought he would lose his mind. Slime dripped off its lips and teeth like daggers grew outward from the jaw.

Sound faded and time slowed for Javor. Photius looked up, eyes widening in horror. The snake, or whatever it was, lowered its head as if to swallow the old man whole. Javor's body seemed to know what to do without his mind telling it. He realized that his father's small hatchet was in his hand and that he was raising it over his head. He took two long, fast steps and sprang upward, swinging his arm down as he rose over Photius. The axe came down hard onto the snake's skull, and he could feel its blade digging into flesh and bone. There was a horrible wrench at his shoulder, and he let go of the handle, and then his feet were on the ground again. He bumped into Photius, sending the old man sprawling.

Javor became aware of sound again, of Photius yelling incoherently and the snake-thing roaring, tossing its head back and forth with the axe embedded in its skull, spurting slime and blood that hissed when it struck the rocks around them.

Across the ravine, miles of tail writhed and tossed in rings and loops among the rocks. The snake-thing brought its head down hard on the ground right beside Photius, then heaved up again.

Javor scooped the old man up in his arms—he was surprisingly light—and leaped up the hill, away from the snake's death throes, just as it brought its head down again into the ravine. Half-carrying Photius, Javor scrambled up the slope. When they had climbed far enough that they could no longer see the snake-thing among the boulders, Javor halted, panting. "Was that the monster that killed my parents?" he gasped.

"No, Javor," Photius gasped back. He looked bad. His face was gray and he seemed to be trembling. "No. That was a mere minor beast, a cold-drake of some kind. It was much smaller and weaker than the thing that killed the people of your village and all those warriors." Javor was beginning to get his breath under control.

Javor started back down the slope again, half-sliding on his backside.

"Where are you going, boy?" Photius asked, panic around the edges of his voice.

"To get my axe back." It was still embedded in the monster's skull. Despite Photius' incoherent admonitions to stay away from the drake, Javor skidded and slid back to the ravine where the thing's body lay strung out like an unravelled skein of wool. Its tongue now hung out of its mouth, draped over a dead log. As if it isn't long enough, already, Javor thought. Stinking steam rose from it. Javor reached for the axe handle, embedded deep in the fire-drake's skull, and pulled hard. It would not budge until Javor tugged several times, and then all it once it came out of the monster's head with a sucking sound. Javor watched in wonder as the drake's blood—if that's what it was—evaporated in steam until the axe blade was completely clean. He shuddered, then tucked the axe handle into his belt and climbed back up to Photius.

Chapter 5: The cave

By afternoon, Javor was panicking with every step as they crept along a ledge narrower than his shoulders. The ledge was covered with a thin layer of tiny pebbles, and each footfall slid and crunched and pushed a puff of dust over the edge.

Cliffs rose almost straight up on their left and dropped so far on the right that Javor felt dizzy if he looked over. It did not seem to bother Photius, though, who walked carefully but steadily forward and up.

There was no sound but the wind. Above, the sky roiled with gray clouds. Clouds don't move like that, Javor thought. He pictured rocks falling from the top of the cliff, crushing them or hurling them down the slope to be smashed against yet other rocks.

"How do you know where we're going?" Javor asked when they paused. The sun was getting lower, sinking behind his shoulders. He hadn't seen a footprint or a trace of any living thing since the cold-drake.

"There are signs for those who know how to see them," the old man answered. Javor was getting tired of Photius' enigmatic statements. Why was he in this part of the country, anyway, and why did he arrive just at the same time as this monster?

"Do you have a plan, Photius? You said the more we know of this monster, the better we can find its weaknesses. What do you know? When we find this monster, do you have any idea of what to do then?"

The old man smiled a little. "I was beginning to wonder if you would ever ask, Javor. Well, this monster appears to live in a desolate place, so that means it doesn't need to eat very often. A human or two every few weeks seems to suffice.

"Also, with all these rocks about, it must have a tough hide. So probably your father's little hatchet there won't even cut it."

"Then why did you bring me here? What's the point of this chase, if I haven't a hope of killing this monster!"

The old man seemed to smile, but with the sinking sun shining into his eyes, Javor couldn't be sure. "You came here freely, Javor. Remember, I only came after you. The question is, why did you come?"

"You're the one who's tracking this monster! You're leading me! And to what?" Javor screamed. "What do you want from me? Why have you brought me to this place?"

"For what you wanted, Javor," said Photius, and still his voice was even and soft, gentle. "For revenge."

Is this old man crazy? "How am I supposed to get revenge on a monster that can't be hurt?" The old man's calm was getting on his nerves. "How do I know that you don't intend to have the monster kill me, too?"

Photius looked disappointed, not offended. "Now, Javor, do you really believe that I would go to all this trouble, walking for days in this desolate place, if all I wanted was merely to achieve your end? I think there would be easier ways to accomplish that." He chuckled when Javor grasped the handle of his axe. "Now, Javor. Look at me, and then trust what your own heart tells you: do you believe that I intend you any harm?"

Javor looked at Photius, and somehow knew that he could trust the stranger, this old man from a far-off civilization, who seemed to know his thoughts before he did. He let go the axe.

"Come, Javor. We can't stay perched on this narrow ledge. Besides, I don't believe we have much farther to go."

They scrambled with hands and feet up a slope that was slightly gentler only when compared to the cliffs they had passed. Javor's fingertips were bleeding by the time they reached a small, flat area covered with loose stones. There was no going farther. Ahead, the cliff rose sheer again, straight up to a height Javor couldn't guess at. Behind, getting darker already in the setting sunlight, Javor could see the country stretching out, rivers like ribbons, trees fading into meadows and pastures.

They put their packs down on the plateau. Where now?

Photius just stared at the rock wall. It seemed deeply scored, as if it had been raked by claws the size of oak trees. To one side, a thin stream fell from the shadowed heights above, falling with a tiny sound far below. Other than that and the wind whistling around the crags, the silence was complete. No bird sang, no insects buzzed. Javor couldn't even bring himself to speak for fear of breaking the silence.

Photius lifted his arms over his head. He spoke in a strange language—not Greek, or not what Javor believed was Greek. It sounded, somehow, very old, ancient as the rocks in front of him. "Ad natha rim bach, al nath roh-on!" he cried. And then, among the cracks and striations on the rock wall, Javor saw a deep cleft.

"Hey! Is that a cave there? Why didn't I see that before?" He realized that he was whispering.

"Hush! I have opened the monster's lair. It is within." Photius put his hands on Javor's shoulders and spoke more words in that ancient language. "I have put such spells of protection on us both as I know," he said. "They may not do much against the monster's claws or teeth, but against any foul magic here that may cloud our eyes or our minds or prevent us from entering, or worse, leaving, they should protect us for at least a short time. Now is the hour, my boy. Now is time for you to attempt your revenge. For this monster is not invincible, not immortal. It can be killed and sent back to the pit that spawned it, if the right man attempts it. Are you such a man?"

Javor's knees felt weak, his stomach churned, even his testicles felt cold and vulnerable. I can't do this. I'm not a warrior! The cave gaped like a beast's maw, and for the first time, he believed the story of the monster that killed his parents and so many others in the village. Involuntarily, he took a step back. His hands shook.

But then he saw his father's body across the threshold, his mother broken in front of her own oven. He lifted his axe.

"No, Javor. Not the axe. The old knife. Your great-grandfather's knife." Javor drew it from its sheath and looked again at the strange markings on it. They gleamed, catching the light of the sinking sun like running fire.

They heard a shriek from behind them. Javor spun to see a dark, winged something falling toward them from the sky, filling more and more of his vision. A saurian maw gaped to show long, terrifying teeth. "Dragon! Run!" shouted Photius, and together they flung themselves into the cave. Javor scraped his chin on the cave floor, and turned just in time to see a long, reptilian shape sweep past the entrance to the cave, screaming in rage and frustration.

"Was—was that it?" Javor panted. "The monster that killed my parents?"

"No," Photius panted in reply. He was as shaken as Javor. "No, that was a dragon. They often live in mountains. I did not know there was a dragon in these parts. However, the monster that we seek is within this cave, so we had best keep our voices down."

You are the one doing all the talking, old man.

The cave was narrow, so Javor went in front. The last of the dying daylight did not penetrate very deep, but a strange pale light came from the top of Photius' walking staff. They could see the sides of the cave were wet, dripping with a foul-smelling moisture. "Do not touch the wall, Javor!" Photius warned. Javor tried to draw his shoulders in. His skin crawled when he thought of the liquid on the cave wall touching him.

There was a heat coming from within, and soon he was sweating. He could see a dull red glow ahead in the tunnel. A dark mist coiled about them.

The tunnel opened into a wide cavern, and the ceiling receded to a height Javor couldn't guess at. The red light and the heat came from a gaping chasm at the far end. Strewn about the uneven floor were bones—human bones, and armour and weapons and coins that glimmered dully in the red light.

All this Javor took in within a second, for crouching in front of the chasm was the proof of the story: man-shaped, but far, far larger. It was hideous, covered in a dull grey, leathery hide. Its impossibly wide, pig-like mouth was chewing something. Glowing red eyes shadowed by a stony brow glared at him with an alien expression for less than a heartbeat, and then it was reaching for Javor, right in front of him, filling his field of vision, roaring so loudly that Javor's ears hurt. Its claw slashed at his head. Without thinking, Javor lunged forward, between the monster's legs. The monster hit the cave wall and bits of rock flew in all directions.

Javor rolled and sprang up. If he had time to think, he would have been surprised to find his grandfather's dagger was in his hand. The monster had Photius trapped against the wall. It seemed to be wary of his glowing staff, squinting against its light.

Javor screamed as fearsomely as he could and sprang forward, slashing the knife downward. He aimed at the monster's back, but with agility surprising in such a large creature it twisted out of the way, and the knife bit into its arm. The monster roared again, a sound that froze Javor's heart, and then with awful strength flung Javor across the cave. He rolled to the edge of the chasm. For a second, he felt as if he was going to tip over and plunge in; below was only a dull red light in a deeper blackness and a foul odour. He knew there was no bottom, only an endless drop that called to him; something in Javor's mind yearned to lean over and fly into the chasm, to give himself to the infinite fall.

With a huge effort, Javor twisted away from the edge. He gripped his knife but the monster grabbed him in one huge claw and lifted him off the ground, pinning his right arm against his side. Its mouth opened, revealing row upon row of triangular teeth, and its hot breath stank.

Then Javor looked down, and saw that in its other claw the monster was holding the amulet—his amulet, the one his mother had inherited from her grandfather. But the monster's grip tightened and drove all thought out of his mind. Javor struggled to breathe and his right arm felt as if it would break. The claws started to dig into his skin.

Javor's focus narrowed to three brightly shining points: the monster holding him; the dagger clenched stubbornly in his trapped right hand; and the amulet in the monster's left claw. Everything else faded, slipped back as if into a great distance.

That claw rose to maul him to pieces. Something in Javor's mind called out, and he saw the amulet rise from the monster's grip, as if it had jumped, and sail into his outstretched left hand.

The monster roared in anger and confusion. Javor felt a surge of strength from the amulet. The monster's grip weakened and the claws no longer bit into him.

The fiend tried to bite Javor's shoulder, but the horrible teeth were unable to break his skin. Its grip slipped and Javor tore his right arm free as he dropped to the ground. Once again the monster's claws slashed down, but Javor dodged, jumped and stabbed. The knife sank deep into the monster's neck and black blood spurted, hissing as it hit the rock. It roared again, angry and afraid, but now its hands held its neck.

A wide sweep of its arm knocked Javor across the cave. The amulet flew off to his left, while the dagger skittered across the cave floor to his right. The monster saw them fly and its eyes flared red. Black blood spurting from its neck, it rushed Javor again. He scrambled back, but the hideous claw drew a bright red line all the way down his thigh.

The pain burned so intensely that Javor could not scream. His mouth opened but he could not breathe, and all he could see was blankness. Somehow, he pushed backward and slid across the cave, barely out of the monster's grasp.

"Javor!" Photius called as he kicked the amulet to him. The old man ran forward and smacked the monster as hard as he could with his glowing walking stick. The monster staggered as Photius lifted his staff. Bright blue sparks flew from its tip. The monster blinked, flinched, hesitated for the briefest moment, then backhanded Photius. He flew across the cavern and his staff flew the other way. The blue light nearly died out. The monster picked up Photius as if he were a doll and shook him back and forth.

Those few seconds were enough for Javor to find his amulet. He felt a rush of strength moving up from his hand. He pushed the searing pain in his thigh out of his mind and ran as fast as he could for the dagger.

The monster saw Javor and swatted one huge hand down on Javor's head. Javor fell to the ground, sending a fresh, unbelievable jolt of pain up from his thigh. The only thing he could think was Hold onto the amulet.

He could hear the monster coming closer, could feel its breath on his back, but he could see only blackness. Then he felt the dagger's fish-shaped handle find its way into his palm. He rolled, slashing the dagger upward and kept rolling to dodge the thing's entrails spilling onto the ground.

The monster fell to its knees. Though mortally wounded, it would not stop. It flailed its arms as if trying to swat Javor, to squish him like a fly. Ignoring the pain in his leg, Javor stood and brought the dagger down like he was chopping wood. He felt it dig into something and kept pushing it until the monster's arm fell, severed, to the stony floor.

The monster screamed, but there was no more power in its voice. Javor gripped the amulet in his left palm and straightened. Holding the dagger in both hands, he brought the blade down as hard as he could into the monster's head. The dagger bit deep and extinguished the red glow in the monster's eyes. It slumped forward, limp on the ground and did not move any more.

Javor stood looking at the beast for a long time. The only sound he could hear was his own panting. Photius staggered to his side and put his hand on the young man's shoulder.

"You've done it, boy!" he panted. His voice was hoarse. "You've destroyed the scourge of Dacia, the bane of many fine warriors who have tried. And you have achieved your revenge."

Javor didn't answer. His mind whirled. He saw the monster lying at his feet, and his parents' bodies in their own home. He didn't even know how he felt, himself. Should he laugh or cry, or howl in triumph? He didn't feel triumphant. He felt —

"Owwww," came a low groan from his throat.

Photius crouched, holding his blue-glowing staff next to Javor's thigh. Carefully, he pulled the ripped cloth away and frowned. "Well, it could have been worse. Much worse. I can help it, but I'll need water. We'll have to get out of here quickly."

He asked Javor to hold the glowing staff and, using Javor's small axe, hacked off all eight of the monster's claws one by one, dropping them into a bag. Javor's stomach squirmed as Photius picked up the severed arm and arranged it on the ground to make chopping the claws easier. Then he pulled the head around and, to Javor's great disgust, used pliers to pull out two of its teeth.

"What are you doing?"

"A demon's claws and teeth contain powerful magic, Javor," Photius answered without looking up. "And power like that can be very useful if one has the knowledge."

"Is that why you brought me here—to kill the monster so you can get its magic?"

Photius still didn't look up. "Remember, boy, I didn't bring you here. You came of your own accord, seeking revenge. And you've succeeded. I would not have predicted that." He took back the staff and poked through the debris on the floor. "Well, this monster has been here for some time. Less than a century, though." He stooped, picked up a handful of gold and silver coins, and dropped them into a pouch tied at his waist.

"Well, well, look at this, here." He brought a long sword in a metal scabbard to Javor. Photius looped one of its two belts around Javor's waist, and the other over his shoulder. In the bluish light of Photius' staff, Javor could see that the scabbard was decorated with triangular patterns. He drew the sword and saw more triangles and some spiral patterns. He thought looked similar to the markings on his dagger. More runes? Somehow, the sword felt good buckled on.

Photius gathered more gear from the debris of other warriors who had tried and failed to kill the monster. He buckled a short sword around his own waist, and took a helmet for Javor.

Javor took a a few treasures for himself: a metal wristlet with jewels worked into it, a necklace and some coins. He put his grandfather's knife in its sheath on the sword-belt on his right hip, and tried the helmet for size. A little loose, but not bad. The visor would take some getting used to, he thought. The throbbing in his thigh would not stop.

A sudden shriek: above them, a shadow darker than the gloom of the cavern's heights fell. In less than a second it was upon them, the winged dragon from the slope outside. Photius threw himself face-down on the cavern floor, but Javor held his hands up, foolishly trying to ward off the danger. Somehow, the amulet was again in his left hand. At the last instant, the dragon swooped up again, shrieking angrily, and disappeared, impossibly, Javor thought, down the narrow tunnel.

A rumble came from deep below their feet and a fume came out of the glowing chasm. The cave seemed to shake. "We had better get out of this cave," said Photius. "But first, we must return this monster to the depths it came from. Come, help me push!" He put his hands against the monster's mutilated shoulder. Javor started pushing on the legs and felt pain stabbing up from his thigh through his whole body. Somehow, they heaved the monster's carcass toward the chasm. With one final push, the body went over the edge and fell down, down, down until they could no longer see it. They heard no sound of it hitting bottom, no splash. Photius tossed the severed arm after the body and it, too, disappeared into the shadows.

The whole mountain began shaking. Noise, fumes and flames leapt out of the chasm. Photius grabbed Javor's arm and pushed him into the tunnel, yelling "Run!" They ran as fast as they could for the surface, not daring to look back at flames and molten rock leaping out of the chasm.

With a dash and a roll, they reached the open air just as a violent wrenching of the ground knocked them down. Javor scrambled to his feet, but Photius could not find his footing with the mountainside crumbling beneath him. Javor helped him up, then snatched their packs. Together, they slid down the steep slope as the cave entrance collapsed into a ruin of tumbled rock.

Finally, they came to a stop at a relatively flat spot, scattered with stones as big as Javor's head. "Well done, my boy, well done," Photius coughed. "Maybe we shouldn't have rolled the monster into the chasm, after all. Still, how was I to know? Ah, well—next time."

"Next time for what?" Javor demanded.

"Next time I find a dead monster." He straightened his clothing, pulled his pack onto his shoulders, picked up his staff, pulled his hood over his head and started back down the long path. "It's getting late, but we'd best get as far down this mountain as we can before it's too dark to go any farther. It's still an evil place. Come, Javor."

"What about the dragon?"

"It seemed scared off by your amulet, my boy. At any rate, we'll have to take our chances, and we need some water to tend to your wound. I don't fancy sitting on this mountain all night long."

They stumbled down the mountain through the deepening darkness. Soon the nearly full moon rose, and in its pale light they managed to find a relatively flat area. "See if you can build a fire," Photius suggested. He put down his pack and pulled out little sacks and a wooden bowl. He started mixing powders and water from a skin into a strange-smelling paste in the bowl, while Javor limped to find firewood.

When he had gathered a small amount of dead wood, he realized he had no way to start a fire. Photius poked the tip of his long walking staff into the midst of the wood and a bit of smoke rose. Soon, a campfire was burning, merry in its own way in that wasteland.

Photius rubbed the paste onto the wound, as gently as he could. "I'm sorry, my boy, it's the best I can do out here," he said as Javor flinched and gasped. But when the old man was done, Javor was surprised that his leg actually felt better.

So he let his frustration out. "Don't give me any more round-about answers. How long have you been searching for this monster?"

Photius allowed his staff to dim, and the night closed around them. "Very well, I'll tell you what I can.

"I have been searching for quite a long time, following tales and rumours of evil and destruction. This monster, whose name is Ghastog—at least, that's what my order has called it for over a century—has destroyed many villages and towns, and burned down a substantial portion of a city in Greece, too. For the past decade, it has travelled about Dacia and Sarmatia, taking life where it wants, and it has also wandered far from here at times. During that time, it gathered other evil forms to it, like the cold-drake you killed yesterday.

"Two monsters in two days! What a warrior you have turned out to be, Javor!"

"Never mind that, old man. Tell me what you are doing here now!"

Photius sighed and gazed into the fire. "My mission was to find the monster and find also a warrior fit to destroy it and all its foul brood. For it was more than wild and wanton, Javor. It was purely evil. Look about you: it exuded an evil spell that sickened, weakened and killed, sooner or later, anything in its vicinity. That's why there is nothing living around here, save other evil creatures like it, and they spread around devouring what they need to live, and so their circle of evil spreads.

"Creatures like Ghastog are old, Javor, old. Many centuries of centuries, older than you can guess. They may be older than the world we live in. They hate humanity, and fear us and are bent on destroying us.

"For over a century now, their numbers have been increasing alarmingly. They seem to come from some source far in the east, in farthest Asia or the legendary islands beyond it. There is great evil coming from the east, Javor: pestilences and foul airs. That is why Rome has been overrun by wild barbarians from across the steppe lands—they are running from others who are themselves running from the evil that seems to have vomited from the doors of Hell itself. And that's not all: the seas are rising. Whole coastlines around the Euxine Sea have been submerged, villages and towns drowned. It is as though the Earth itself was striving to destroy the human race."

Javor shivered and leaned closer to the fire. "How do you know all this?"

"I belong to an order of scholars and priests from many lands. We have many different beliefs, worship different gods, but we have drawn together to try to avert this threat to civilization, to humanity. We seek the Answer to the riddle of the nature of the world and these plagues and how we might destroy them forever. We are working together, as well as we might, to gather knowledge of these calamities, to share it and to fight them. We search for heroes, for dragon-slayers and monster-killers to remove this evil spawn—heroes like you, Javor."

"I told you, I'm no warrior!"

Photius smiled. "I have seen evidence to the contrary. Look at yourself—with no training and virtually no weapons, you just destroyed two monsters. A few days ago, you armed yourself with a knife and a farmer's axe and set off fearlessly to rescue two girls from a gang of thugs. Those are warrior traits, as I see it."

But Javor didn't feel like a warrior. He realized how tired he was, how his whole body ached and how hungry he felt. He lay back against a rock, tried to get comfortable and soon fell asleep.

Chapter 6: pain

Every step was agony. Pain shot up his left thigh every time he put his foot onto the stony ground. An ache snaked from his right hip, around the small of his back and up to his right shoulder. Javor realized it resulted from favouring his left foot. His boots were nearly worn out. His right boot was pinching his little toe where it poked out the side, and grit had worked in and scraped his sole.

The bruises on his chest and side smarted with every little bump from the salvaged armour—none of which fit very well. The helmet had become too hot and uncomfortable a long time ago, and he had tied it to his pack. Now it bumped against his hip with every step.

Photius talked all the way down the mountain and continued as they walked through the forests and meadows. "It seems as if the earth itself has determined to eradicate humanity. A century ago, Hell opened its gates, somewhere far to the East—perhaps even beyond Asia on the edge of the world. Out of those gates have issued hosts of evil: evil men and all sorts of monsters, and pestilences, diseases that men had never seen before," he prattled on. "But that was not the first time that the earth has seen monsters or evil. No, evil has been with us forever. And the races of monsters are far older than the race of men. You can feel it, can't you, the immense age of these fiends?"

Javor realized that he had not heard much of what Photius had been saying all day. There had been stories about monsters and demons and gods. But his attention was claimed by his thigh, back, shoulder and bruises.

Javor looked at the sky. Clear tomorrow. The farther they got from the monster's cave, the more familiar and predictable the clouds and the weather looked, and the monster and dragon seemed less plausible. He had given up on looking over his shoulder for the dragon that attacked them on the mountainside because Photius did not seem concerned about it. The clouds made him think of sitting in the pasture again, and that made him think of his father... not now.

To keep from thinking about his parents, he paid attention to Photius. "The dragons—which, of course, originated in the far East—their race goes especially far back, perhaps as far as the beginnings of the earth," he was saying as he used his walking stick to push branches out of his path. "One of my colleagues, now, believes that the dragons embody the essence of the earth itself. Of course," he laughed slightly, "I don't hold with that, myself. How can they represent anything but the spirit of evil, when they wreak so much destruction wherever they go?"

How much farther is it to home? Javor wondered.

"Of old, a race of immortals arose on the earth and they began a war to rid the earth of the monsters. Some they imprisoned deep under the earth, others they pushed into the depths of the Ocean Sea, and some they simply slew with swords and other weapons. These monster-killers travelled around the world, destroyed many monsters and earned many names for themselves: Zeus, Apollo, Gilgamesh, Herakles, Siegfried. There are many stories, and some of them are simply fabrications. But doubt not, dear boy, that all those stories have some essence of fact, or at least they once did."

Photius' ceaseless voice began to irritate Javor. "I don't know many of the old stories," he said.

"No? You never heard of Herakles, or Zeus, or ... "

"Sorry."

"Hmm. Well, I've been doing all the talking today. Tell me the stories you have heard."

"The only story that I know is about my great-grandfather, Medvediu." Javor could not stand the pain in his leg any longer. He sat on a log beside their path and stretched his legs in front of him, letting the pack fall into the brush behind.

"Medvediu—that means 'bear' in your language, doesn't it?" Photius asked, putting down his own pack.

"Sort of. Medvyd is 'bear.' I never thought about that, before. He was a soldier in the Imperial Army, and fought against the Persians. He went to the Caucasus Mountains and killed a giant that had been terrorizing the people around, and he threw its body off a cliff, but no one ever found its body. Then he took some treasures from the giant's cave ... "

Photius pulled a small metal bottle out of his pack, then gingerly parted the torn trouser leg and applied two drops from the bottle onto the long, red welt that ran the length of the thigh. "Just as we did yesterday, your great-grandfather took that enchanted knife and magic amulet, and passed them down to you," he said.

"Yes. That's why I had to get them back, you see: they're the only things of any worth that my family ever had, and my mother gave them to me at my—my birthday ..." Tears welled up in Javor's eyes, and finally a dam of some kind broke in him. He sat down by the path and cried. His father, his mother, six brothers and sisters, all killed one by one by pestilence, by a silent, mysterious death in the cradle, or in their mother's womb—and now, most unbelievable of all, by a monster. Javor cried until he felt drained.

The sun was high. Photius gave Javor a small towel to dry his face. They sheltered in the shade of some beech trees, sipping Photius' wine.

They started again when the afternoon had worn on and a northwest breeze cooled the air. Javor stepped gingerly on his left foot until he was sure the pain had decreased. His thigh was still uncomfortable, but he was surprised by how well Photius' potion had worked.

"I know how hard it is," said Photius as he shrugged his pack onto his shoulders and led the way. "I lost my wife, too, to a pestilence, a mysterious plague from the East, when we were visiting in Persia."

They continued in silence until Javor asked "How long have you been were you following it, searching for it? How did you come to my village a day before this—this monster?"

"Indeed, I was looking for Ghastog. As I said, I belong to an ancient order of learned men (and some women, too, by the way) whose purpose is to find and destroy as many monsters, fiends, ogres and dragons as we can."

"But why?"

"I told you: they're inimical to mankind. It is the theory of my order that the legions of Hell began a war long ago and conquered the Earth, destroying many of the gods. And there is another phenomenon happening now: the arising of the one God. I am not certain what it means, but the old gods, it seems, are dying out."

"What does all this mean to me?" Javor asked, impatient.

"It is your destiny, Javor." Photius stopped dramatically. "You have been chosen."

Javor stepped around Photius and kept walking. "Chosen? For what?"

"To help rid the world of monsters, to clear the way for the development of mankind. You are destined to carry on the struggle to rid the world of monsters."

"Forget it, old man. I'm going back to my holody and putting my parents' farm back together. I've had enough of monsters."

With another dramatic gesture, Photius swept back his cloak to reveal a long sword belted to his side. "A long time ago, I was chosen. I have carried the struggle on. In my time, I have destroyed dozens of such things, werewolves and ogres and monsters that beggar description. I have seen comrades, friends, loved ones ripped apart by them. But I did not shy away from my fate. I was chosen, I took up the arms, and I fulfilled my destiny.

"Now my doom has called me not only to follow demons, but in my old age, to find one to carry on the struggle for me when I am gone. And that one is you, Javor. You have been chosen to follow me."

"Choose someone else, old man. I don't care about your monsters. I don't want to chase ogres around the world. I want to go back to my village and marry Elli and raise children. Forget it!"

Photius laughed again. "I did not choose you, Javor! You have been chosen by a power far higher than me or the Emperor of Constantinople, or the Patriarch of the new Church. You cannot evade this fate, Javor. It will follow you.

"Do not doubt yourself, Javor. Look at yourself: you're taller and broader by far than anyone else in your holody, even your parents. You fought and defeated that monster without any training in warcraft, or in wielding a blade. And the magic amulet of your great-grandfather leaped into your hand of its own accord—because it knows its rightful owner."

"I don't care, Photius. I want no part of this."

"If you're so sure of that, my boy, then why haven't you taken off the armour and sword?"

Javor swore and strode on, but he didn't take off the armor or the sword.

By late afternoon of the next day, they could see Nastasciu again. Still, no one was out. Just like the last time I came back, with Elli and Grat. I guess I'll never get a hero's welcome.

The villagers were still hiding inside the holody, but this time, he did not find it any more damaged than when he had left. Javor waved at a woman wearing a flowered kerchief on her head who was watching over the log-wall. She called down to someone else to open the gate.

People had set up temporary shelters inside. They were tending fires or cooking, afraid to venture outside the stockade. They stared at Javor and Photius.

Javor went to the big wooden cistern in the centre and scooped water into his hands to drink. He washed his head and when he looked up again, there was Roslaw. That fool, Borys, was behind his shoulder.

"You're back," Roslaw said. Javor nodded and drank more water.

Hrech ran up and threw his arms around Javor. "You're back! You're alive! I was so worried for you!" He let Javor go, then hugged him tight again. Finally, he just stared as if he could not believe that Javor was really there.

The villagers gathered around them. "Where did you get the weapons?" Roslaw asked.

"From the monster's cave," Javor answered. Small children came up to touch his buckler. One started to play with the helmet on the ground. "Don't touch that," said Roslaw, sharply, and the children backed away. But the whole village stood around them.

Javor pulled his boots off, wiggling his toes gratefully in the dirt of home.

"So what happened to the monster?" asked Borys.

Photius put his hand on Javor's shoulder. "Javor slew it after a tremendous battle, using the dagger of his great-grandfather, Medvediu." From the back of the crowd, someone guffawed. "After dispatching the fiend, he despoiled it and then tossed its foul carcass back into the abyss whence it sprang." Someone else snorted at that.

"The monster is really dead?" Roslaw asked.

"Verily!" Photius reached into the purse hanging from his belt. "Behold its claws!" And he held up one of the cruelly curved claws for all to see. The villagers drew back as if Photius would attack them with it himself.

Then Roslaw patted Javor on the shoulder. "Well done!" He smiled broadly, which twisted the scar across his face hideously. But his eyes were not smiling. "Thank you. Come, join us for supper. Tekla!" he called to his wife. Soon, Javor and Photius had bread, wine and meat and a crowd had gathered to listen to their story.

Photius did most of the talking. "We walked for days, three days trailing the fiend, on a trail as hellish as you can imagine. Every step was more and more desolate, until finally we were in the midst of a lifeless landscape. We stopped to rest for a moment, a minute's respite from our labours, when we were attacked — "

"By the monster?" someone asked.

"No, by one of its underlings, a minor cold-drake, a huge worm, the length of five tall men. I would have been devoured in an instant had it not been for the quick reflexes of young Javor here. He moves like a cat, indeed he showed himself a true warrior. He leaped and in one blow of his father's axe dispatched the evil monstrosity ..."

Another laugh interrupted Photius' monologue. It had come from Mrost, the young man who most consistently tormented him. "You said before that he used his grandfather's magical dagger. Your whole story's nothin' but goat-shit!"

"It was his great-grandfather's dagger, and that was on the monster that attacked this village, not on its menial ... " Photius protested.

"You didn't kill any monsters," Mrost sneered. "You ran off, scared when you saw your parents killed, and wandered around for days. You picked up some of the armour from those raiders—we saw what the monster did to them, and you had rich pickings. Now you're hungry so you come back here and try to claim some glory for yourself, you coward."

Javor stood up, hand on his sword-hilt. "I went for revenge for my parents, Mrost!" he shouted, his face hot. It was the first time he had ever stood up to Mrost, and he felt his heart pounding. Why am I afraid of him? I've just killed two monsters! "Who's the coward! Come over here and say that!"

"Javor is a great warrior, a kind this village will not see again," said a low, calm voice. It was Vorona, the witch. As usual, no one had noticed her until she was right behind them. This time, she was covered almost head to toe with a featureless cloak and grey hood. "It is time for you to be anointed as a warrior of the gods, Javor. Come." She held out her hand. Everyone fell silent as she led Javor toward the gate of the holody. She said not a word nor made a gesture, but two of the young men serving as guards at the gate opened it for her so that she didn't even break stride.

She led Javor down the slope past the village, directly to her hut near the riverbank, as the villagers watched from the gate. Javor hesitated outside her doorway. He had never seen the inside of her hut—he couldn't think of anyone else who had, other than Photius. Then he thought again that he was a warrior who had killed two fearsome monsters, and he must look silly, afraid to enter a woman's hut.

Still, he nervously pushed past the skins across her doorway.

In the dim light, Vorona gestured for Javor to remove his armour. He dropped his helmet, buckler and weapons to the ground, standing in his tunic and torn trousers and rope sandals. She herself removed her hood and cloak, leaving just a thin colourless wrap. From some recess, she brought out earthenware jars and some wooden bowls. Murmuring prayers or spells, she mixed wine, water and milk in the bowl, then sprinkled a handful of dust into it. Next, she lit a candle, which cast very little light but seemed to give off a lot of strange-smelling smoke. More dust on the candle filled the hut with a sharp smell and made the flame dance crazily.

Javor began to feel dizzy. He found he couldn't look at anything but Vorona, who seemed to shimmer in the candle's dancing light.

She stood. Without taking her eyes from his, she bent at the knees, grasped the bottom of Javor's tunic and pulled it over his head. A tug at the tattered trousers' waistband made them fall apart, and he was nude. Javor felt his throat go dry. She gave him the bowl; Javor drank. It tasted awful, but he swallowed without gagging, his eyes still captivated by hers. "Wine, to represent the blood of life. Water, the cleanser and purifier. Milk, which represents the female and male liquids that bring new life into the world. Salt, essential to life."

She poured fresh water into another bowl, dipped a cloth in it and began to wash Javor, starting at his face, working downward. The scrubbing aroused Javor. Vorona washed every bit of his skin, which first warmed him, then left him cool. He felt as if every nerve in his body was alert, seeking stimulation.

From a small vial, Vorona poured some strong-smelling oil into her hand and spread it over his skin, starting at his neck, then his shoulders. The oil made his skin tingle. He felt hot, suddenly. "Sacred oil, pressed from acorns of the oaks holy to the gods," she murmured.

Vorona's hand moved lower, across his stomach. Javor flushed as he realized his penis was stiffening. Then her hand swept across it and his erection jumped, full. He held his breath. What is she doing?

"Your actions have shown you to be one chosen by the powers of the world to accomplish wondrous deeds," she said, as if she had heard his question. Her hands moved up his arms. Without losing contact with his skin, she moved around him and began spreading the oil on his neck and shoulders. Drops of oil set his skin on fire as they ran down his back. His vision swam, and he felt as if he were rocking back and forth on his feet, no matter how hard he tried to stand still. He couldn't speak.

"As a warrior, you must be anointed before you set out on your quest," she said.

What quest? Vorona shook her head slightly. "You have begun a great quest. The events of the past few days show that you must leave the narrow confines of your life and seek a greater glory. Your quest will change the world, but first you must see the truth." All through this, her hand swept across his skin, up and down his thighs, down to his feet, then back up the back of his thighs, across his buttocks, higher on his back.

Javor's skin burned. He breathed hard as if he were running. Sweat ran into his eyes. She turned and seemed to be searching in the shadows behind her. Javor looked at her curvy back, barely covered by her threadbare wrap.

Before Javor could react, she stabbed him in the thigh with a thin blade. Javor jumped but somehow remained silent. Vorona collected the blood that flowed from the wound into another small bowl. When she was satisfied with the amount she had collected, she held a broad leaf against the cut, patting it in place.

She held out a tiny bottle. "Spit," she said, and he spat as much as he could. When she had enough, she sealed the bottle and put it away behind her.

"Wine and water, blood and saliva," she said. Then she stepped back and in one motion shrugged and shook her shoulders, and her wrap fell from her body, revealing an impossibly voluptuous beauty. Her breasts were full and heavy, her hips wide, her thighs smooth and white. He was aware, mortified of his erection stiffening again, but there was nothing he could do about it.

Vorona knelt in front of him, rubbed more oil onto her palms, took his erection in hand again and stroked, gazing into his eyes. Javor couldn't believe what was happening. His mind went blank. His penis jumped and his skin burned. His breathing grew faster and hoarser, and in a few seconds he ejaculated. Calmly and efficiently, Vorona caught his semen in another bowl and set it aside. "Milk and semen, the beginning of new life." Then she blew out the candle, dipped the cloth in cool water again, and again washed his whole body.

When it was done, Javor collapsed onto her straw mattress. She patted his forehead and gave him some wine in a clay cup. "Now it is time, my young warrior." She gave him his tunic and helped him pull it on. "Time for you to go and find your destiny."

Somehow, Javor struggled back into his armour and buckled his weapons on. He staggered out of the hut into the setting sunlight. How did it get so late? How long was I in there? He blinked, then walked back to the holody, where the villagers were getting ready for bed. Four stood on benches so they could see over the wooden palisade around the holody. Others tended the animals that had been brought into the shelter for the night. Javor found Photius beside a small fire, quietly eating a frugal evening meal. Photius shared a little more of his wine, and they listened to the muttering from the fires scattered around them.

Hrech hunkered down beside Javor. "Are you okay?"

He is the only one who shows any concern, Javor realized. He nodded.

"So, what happened here while I was away?"

"Nothing much," Hrech shrugged. "We just brought as much as we could inside the holody, and kept a lookout. Vorona wanted to continue the solstice ceremonies, but no one else did. But other than that, it's been quiet. No raiders, no monsters. Nothing."

It was now dark. Hrech patted Javor on the shoulder and went back to his family. Photius said "You take first watch, Javor," then stretched himself out on a blanket and fell asleep immediately.

Javor looked up at the sky, thinking of his parents. Have I failed you?

Yes, came the reply, but he could not tell whether it was his own thought, his father's or someone else's. He shook his head. There was no use wondering about that.

He tried to remember the sound of his parents' voices. He thought of his mother, first: her quiet, high voice, so assured, yet so sad. "Not enough rain this year," she had said while picking new beans—how long ago? Five days? Six? Seven? The day before the solstice. Javor was too tired to work it out, yet too nervous to sleep.

It had not been a good year for farming. The sun had shone mercilessly since the snows left, rain had been rare and the crops were puny. "Tomorrow will be a big day," he remembered her voice saying. "You'll be a man. Oh, the years go by so fast!"

"Do you ever think about Alla and Swat?" he had asked.

Ketia stopped picking beans and reached up high to touch Javor's cheek gently. Tears wet her face. "You're so big," she said with a sad smile. "I never would have thought my baby would grow to be so tall." She turned away and pretended to look under the leaves for more beans. Javor heard her sniff.

Sitting in the darkness beside the snoring Photius, Javor scolded himself. Why did I make my mother cry? Idiot!

Javor knew how much sadness his mother had carried every day. Her first baby, a girl, had been stillborn, as had her fourth. The second child, another girl, was Alla. Javor remembered her long dark hair and hazel eyes like her mother's, and her clever hands that used to knit little toy lambs for him. She and Young Swat, the third child and first boy, had been Javor's only friends for most of his life.

There had been two other children, but Javor had never known them; one had died in her cradle only a few weeks after being born, the other had drowned in the stream as a baby, before Javor was born.

Then came the winter of the pestilence, three years ago. Javor remembered seeing men, women, babies looking drawn, pale, remembered how they coughed and trembled all day, remembered the babies' weak cries. Within days, they would die. Boleslaw, the shaman, and his acolytes, two thin teenage boys, would go from house to house chanting prayers and burning incense, with no effect. Ketia prayed to Mokosh, the goddess of health and the spinner of the thread of life. Swat worked feverishly to patch every draft in the hut, but the winter wind still blew in, and ice still collected on the walls.

That winter was deep and hard. Snow came early and in volumes the oldest villagers had never seen, and they succumbed to the pestilence first. Boleslaw coughed up blood while burning incense and died in front of his acolytes. They were also dead by the next day.

In the deepest winter, Young Swat and Javor helped their father dig a trench through the snow so they could get in and out of their hut. Young Swat tired quickly and slumped into the snow as he watched the others dig with crude wooden shovels his father had made. He went back to the hut, and his mother screamed when he collapsed in the doorway.

Ketia touched her oldest boy's face and recoiled: he was hot with fever. She and Alla pulled him into his bed and covered him as well as they could. He began to sweat and shiver at the same time. Frantic, Ketia tried to give her boy some soup, but he could not swallow.

Through the day, as the snow swirled and the wind howled, Alla wiped her brother's forehead. She wiped his mouth and chin when he started to cough. By nightfall, Young Swat was coughing blood. Alla wiped his face and chest through the night, but by the next morning she had fever, too. They both coughed and shivered through the day, while their father stoked the fire until the hut was so hot that Javor had to step outside periodically and wet his throat by eating snow.

The coughing kept them awake all the next night. Until it stopped.

Ketia wept continuously for weeks. Javor never saw her without tears on her face. But she continued cooking and mending and cleaning and looking after her last child.

"I think about them every day," she had answered Javor on that summer day, only a few days but an entire lifetime earlier. "But we can't bring them back."

Once, Javor knew, Ketia had been a pretty woman with long, dark hair that shone as it cascaded over her shoulders. Now, her hair was gray and ragged, lines circled her mouth and neck and she seemed to squint all the time. She smiled rarely, and when she did, Javor could see gaps between her teeth. She occasionally complained of several more loose teeth.

But her voice, her voice was still high and musical and the sweetest sound that Javor knew.

Can you ever forgive me?

Wolves howling brought Javor back to the night. The moon and stars were quickly covered by swirling black clouds. Clouds never move that fast, he thought.

The villagers stopped talking; mothers held their children closer. The wind blew dust around the holody.

Clouds come in before the wind starts? That never happened before.

Javor stood and looked over the stockade. Even the trees in the forest seemed to have come closer. The wolves sounded closer, howling to each other as if they were planning a strategy. And there was another noise, too: something moving through the woods, breaking boughs and crashing through underbrush.

Photius appeared beside Javor, peering into the night. The darkness seemed to be a thick smoke.

"What's going on?" Javor asked.

"Something is coming for you, Javor," Photius whispered. "Another of Ghastog's lieutenants, like the drake on the mountain side."

A violent gust blew out most of the campfires and all of the torches. Then the wind stopped entirely. The forest was completely silent, without any sound. None of the villagers dared make a noise.

No one was sleeping now. Most of the men crept to the palisade to peek over its northern edge. A sudden rushing noise came from above and the wind came back, pushing down hard. Then something hit Javor from above, knocking him sprawling to the ground. He looked up and the sky above was blotted out. He heard Photius yelling. He saw what for a moment looked like branches of trees, stripped of their bark. No—those were teeth, long fangs, a dozen of them at least, in a maw that was gaping for his head. He realized it was the dragon from the mountain as it settled one hideous claw on his chest. The talons ripped his clothes, even the ancient armour he had taken from the monster's cave.

As dragons go, it was not huge. Its body was about the size of a horse, but its neck was as long again. A long, long tail ended in a whip shape. It had a head like a snake's, but longer, with sharp, short horns and flaring ears like bats' wings. Its skin was black and scaly, shining almost wetly in the firelight. Its eyes were red as flames, shaped like a cat's, no, like a snake's, slitted and hypnotic. Javor felt his will bending, he felt he wanted to submit to this fiend. Then another voice spoke to his mind, to a deeper part of his very being, and his hand went to his neck.

As soon as his fingers touched the amulet, the dragon's head recoiled with an angry hiss. It lifted its claw quickly as if Javor's touch burned it. Javor scrambled to his feet, whipped out the sword he had taken from Ghastog's cave and slashed. The enchanted blade slid across the dragon's neck, drawing the slightest scratch on its hide. Black blood oozed along the blade's edge and began to smoke. Javor watched the blade evaporate until the dragon's whip-like tail slashed his legs from under him.

"The dagger! The dagger!" It was Photius, running across the holody. The top of his staff glowed and his cloak waved behind him as he ran, swift for an old man. His own sword banged against his side with each step. "Use the dagger!" he cried.

Medvediu's dagger! Javor scrambled to his feet again as, almost of its own volition, the knife swept out of its sheath with a ringing sound. Instinctively, Javor grasped the hilt between two hands and held it in front of him, facing the dragon, which drew back from the blade.

The world faded away for Javor again, leaving only the dagger and the dragon, but he had no idea what to do next. The dragon seemed to realize it, too. Its head struck forward, stabbing with its long teeth. The dagger seemed to move of its own will, slashing down at the neck. The dragon dodged at the last instant, hissing. Its spittle hit the ground, smoking and hissing.

The dragon raised itself on its rear legs and, screaming, swiped at Javor with its front claws. Again the dagger led Javor's arms, out up and down, a mighty sweeping stroke at the demon's extended leg. Javor felt a shock and a rush and saw a spray of black blood and realized he had shorn off the dragon's front left foot.

The dragon's screaming hit a deafening note. It spewed froth from its mouth, a venom that burned whatever it touched. Its tail thrashed madly, knocking Photius down and sending his glowing stick clattering on the stones. It stretched out its wide wings, beat them twice and lifted into the night sky, disappearing with a gasping, choking scream.

Javor helped Photius to his feet. "Are you all right?" the old man asked. Javor gasped and nodded. But before he could say anything, before he could even think, a sudden gust shook the trees. Javor climbed up the palisade again. A shadow deeper than the night swept over the grassy slope and then WHAM! a huge impact shuddered the palisade, knocking the watchers down.

Pandemonium now inside the holody as the villagers panicked. WHAM! again, another blow to the flimsy walls, and women were screaming, children crying and men shouting. Every dog in the village was howling and the other animals were bleating, lowing and rushing around, trying to get away from the force that was trying to get in.

"Weapons, everyone, whatever you have! They're ramming the gate!" Roslaw shouted.

Javor clung to the palisade, peering into the night, but no matter how he tried he couldn't see anyone, let alone an organized army battering the log walls. Another impact knocked him onto his back.

Photius strode to the gate, his cloak billowing behind him, showing his armour and long sword. His walking staff was glowing again. "Lift me up to the top of the stockade!" he shouted. The villagers hesitated. "Help me up!" he commanded, and men rushed to stack up benches against the wall. Javor stood behind Photius as he climbed the makeshift structure, ready to catch the old man at the next impact.

Photius raised his staff and the light at the top grew blinding. "Begone!" he shouted. "You cannot come in. Your master is destroyed. Leave this village now! Begone!"

Everything stopped then, all movement, all sound, as if in expectation. Photius' staff glowed like daylight, but no one dared to look over the palisade. Then another crash shook the walls, the logs of the gate splintered, and despite the villagers standing behind him, Photius fell back onto the ground. The wind came again and extinguished Photius' light. There was another rushing sound from beyond the palisade, a sound like something big and heavy retreating, moving back to the forest. Slowly, life seemed to return to normal. Someone rekindled the campfires and torches.

Javor was immediately at Photius' side, helping him up. "Are you hurt?"

"No, no, I'm fine. Thank you, Javor."

"Who was it, Photius?" It was Roslaw. "More raiders?"

"No, not raiders, but another fiend from the same hell as Ghastog. Rest yourselves for now—it won't be back tonight. I made certain of it. You all should get as much rest as you can, tonight."

No one slept the rest of that night, but it was quiet. The clouds parted from the moon, then disappeared. The wolves were silent. The villagers huddled around their fires, not speaking other than to comfort their children. Together, they waited long hours for a cold grey dawn.

Javor and Photius hunkered down apart from the villagers. "How do you feel, my boy?" the older man asked. He offered Javor more of his wine.

Javor couldn't find his voice, so he nodded. He still felt breathless. Finally, he croaked out, "Was that the same dragon from the mountain-side?"

Photius nodded. "Another of Ghastog's lieutenants, I think. That means we have drawn two of them here after us, and I don't think they're as anxious for simple revenge as you were, Javor. They want something."

"My great-grandfather's amulet."

"Or the dagger. One or both of them hold great power, my boy, something these monsters fear a great deal. Let me see the knife."

Reluctantly, Javor drew the dagger from its sheath. Making a dim light with his staff, Photius squinted at the markings around its edge. "Hmm. Runes," he said, pursing his lips. "I'm not certain what they mean; they're of an unfamiliar form, perhaps in an ancient Asian language. You say your great-grandfather brought it back from the Caucasus?"

"Yes, that's what my mother said. He slew a giant and took it and the amulet from its hoard."

"Hmm. Let me see the amulet." Just as reluctantly, Javor took the amulet from under his tunic and took the chain off his neck and handed it to Photius, who inspected it closely, running his fingers over the runes carved around its outer edge. "If your great-grandfather found these in the Caucasus, then this amulet and this dagger could have originated even farther east, or south. I am not certain, but these markings on the amulet seem to be an invocation against evil, a protection for the bearer. And these," he pointed to marks on one side of the dagger, "are similar to others I have seen before, which usually signify that only those who are worthy may wield the blade. That's why it has an affinity for you, Javor, and why the amulet of its own accord left the grasp of Ghastog for yours."

"But if it's a protection against evil, then why do the monsters want it?" Javor asked.

"Ah!" Photius held up one finger, as if about to impart a lesson. But he failed. "That is a very good question, but for now I do not have the answer. Suffice it to say, though, that the monsters do want it, and obviously it's very important that they do not get it. Ghastog had been hunting this for many years, Javor; it moved into this region decades ago and has roved around here, spreading destruction ever since. As for why, I do not know. I have colleagues, however, in Constantinople who may be able to decipher this mystery. But for now, let us rest." Photius' staff dimmed again. He settled against a tree stump. "I'll let you take the first watch, Javor. But I have the feeling that if anything happens, you won't need to wake me." He fell asleep.

Javor watched Photius close his eyes and fall asleep almost instantly. How can he look so peaceful, so quickly? How can he sleep after all that's happened?

Too much. It's too much.

Maybe I have already gone crazy. Maybe I am imagining all of this—the dragon, the monster. Maybe if I close my eyes, I will be back in my bed.

He tried it, but when he opened them again he did not see his mother in front of the plescha, did not hear his father snoring on the next mat. He was still slumped in the middle of the village, looking into a small fire. Another villager looking at him would have seen a slack, blank look, eyes staring sightlessly into the flames. They would have thought Javor was exhausted beyond sleep, beyond thought. And they would have thought, as they had many times before, that he was a strange, somewhat addled young man who never seemed to be paying attention to the world around himself.

They would have been wrong, as usual.

Javor kept his armour on through the night, dozing in turns next to Photius, but he didn't sleep much. In the morning, Roslaw brought Photius and Javor bread and water. With him were a group of other men of the village, including Borys, Mrost and even Javor's uncle Bogud. "We've gathered some food and other supplies for you, not a lot but enough for a few days, at least. For both of you."

"Why?" asked Javor, but he knew the answer already.

"We think—all of us, Javor, even your aunt and uncle—that it's best if you, if you ... if both of you leave as soon as you can. I'm sorry, boy, but I have the whole village to think of, not just one person. Like it or not, these monsters appeared soon after you did, Photius, and we all think that the sooner you go, so will the monsters. And I'm sorry, Javor, but you seemed mixed up with this traveller and his enemies, too. If you leave soon, you should be able to put a lot of distance between yourselves and whatever that was in the night."

"A lot of distance?"

Roslaw nodded, but Mrost spoke up before he had a chance to say anything. "Three monsters in five days, and they're after you. The farther you go, the safer we'll all be," he sneered.

"So now you say they're after me—and now you're afraid to be near me. Who's the coward now, eh, Mrost?" Javor said.

Mrost spat on the ground. "That's what I think of you fighting anything. Just get out, Javor."

In a single fluid motion, Javor grabbed Mrost's wrist, twisted it behind his back and kicked his backside. Mrost fell face-first in the dust. "You get out, Mrost. My parents are dead and I don't feel like hearing your voice anymore."

Someone touched his arm, and Javor spun, whipping the enchanted dagger out to find himself holding it to Roslaw's throat. "Now, now, Javor," the older man sputtered, trying to sound conciliatory but trembling with fear. "There's no need for fighting among ourselves, especially when we're surrounded by as many enemies as we are."

"He is right, Javor. Put away your weapon," said a low, calm voice. It was Vorona. As usual, she had come into their midst without their notice. She wore her plain grey hood and cloak, but just looking at her made Javor hold his breath. "You have proven yourself in battle, Javor, and you have been anointed. Now you are ready."

Javor put away the dagger. "We've prepared enough food for you and Photius for some days. Perhaps you should say goodbye to your friends and leave early, so you can make some distance and perhaps find some shelter before dark."

Javor looked at Photius, whose face was unreadable. But the old man nodded.

"All right," Javor said slowly. "I'll go right now."

Just inside the gate, the elders of the village—those who were left alive, such as Roslaw, Borys, Bogud and a few other men—had prepared a backpack for Javor. "It has your things from your parents' house," said his uncle. Photius was ready to go; he wore his cloak and wide-brimmed hat, and a full pack on his back. On the ground were also some bags of food that Javor and Photius could carry over their shoulders. Behind the men, the rest of the villagers had gathered in an uneasy mob.

Hrech came out of the crowd with tears in his eyes. He hugged Javor so tightly that Javor had trouble breathing. Javor squeezed back and patted his shoulder until Hrech let go and, head low, turned away.

Javor went to Elli, who stood with her friends. She drew back, looking around for help. Javor had imagined making a grand speech, but now he couldn't think of anything to say. "Good-bye, Elli," he said, awkwardly, taking her hands in his. "I ... I'll miss you." Stupid, that's not good enough! Do it! he thought. "I love you." Her eyes went wide and she shrank back again. Javor leaned forward to kiss her cheek, but Elli leaned back, whimpering, and Javor gave up. He turned away, picked up the back-pack and shoulder bags and without another word strode out of the holody.

Photius fell into step beside him and together they turned south in the late morning sunshine. Neither spoke and neither looked back.

###

End of Part 1.

###

Part 2: Tests

Chapter 7: Journeying south

His voice, Javor thought, is so irritating. No matter what the old man was saying, even when Javor didn't pay attention to the words, the raspy, dry sound could put him on edge. While he barely heard him sometimes, at other times he wished Photius would just shut up: early in the morning, and also when the sun shone hot onto his head as they walked, scorching the back of his neck when they rested or gathered firewood before they camped down for the night. He never stops talking. How can he keep going on?

"Where are we going?" he had asked that first day, as they left the village.

"South, first, to the border of the Empire, and then to Constantinople," Javor answered.

"Is it far?"

"Many leagues. We are well beyond the Empire's borders, and the capital is another long journey within those borders."

"How long will it take?"

"Since we are travelling on foot, it will take some weeks, I believe."

"Don't you know?"

Photius walked into a thick stand of trees, reached up and carefully took something he had hidden there: a bow and a quiver of arrows. Photius slung them over opposite shoulders. He sighed. "My boy, I did not take a direct route from Constantinople to your little village in the wilderness. It has taken me literally years of searching to find you and your great-grandfather's treasures. Fortunately, it took Ghastog just as long."

"Not 'fortunately,'" said Javor, choking, and found himself weeping.

Photius led the way south until Javor saw his favourite tree—the tree he always climbed, every time he passed it when he was outside the village. It was a beech whose lowest branches were out of reach of everyone in the village except for him. He jumped, grabbed the branch and hauled himself up. He climbed until the branches were too small to bear his weight anymore and looked back at his village and the holody. He looked while the breeze tickled his cheek, and the leaves shaded him from the high sun. Eventually, he climbed down and joined Photius again. They walked in silence.

They stopped when the sun drove them into the shade. Photius shared some of his wine and their food from the village, and Javor filled their water-skins at a stream before they continued south.

Javor grew more anxious through the day; he expected the dragon to pounce on them. "Worry not, my boy," said Photius as he hopped across a small stream. "It will take time to recover its strength after you cut off its claw." But toward sunset, he climbed a small, bare hill that gave them a wide view of forests and meadows and in the distance, both north and south, a hint of mountains. Just as the sun touched the horizon, Photius raised his arms and spoke a long, rambling spell in what sounded to Javor like the same ancient language he had used outside Ghastog's cave.

"I have put us under a cloak of shadow," he said when he lowered his arms. "It should afford us some measure of protection, of hiding from evil eyes that are borne aloft, at least during the day." That night, they hid under the bole of a huge oak amid a thick stand of trees.

Photius sat up, staring into their small campfire while Javor tried to get comfortable. He couldn't keep his eyes shut. Are monsters sneaking up on us? Javor wondered. I never used to believe in monsters. Now I suppose I have to.

He tried to distinguish the shadows beyond their campfire, tried to identify every sound in the night while Photius seemed oblivious to anything except the campfire.

All at once, he bolted upright, heart racing. Long howls echoed under the lopsided moon. "Wolves!" He realized he had been asleep, after all.

Photius was still awake, listening intently. "They will not bother us," he said, turning his eyes to the fire again. "They are simply natural wolves, nighttime hunters as we men are daytime hunters."

"Natural wolves? What other kind of wolves are there?" Javor asked, but Photius wouldn't say anymore. It took Javor a long time to fall asleep.

He woke to Photius gently shaking his shoulder. Behind his wrinkled face, the sky was dark gray. It was just dawn. "We had best get going," the old man said. He gave Javor some of the bread from his village and let him take a sip of his fortifying wine.

The bread was getting stale. Chewing, Javor looked up at the sky. The east was gold, tinged with red. The clouds were thin and high. Javor watched one like a horse's tail drift from west to east as sunlight changed from orange to yellow to white.

"Javor? Come on, the day is slipping away. Let's go," Photius said impatiently. He was ready to go, wearing his cloak, hat and pack and holding his long walking staff.

Javor stuffed the rest of the bread in his mouth, took a swig of water from a skin and wished he hadn't as the bread dissolved into a paste in his mouth. He watched the sky as it became high and blue with white tendrils. It's going to be a beautiful day.

"Come on, Javor," Photius said again. Javor picked up his pack and followed him.

"Wait," he replied. He looked at a tall tree, took two fast steps and sprang up to catch a branch well over his head. Photius watched astonished as Javor practically leaped up the tree until he was sure the branch would break under the tall boy's weight.

Javor enjoyed the tree's swaying as he took a good look around. North, he saw the hills, but could not see his home village. No longer my home.

Southward, meadows and forests covering gently rising hills. No sign of villages or people, but there was a slight smudge in the sky that may have been smoke. Eastward was the same to the shadow of the distant mountains.

Westward were meadows and forests under clear blue skies decorated with thin clouds like feathers. No rain for a couple of days.

He climbed, then jumped to the ground. Photius was impatient, but there was another look on his face that Javor could not interpret. He picked up his pack and followed the old man without a word.

They walked southward along streams or animal tracks through forests, across meadows and fields; they didn't see any other signs of human habitation. "This whole area was depopulated after the collapse of Rome and the incursions of wave after wave of barbarian raiders," Photius explained.

"Where are the Empire's borders from here?" Javor asked the next day.

"I intend to reach the Empire by moving southward as directly as possible," said Photius. "This region is poorly mapped, and since the barbarian incursions, knowledge of the land has deteriorated as travel here is not safe for merchants or other travellers. I expect we should reach the river Danuvius in some weeks."

At another point, Javor asked "Why are we going to Cons – Constalid ..."

"Constantinople, Javor. You must learn to pronounce it. In fact, it would be good if you learned to speak Greek like a civilized person." That stung, although Javor wasn't sure what he meant. "Constantinople is the centre, the capital of the Empire, the home of learning and culture, and the home of my order. There, scholars can help me decipher the meaning of the runes on your amulet and dagger, and perhaps give us a clue about the reason for the calamities affecting the world today."

So they kept heading south as best they could, occasionally diverted by a river or steep hill. They fell into a pattern: in the morning, they breakfasted on dried bread or grain meal from the villagers, and then Photius trained Javor for an hour or so in fighting with sword, knife and dagger. Then, Photius would tell Javor to pack up to start walking south. Before they left, Javor would climb a tree for a look ahead. He was anxious about seeing mounted men or something against the sky that he did not recognize, but he never saw anything but birds.

Photius soon got used to having to continually prompt Javor to get ready and start moving—the boy often seemed to get stuck in the middle of dressing, and Photius would see him staring either at the sky or at the ground, or at nothing at all.

They'd walk until the sun grew too hot to travel under, then rest in the shade. Javor wanted to sleep at these times, but Photius insisted on instructing him. Sometimes, he taught Javor to speak Greek. At other times, he gave long lectures about the history of the Roman Empire: how the Empire had been divided into East and West halves, and how the Emperor Constantine had moved the capital to the old city of Byzantium, on the straits that separated Europe from Asia, and renamed it New Rome. "But the people insisted on calling it Constantinople, after the Emperor."

Photius told Javor that barbarians had swept out of the trackless wildernesses of Asia to destroy the Western Empire, swarming in wave after wave for two centuries. "But the Eastern Empire, its capital in Constantinople, has fought off the invaders and maintained the splendour of Rome and the light of civilization."

Most of this talk of different races and distant countries only made Javor even more anxious; this was the first time in his fifteen years that he had been so far from his home.

After a rest, they would resume walking until they started to get hungry again, or until the sun started to get lower. They'd scout out a camping spot and gather branches and boughs and grasses to make beds. Javor would gather firewood and make a fire, and sometimes Photius would shoot a rabbit or other small game with his bow.

When it rained, they hid under the trees and made rough tents out of their cloaks. And as the sun set, Javor would fall into an exhausted sleep.

Still, he had lived his whole life working on a farm, and he was used to rising with the sun. Gradually, he grew used to the new pattern: rise, eat, walk, train, then walk some more. Photius was very pleased with the training. "You have a natural gift for the sword, Javor!" he would exclaim frequently. And so it seemed to Javor, too. Parries, blocks, jabs and other moves seemed perfectly natural, like there was no other way to move. Soon, their sparring sessions were heavy workouts for both men. The main drawback for Javor was that the rough peasant's tunic he wore wasn't suited as clothing under a warrior's weapons, and the leather straps and metal buckles chafed him.

But at night, Javor had to fight to keep down the memories of his parents, of his lost brothers and sisters. He would concentrate on the sounds of the night, listening for the sound of anything approaching.

"Tell me, Javor, did your people ever say you were ... different?" Photius asked one day as they crossed a meadow.

Not him, too. Javor had to stop. He looked at the sky and took a deep breath. "Different. Weird. Touched. Crazy, stupid." The last two were the same word in Javor's language. "Now you think so, too."

"No, no!" Photius protested. "No, you are not crazy, Javor. But you are unusual."

"Is it crazy to notice how clouds move? Stupid to figure out what the weather will be tomorrow? Mrost couldn't understand how I did that, so he said I was stupid!" Javor shouted. He was no longer in the wilderness with Photius; he was in the village, surrounded by laughing, taunting children. Mrost was leading them, pointing at Javor, encouraging derision. It took Javor some time to come back to the present.

As they continued southward, the terrain became hillier. Cliffs rose sheer out of the forests, which were also thinning, replaced by broad, rolling meadows and grasslands. They heard no more wolves howling after that first night.

As they walked, Photius told Javor about the monsters that had come on the heels of the barbarians, adding to Europe's misery, and about the theories of his "order" of scholars in Constantinople. He also talked about the stories of the gods, about a new God of an obscure people in the eastern parts of the Empire, about how the Emperor Constantine had come to worship this new God and had made its religion, Christianity, the official religion of the Empire (Javor thought Photius sounded sceptical about it, himself). Once, he said that other, older gods and demons were fighting a war around the edges of the world.

How does this have anything to do with me, Javor wondered, more than once. And How does he keep talking?

"Photius," he interrupted one day. "Why did you come up here? Why did you come looking for my great-grandfather's amulet?"

Photius laughed. "Oh, I wasn't looking for that—or, rather, I was, but I didn't know it at the time. No, Javor, I was sent by my order to find some answers. We had heard of the ravages of Ghastog in Dacia and the regions north, and it appeared he was looking for something. So the order sent five of us to find out why. We spread through the area these past three years. Only now have I caught up with the beast."

"There were five of you? Where are the others?"

Photius picked up his staff and strode ahead. "They're all dead." And for the first time that Javor could remember, Photius was silent.

On their seventh day out, close to noon, they found the first village they had seen since leaving Nastaciu. It was built within its holody, a stockade of thin logs. As they got closer, Javor and Photius could see thin, black smoke trailing skyward. There were no people in the fields around, which struck Javor as strange for a hot summer's day.

A large brown dog ran toward them, barking furiously. More dogs joined it in a barking phalanx, blocking their way to the village.

They stood, not knowing what to do—run from the dogs? "They'll chase us down," Javor realized. But they couldn't go forward. And they needed to talk to somebody: their food was getting low, and they wanted to find out where they were in relation to the borders of the Empire.

The dogs didn't come closer but did not draw back, either. The gate of the stockade opened just enough for a man to squeeze through. One by one, seven men came out, all carrying a spear, tool, or anything that could be a weapon—one had an old, rusty sword. "What do you want?" demanded the foremost, a short, stocky man with a blunt face. He had a fresh scar across one cheek.

Between the gates, Javor and Photius could see smoking, blackened huts, the carcass of a pig and women kneeling, weeping in the dirt.

Photius held his empty hands out toward the villagers, palms up. "Oh, we are merely travellers, seeking shelter for the night ..."

"Seek elsewhere!" spat the scarred man. "We have no need of any more travellers here!"

"Bandits, more like," said a gaunt man holding a heavy stick. He glowered at the interlopers.

Photius asked "Dear people, what happened here? Why do you fear us so? We are only two poor men ..."

"Mind your own business!" said the scarred man. But another one said, almost at the same time, "Raiders. On horses. Dozens of them."

Photius looked at Javor, then back at the villagers. "I am sorry. We did not know. These are evil times. We have had experience with armed, evil men—"

"In Nastasciu, my village," Javor interrupted. "They killed several of my people, and as if that weren't enough ..."

"Perhaps we can help," Photius interrupted. "I am skilled in the arts of healing." He took a step closer, but the villagers lifted their weapons nervously.

"Can you bring men back from the dead?" the leader growled. "Can you give a woman back her leg, or an eye? No, old man. Leave us alone! We don't want any more strangers!" He stepped forward, threatening with his shovel. Behind them, Javor and Photius could hear the village dogs growling again.

Photius bowed politely. "Very well, good people. May the gods protect you from further calamity. Come, Javor. We will respect these people's wishes in their time of sorrow." Slowly, the two backed away from the villagers until they felt safe enough to turn their backs on the group. "Let's not alarm them by running," Photius said. "They'll think we are up to something."

Javor risked a glance backwards, to see the seven men still guarding their gate. "Photius, they can't have been attacked by the same raiders that we were—Ghastog ripped them apart the next day. That was more than ten days ago!"

Photius nodded. "There are many evil men about, Javor. The Avars are trying to establish their domination in this area. But even among themselves, there are rival factions."

"Do you think it was raiders who did that, or another monster like Ghastog? Or maybe a dragon—maybe the dragon that attacked us also burned the village?"

"Perhaps, Javor. But I don't know. I couldn't take a closer look."

Javor thought again of something that he realized should have occurred to him long ago. Now he thought it curious that Photius hadn't mentioned it. "That dragon that attacked me on the mountain and then in the village. Does it have a name?"

"All these fiends have names. But I don't know this one's, not yet."

They slept that night out in the country again. They were careful that at least one of them was awake at all times. In the morning, they hid their weapons under their cloaks or disguised them in their packs. By late afternoon, they reached the bottom of a hill, which was broken off by a sharp cliff on one side. Javor thought it looked like half a loaf of bread, sliced at one end. A stream leaped off the cliff, then broke into a miniature rapids before disappearing back into the forest. The top of the hill had been cleared of trees, and they could see the wooden palisade of another holody.

Photius and Javor hid their largest weapons under rocks by the swift-flowing stream before approaching the village. This time, the villagers were returning from their fields, driving their few animals back inside the protection of the stockade. But they still drew together warily when they saw the strangers approaching.

"Good evening, gentle people," said Photius as they drew closer. "May the blessings of the gods be upon you." The villagers said nothing, but just stared at them. "Might I enquire as to the name of your village?"

"Bilavod," said one of the villagers, a short man with thick dark eyebrows.

"Whitewater," said Javor, in Greek, in a low voice.

"Ah. And how fares the village of Bilavod this fine summer's eve?"

"What do you want?" asked the man with the eyebrows.

"Oh, very little for ourselves," Photius answered. "Perhaps a place to spend the night, and if you have any to spare, a little food to eat. In return, my friend here can sing a song or two." Javor turned, shocked, at Photius' claim. I can't sing! "I can also tell you some news of the Empire and offer you some of my skills as a healer." At that, one young woman looked, wide-eyed at another and whispered something.

"We don't have any extra food," said the man with the eyebrows, but at the urging of the others, they let the two travellers into the stockade, where they found the villagers gathered around a fire burning in the centre of the holody. There was a strange silence, a lack of activity about the place. Immediately, they were confronted by the village elders.

"Who are these two?" demanded the obvious chief of the village, a grizzled man with a thick beard and blazing dark eyes.

"My name is Photius, and this is my companion, Javor. We are travelling from the north to the borders of the Empire, and seek only a night's sustenance."

The chief scowled and Javor knew he as about to throw them out, when one of the young woman who had come in from the fields said quickly "He said he's a healer, Papa! A healer." The chief still looked doubtful, but the young woman ran across the holody to a small hut. She gestured to Photius, then disappeared inside.

Photius and Javor followed her, Javor with an eye on the glowering village chief. Inside the gloomy hut, a man and a woman lay on straw beds. A bloody cloth was wound around the man's chest, and the woman was curled into a foetal position, weeping quietly; her clothes were blood-stained as well.

"Raiders," said the woman who had led them in. "They killed six of our people three days ago. They hit Bereh, here, with an axe and raped Alia, four of them, one after the other. She's hardly moved since, and Bereh hasn't woken, either." Javor noticed that the chief had followed them in.

Photius knelt between the two straw beds. He gently cut the bandage off Bereh to reveal a huge, ugly gash across the man's chest. Photius touched the wound very lightly with his fingertips. "Boil some water and put some clean rags into it. Then bring me some garlic cloves and as many small bowls and cups as you can—clean mind you!" The woman disappeared and the chief bent closer to see what Photius was doing.

Photius arranged some pouches from his pack around himself. "Where are those bowls?" he demanded, glaring at the chief, who opened and closed his mouth, grunted and left the hut.

"What are you doing?" Javor asked.

"I can help relieve some of their suffering," Photius answered. The young woman reappeared, carrying a stack of rough wooden bowls that she deposited beside Photius. "Where is the water?" he asked, and she disappeared again. Photius carefully poured a little from three pouches into three bowls: a powder in one, what looked to Javor like dried leaves in another, and twigs in the third. They gave off strange, complex odours: like mint, wine, spice and honey all at once.

Soon the young woman came in again, carefully carrying an earthenware pot of hot water. Javor for the first time looked at her: she wasn't as pretty as Elli, but she was equally hungry-looking, thin and drawn. Straight, dark hair hung down past her thin shoulders. She had a long, thin nose and wide, thin lips. Dark semicircles hung under both eyes.

Photius poured a little water into each of the bowls. He gingerly removed a rag from the pot, waved it a little to cool, then gently swabbed the man's wound, clearing off layers of blood and dirt. When he dipped the cloth back into a bowl, the water turned red.

Using water from each of the bowls in turn, Photius carefully cleaned the man's wound. Then he poured the remainder of the last bowl's contents over the wound and pressed a cloth over it. Javor had never seen anything like this before. The chief came in, stared at what Photius was doing, but said nothing.

Photius then turned to the woman on the bed. Into another bowl he sprinkled a powder from his pack and diluted it with warm water. "Help her to sit up," he told Javor, and then held the bowl to her lips. She drank without opening her eyes.

He took two more wet cloths and gave one each to Javor and to the dark-haired young woman. Then he gently removed the injured woman's tunic; she co-operated, but seemed barely aware.

"Help me wash her," he said quietly. Together, the three of them swabbed her down. Javor hesitated when he got to her chest, but when he saw the young woman efficiently wiping her arms, he went ahead. They turned her over to wash her back, then over again. Photius took a fresh rag to wash between the woman's legs, being especially gentle but thorough. With the last of the bowls and the last clean water, Photius made a thick paste, which he applied to her thighs and vulva. Then he washed and wiped his hands. "Let them rest, now. They should be more comfortable. When the man wakes, give his this to drink," he indicated the bowl that the woman had sipped from. "Just one or two sips, no more. If there is any left, give some to the woman at this time tomorrow. Tell me, have you no one in your village skilled in healing? No wise woman who knows the use of herbs and magic?"

The chief shook his head, staring at the ground. "Alas, she was one of the first killed by the raiders, she and a younger woman who helped her. That's one reason why this attack has been so hard on us, and why my daughter was so anxious to bring you in."

"I see," said Photius. "Are there any others hurt?"

"These two were the worst. A few others had smaller wounds, but they'll recover. And Boris lost an eye. Can you do aught for that?"

"Alas, no. Rebuilding his organ of sight is beyond my arts." The chief nodded. "Attend to these two. The woman will want water to drink soon. Don't let the man drink too much, though, until his wound closes. Take me to the man who lost his eye—I want to make sure the wound doesn't fester." The chief led Photius out, but Javor remained in the hut.

The young woman fussed over the wounded pair. "Are they close to you?" Javor asked. "Family?"

She nodded. "Alia is my cousin," she said, choking. She turned away to hide a tear running down her face, but Javor saw it.

"What's your name?" he asked her.

She looked up, startled. "Lalya," she stammered.

"I'm Javor. I'm from Nastaciu." She had a blank look. "That's north of here. We've been walking for days."

"Oh, I'm sorry." She jumped up and ran out of the hut. Javor followed her, mystified. She went to another hut, leaned into the door and asked for some bread. She went to another hut and collected some plums, and finally a flask. Then she returned to the centre of the holody, where Javor, mystified, sat in front of a fire. "With all our trouble, we completely forgot how hungry travellers must be," she smiled. Javor gratefully bit into the bread. Almost like Mama's. He fought back tears. "I asked my neighbour to make sure your friend there gets something, too," Lalya said. "We don't normally get many travellers here, but the last ones before you were Avar raiders, so we're feeling less kindly to strangers now."

"We had Avars, too, in my village. They killed an old man and kidnapped two girls. That was—um, about 10 or 12 days ago, now." Javor saw Photius walking with the chief and another woman of the village. He was chewing on something, and the woman was carrying more food.

"Were you close to the people they killed?" Lalya asked in a small, halting voice. Javor nodded. He didn't understand why, but he for some reason didn't want to say anything that might make her feel worse. Then, like a burst bubble, it came out. "They kidnapped the girl I loved ..."

"And you're looking for them?" Lalya asked, alarmed.

"No, I, that is, my friend and I—"

"Ah, you make a fine bread in this village, my dear Lalya," Photius boomed, slapping Javor as he sat down beside him. "Yes, it's been many a day since we had some fresh food this fine, hasn't it, my lad?" Javor nodded.

"Are you still looking for your girlfriend?" Lalya repeated.

"No, she's back home now," said Javor, and realized he had a very long, incredible story to tell.

"Ah, yes, she's safe now," Photius jumped in. "Javor helped her to escape from the raiders as they rode off. But tragically, my young friend here lost his parents, his only surviving family, really, in the attacks. That's why I've decided to take him under my wing. We're heading back to civilization, back to Rome, or rather, New Rome." A small crowd of villagers gathered about, some bringing food, others ale. Javor took a bottle gratefully, and Photius took a long swig from another.

"Are those the same raiders who attacked us yesterday?"

"No, I don't think so." He took another gulp of ale. "Those rode eastward, probably back toward their headquarters. There are many bands about."

Why is he lying? Javor wondered. Why doesn't he tell these villagers that the raiders who attacked Nastasciu are dead?

Maybe he doesn't want to alarm them—they'd probably throw us out, too.

Photius took off his high boots, wiggling his toes in the light of the setting sun. "Ah, but we are weary."

"Of course, of course!" exclaimed the grizzled chief. It was now twilight. Pink clouds streaked the sky. "Oh, where is our hospitality? You must be weary! Halya!" he bellowed. "Prepare a place for our guests to rest!" He turned to Photius. "Thank you, sir, thank you very much for helping Alia and Bereh, and the others. Boris's eye is gone, but you have eased his suffering."

"It is the least that one can do," Photius replied. "You are gracious. In fact, I have been struck by the generosity and grace of the people in these parts, far from the borders of the Empire." Photius rambled on, and Javor took the opportunity to take off his sandals and cloak. Soon, some villagers led them to a hut. "No one lives here, now," said the chief, Mstys, and Javor knew it had been the dwelling of someone who had died in the raid. Inside, the effects of deceased strangers in domestic, intimate settings made him feel simultaneously at home and alien. But he fell asleep as soon he settled on the straw mat.

Javor woke to see Lalya bending low to enter the hut. She placed a steaming bowl in front of him, another in front of Photius, who was already up and moving about. "Good morning, travellers. Breakfast?" Javor looked in the bowl. "Kasha," said Lalya—buckwheat porridge."Careful, it's hot!" She left the hut laughing.

Javor loved kasha and dug in heartily. Photius was somewhat less enthusiastic about the porridge, sucking on his teeth as he swallowed. Outside, the sky was clear, the air already hot. They had slept late—it was mid-morning. Villagers milled about. In the full light, Javor could now see mountains to the south. Javor went to the gate of the holody and saw young boys watching sheep in a meadow, some men leading cattle. Others were in grain fields.

"Like home, isn't it, Javor?" said Photius, once again at his shoulder. Javor nodded. He had never been to a village other than the one he had be born in. It hadn't occurred to him before this very moment that other villages could be different from Nastasciu.

"Good morning, my friends!" called a rough voice. It was the chief, Mstys, striding across the grass from the fields. "Did you sleep well? Good. Have enough to eat? Well, just relax today. Rest before you go on your way. My people are feeling much better after your care, good Photius. Bereh woke up this morning, and his wife Alia has taken some food and even said a few words. You truly are a miracle worker!" Photius smiled. "I was hoping, if you're not too tired today, if you might also see some other people of my village. My oldest son, Kii, well, his wife has no children yet. Perhaps you might be able to help? And there's an old woman with a withered arm ..."

"Of course, of course," Photius said gently, patting the chief on the arm. "Have some women—make sure they're women, mind you—bring some fresh, clear spring water to me at exactly noon. Better make it four big jugs. And I'll need some herbs from the forest, and some mushrooms, too. And they must be picked by a chief. Then I can get started. In the meantime, have you any more of your excellent wine?" The chief looked puzzled, then nodded and strode off to fulfill Photius' requests.

"Why do you need mushrooms picked by a chief?" Javor asked.

"I like mushrooms, especially fried, and I need a break from Mysts," Photius answered. "And I need to talk with you alone." He sat, sighing, on a log near the gate. "Let us rest today, Javor. We've been walking for a week with little food, and our journey ahead is long. We'll stay here no more than a day or two. I want to meet you outside the gate at sundown. Before then, I want you to fetch our weapons from their hiding place."

"Why?"

"We're going to need them soon, I believe."

"Don't you trust these people?"

"Oh, my boy, I trust the people of Bilavod implicitly. I have no fear of them. But there are others to consider, and I have a sense of danger. The raiders that attacked them could be close by."

The chief came back with a jug of wine. A young boy was at his side. "This is my youngest son, Boless," he said. "He's going to help me find mushrooms. I've never been able to, but Boless, here, always brings home more than anyone."

"Wonderful," said Photius, smiling at the boy. "But don't forget, the mushrooms must actually be picked by a ruling chief."

"Yes, yes, that's why I'm going, too." And father and son walked down the hill, hand in hand, to the forest.

Photius was soon mired in a crowd of villagers looking for remedies and advice on aches and fevers. Young girls asked how to find a husband, mothers how to marry off their children. Photius dealt with them good-naturedly, and soon Javor found himself wandering the village alone.

Javor found it very pleasant; it was the first day since he was very small that he hadn't had to do any work. The villagers smiled every time they saw him, and in the afternoon he found himself talking again with Lalya, the chief's daughter. He got a better look at her in the bright sunlight; she was thin, and he decided she did not look at all like Elli. She was older than him, older than Elli, but not unattractive. He asked if she had a husband.

"Not any more," she said. She seemed only a little sad. "He died in a pestilence two years ago, and our daughter, also."

"And the chief's daughter hasn't remarried?"

She smiled at him at that. "No, not yet. But then, I haven't really met anyone I liked enough to marry. Not quite yet, anyway."

When the sun got low, Javor slipped out of the stockade and walked to the rapids. The weapons, Photius' long bow, arrows, long sword and dagger, and the sword and armour Javor had taken from Ghastog's hoard were wrapped in cloth under the rock where they had left them. He staggered under their combined weight up the hill, but Photius met him halfway down and without a word led him to a pool where the stream widened and flowed slowly and quietly.

Photius made a small fire beside the stream and arranged their weapons in a semicircle. From a secret pocket inside his cloak, he took the monster's teeth and the dragon's claws he had saved those many nights ago. He ground them between two stones in until he had a handful of fine powder, all while muttering rhythmically.

"What are you doing?" Javor asked.

"Quiet. I must concentrate until moonrise." Then he sat still, hands in his lap, and stared at the water. Hours passed and Javor's legs got stiff, but he didn't dare move even though he knew the moon would not rise until quite late.

Finally, the thinnest sliver of a moon rose over the hills in the east, two horns pointing forward. Photius still didn't look up, but kept staring at the water until both of them could see the crescent reflecting in the water. At last, he said "the bull's horns. The bull is here." Photius cupped his hands in the water and poured a little over the pile of dust made from the monster's teeth and dragon's claws. He swirled it around with his fingertips, then picked up the gooey paste and threw it on the embers of the fire, chanting an incantation that grew steadily louder and more urgent. As steam and smoke rose, he picked up the weapons, one in each hand, and waved them back and forth over the embers. At a look from the old man, Javor picked up his weapons, too, and waved them through the mist, trying to mimic Photius' actions. First the sword and knife, then the helmet and buckler, last the shield as the mist dissipated.

Photius murmured a last time and Javor realized that the moon no longer showed in the pool. Photius bent over the embers and breathed in deeply. Javor tried to do the same and nearly fell over from coughing. Photius laughed a little but, uncharacteristically, didn't say anything. He stirred the ashes with a stick, scooped more water into them, and then scooped some into a little leather bag which he cinched shut.

They gathered their weapons and carefully walked back up the hill to the holody in the starlight. Waiting at the gate was a guard, armed with only a hoe, and the chief, Msyts. He looked alarmed at the sight of the weapons, but did not say anything. We're carrying them, not wearing them, so we don't look very threatening, thought Javor.

Msyts and the guard watched Photius and Javor return to their borrowed hut without saying anything. Grateful to drop the heavy armour, Javor fell onto straw mattress and fell asleep almost immediately.

Chapter 8: Attack

They slept late again the next day. After breakfast, Photius talked two old women into leading him into the forest to help find herbs. Javor found Lalya, the chief's daughter. She seemed less worried now, younger and prettier, although he was conscious that she was nearly ten years older than he. Still, he found himself listening to her talk about her family, about how her mother and then her husband had succumbed to a pestilence some years earlier, perhaps the same disease that had swept through Javor's village. But she also had good stories to tell, about how her father had often kept raiders at bay with shrewd negotiation and a little bluster, and how her mother had kept her father at bay, when she was alive.

Javor leaned against a haystack, enjoying the sound of Lalya's voice and the way the summer breeze blew the top of her tunic. Two boys his own age came up to them, both very thin with thin, dark hair. One wore a sly expression that reminded Javor of Mrost's twin; the other was smaller, somehow thinner with a few dark wisps on his upper lip.

The sly-looking one did all the talking. "Hey, there—Javor, is it? I'm Bogdan. So, your father there is quite the healer."

"He's not my father."

The sly one ignored that. "And they say you're quite a fighter."

Javor sat up straight, Lalya's neckline forgotten. "Who says that?"

"So, my friend Lezek here," Bogdan nodded toward his silent friend, "he wants to see your weapons."

Javor did not know what to say. Photius had kept their weapons hidden until last night.

"Come on," the sly one pressed. "Lezek's never seen a real sword before." Other young men of the village gathered around them, looking at Javor.

Javor looked at Lalya, who raised her eyebrows and smiled. Evidently, she was just as curious.

"Come on," Bogdan repeated.

"Yah, come on, big guy, show us!" said someone in the crowd.

What could it hurt? Javor went back to the hut he was staying in, followed by a growing crowd of children and adolescents. He strapped on his sword, buckler and helmet and, even though the people of Bilavod oohed and were obviously impressed with the way he looked, he felt self-conscious, especially with Lalya watching intently. But he also noticed the other young women looking at him. He was also conscious, as always, of how the straps chafed. He wondered how long it would take before he was fully comfortable with them.

But what will happen when I need to use these weapons?

As the sun got lower, the men returned from their fields and stoked up the fire in the middle of the holody for communal cooking. They were preparing a mild celebration in honour of Photius' healing skills. Photius, returning from the forest with a basket brimming with leaves, flowers and roots, protested only weakly.

It was a meagre feast, but someone had wine and someone else had prepared a stronger, clear liquor that Javor had never seen before. Photius sipped it appreciatively. Javor touched it to his tongue: it was very strong, and some of the village men laughed at his reaction. Then someone brought out pipes to play, and someone else a drum, and soon the villagers were singing. The young men began dancing around the bonfire.

Javor enjoyed himself immensely. By the time it was completely dark and some of the older people had gone off to bed, he had his arm around Lalya's shoulders and was talking to her very earnestly about something, but he seemed to have lost the thread of his own argument. She laughed and pressed closer to him. Does she want me to kiss her? he wondered. Almost simultaneously, Lalya's father, Mstys and Photius, one scowling and the other looking worried, started toward him.

Before either could say anything, a high, drawn-out wail pierced the night, followed by another. The villagers froze. "Wolves!" someone said, and several ran to the stockade to make sure it was closed fast.

Lalya pulled away; she looked afraid. The howling started again, and was answered again, closer this time. "They're howling strangely," said Mstys.

"Not natural wolves, Javor," Photius said quietly. "We must take turns keeping watch tonight." He led the young one back to their borrowed hut, Javor looking wistfully over his shoulder.

Everyone else dispersed to their huts; the happy mood was gone. The howls continued, but Javor couldn't distinguish between them and those he had heard four nights ago in the hills. He did not rest: every few hours, Photius would wake him.

Photius was true to his word that night: they took turns sleeping and keeping watch until the sun rose again.

The next day, the sun rose, dull and weak behind thick, threatening clouds. A cool wind whipped from the north, and Javor shivered in the summer.

"Unusually cold for this time of year," said an old man who brought them breakfast this time. Photius just nodded, staring down at the dirt.

The villagers led the cattle and pigs out of the holody to the fields, but no one went very far. They said they didn't want to get caught in rain, but no rain fell. The sky got lower and darker, and there was a feeling of tension all around. Children squabbled in the centre of the village.

Javor wandered to the crest of the cliff near the holody, watching the stream hurl itself over the rocks, and heard a yell. Looking up, he could see a cloud of dust north of the village. He remembered the same sight from solstice at his home: riders on horseback. The villagers ran back to the holody, driving livestock before them.

Javor tore to his hut. As he buckled on his weapons, he could hear the villagers crying, "Raiders! Raiders are coming!" The villagers gathered in the holody or hid in the forest; Mstys ordered the gates shut and the men gathered at the stockade.

A dozen raiders rode into the clearing at the bottom of the hill. They were archers mounted on small horses. They wore round metal helmets, furs and leather armour reinforced with metal. Some held drawn, curved swords, others had bows and arrows at the ready. Their round shields each bore a device in the shape of a winged serpent—a dragon, Javor realized.

"Damned Avars!" Mstys cursed, peering over the stockade beside Javor. "Will we never have peace. Perhaps," he added hopefully, "they'll just take some food and be gone."

As if in answer, one rider lifted a burning brand. An archer used the flame to light an arrow, then fired it at the stockade. Dozens of burning arrows began to hit the logs. "Get water! Put out the fire!" Mstys screamed, and the villagers began hauling pots and buckets. Javor backed away from the stockade as the smoke grew denser. Maybe it will rain, he hoped, and knew it was a stupid wish. He ran for water and threw bucketsful over the stockade.

He heard a scream and looked up to see one of the young men of the village, a handsome youth named Hlib, falling from the stockade. One hand grabbed uselessly at an arrow protruding from his neck, the other still clutched a pot—he had reached over the stockade to pour water on the fire. Hlib fell to the foot of the stockade and didn't move anymore.

The gate crashed open and then there were horses all over the holody. The raiders slashed with their curved swords and trampled women and children.

Javor found his sword in his hands. A horse rode toward him, a curved sword swung through the smoke. Javor raised his sword and slashed and a body fell from the horse. He felt his body thrust the sword downward to finish the rider off. Another horse charged at him and he slashed again, slicing through the animal's neck. He dodged the dying horse and found himself face-to-face with its rider. The raider swung a curved sword at Javor; Javor parried, thrust forward and felt resistance—then he saw his opponent crumple, pulling Javor's sword down with him. He yanked backward, panicking. He glimpsed another raider at his right, so he swept the weapon around. He felt it hit something, felt the sword slow in its sweep but then continue, saw the raider's forearm fall off, still clutching a sword. Blood spurted over Javor's face, but he pulled his sword back and leaped forward. There was another raider, sword raised over one of the villagers. Screaming, Javor swung the blade with all his might and cleanly sliced off the attacker's head.

The villagers were running in every direction, women clutching children, men running with axes and daggers and burning brands to defend their homes. Riderless horses ran back and forth, confused and snorting.

He ran toward the broken gate, swinging the sword. He felt it checked with a ringing metal sound, and realized he was fencing a man on horseback. Again, he swung at the animal's neck, but the horse dodged and its rider leaped down. Javor hesitated and the raider attacked. Javor jumped back, parried the slash with his sword, pressed forward. Back and forth they fought. Then he saw his opening. He feinted a left slash, checked it and lunged forward, watched the sword cut through his opponent's chest, watched blood splash everywhere.

A blow square in the middle of his back knocked Javor to his knees. He turned and realized a spear had hit his armoured back. Someone was rushing at him now, screaming. Javor jumped up, slashing his sword. It dug into the man's chest and came away again.

He pressed forward, slashing at the horses near the gate, but they drew back. He realized then that the raiders were withdrawing, leaving the holody. They turned their horses and galloped down the hill and disappeared into the forest. He started after them, but felt a hand on his shoulder and heard Photius' voice, "Hold, Javor!"

Javor turned, sword high, but found himself facing Photius and Mstys. "Don't chase them!" Photius yelled. "They want us to follow them! Out in the open, their horses have the advantage! They'll cut us down!" The last of the raiders left the holody. Javor saw the remains of the gate lying on the ground. A young villager leaned into the opening to take a look and fell back instantly, an arrow protruding from his chest.

Photius drew an arrow from the quiver on his hip, spat on its head and fitted it to his bow. Without looking over the stockade, he aimed the arrow upward and bent the bow. Javor saw the old man's lips move, but his eyes were squeezed shut. Then he released the arrow. It flew high over the stockade and disappeared beyond it. They heard a scream. "You hit him!" Lalya cried. She was peering through a small space between two logs.

Photius drew another arrow, spat on the head, prayed and let fly again without looking; again Lalya cried out "Got him!" joyously. "They're running away!"

Javor realized he had been holding his breath. He looked up; the grey clouds were getting darker and lower. Villagers were still running with pots and buckets of water to put out fires. A dying horse kicked and thrashed. Men's and women's bodies, villagers and raiders, were scattered on the ground. A woman, her tunic soaked in blood, sobbed on her knees beside a headless raider. Another woman wailed, clutching the limp body of Hlib, the young man who took an arrow in the throat after standing too high over the stockade to put out a fire. Then the air was full of the cries and weeping of parents and children of those killed, of moans of the wounded. One of the huts burned fiercely, despite the efforts of some twenty to douse it.

"I don't understand it. They usually just demand food and water, maybe a girl, then they go," said Mstys, sitting on the ground. His face was covered in blood from a slash over his eye.

A thin rain began to fall, chilling them all.

"How many times have they come before?" Photius asked.

Mstys looked at the ground. "Four or five."

"And they've only asked for food?"

Mstys nodded. "Until last time. There wasn't enough for them, so they started beating and killing and raping women. And today, they didn't even ask first. Why?"

"Were they the same barbarians as today?"

Mstys shook his head again. "I don't know. They had fur on their clothes, round helmets, curved swords—they were Avars."

"They'll be back, tonight, unless I'm much mistaken," said Photius. "They did not expect a fight. We have much to do." He began ordering the villagers to put out the last of the fires, to dispose of the dead horse, to repair the gate. He delegated four young men to gather wood to make arrows, and three women to tend to the wounded. "We will bury the dead as soon as possible," he said.

Mstys roused himself to coordinate the villagers' burial. Six bodies were carried out to the village cemetery and quickly interred; Photius said a few words over them. Meanwhile, others were improving the defences of the holody. Javor stripped the raiders' bodies of their weapons and armour, and gave them to likely young men of the village.

Photius moved back and forth, fussing over details, ordering people to shore up the stockade here, make him more arrows, and fill as many containers with water as they could find in the village.

The whole village watched, transfixed, as Photius used his own sword to cut the heads off the three raiders' bodies that still bore them. Holding them by their long hair, he then picked up the head that Javor had severed the same way. At that, Javor bent over and retched heartily. He felt ashamed, but no one else seemed to notice. They just watched as Photius stuck the four heads on poles in a matter-of-fact way. He instructed the villagers to place them at the four compass points around the holody. "For luck," he said, smiling grimly. "And to discourage more raids."

Photius spent the rest of the day fussing over his potions and powders. He prepared a bucket of a foul-smelling liquid and soaked new arrows in them. He ground powders and set them into a complex arrangement of bowls near the gate and the path to the forest where the raiders had retreated. Between the bowls he laid a rope, soaked in oil as a primitive fuse.

Javor spent the rest of the day training a dozen young men to use weapons. Six had taken weapons from the dead raiders; the rest had homemade spears and long knives and axes. Other than what they took from the raiders, they had no armour at all.

Javor felt himself a complete phoney, knowing almost nothing about fighting with a sword and armour, but the young men apparently trusted him. He found himself giving tips, things he had only just learned, and sounding very credible. At one point, Photius asked him to find the best archer in the village. Javor set up a target and organized a short tournament. The winner was one young blonde man named Hach. Photius gave him his own bow and told him to practice.

They rested in late afternoon, eating what they could. Javor took the opportunity to take some of the water and wash, cleansing himself of not only sweat and grime but also a good deal of strangers' blood. He felt much better, then, even stronger.

Sunset came, gleaming sullen and red under the clouds. Then a cry rang out from the watchers around the stockade. "They're coming! I see torches in the trees!"

Javor ran to the log wall, loosening his sword. It was true: firelight flickered in the forest until the raiders rode hard into the clearing before the holody. In the sunset, their torches lit up the sky.

There were many more than before, close to fifty, all mounted and masked. They carried torches, spears and long, broad swords. Hach, the archer, took a position prepared for him: a small opening in the stockade, narrow on the outside wall but offering him a good view of the field. Photius took the arrows that had been soaking in potion, dipped one in another liquid and immediately gave it to Hach. With only a quick glance at his target, Hach let fly. The arrow sped to a raider in the front row and hit him full in the chest. As the man fell from his saddle, his body burst into flames. Hach shot again: the arrow hit a raider's shield, but also caught fire, which spread to several others. Soon several raiders were on fire, slapping themselves to extinguish it. Their horses panicked and broke away, screaming, carrying their riders into the woods again.

The leader waved his sword and the troop charged the gate. Photius grabbed a torch and touched it to his fuse; it caught and flame moved along to the bowls of powder he had prepared. One by one they shot sparking flames high into the air, scaring the raiders and their horses even more. Javor's attention was torn between that spectacle and the raiders riding forward—their chief led a group that dodged between Photius' flames. Just when Javor thought it was too late to do anything, a huge ball of flame burst in front of the gate. The raiders' horses reared up, screaming, but checked their charge.

Overhead, a ball of fire roared into the air. It spread, flattened and began to take shape. And then, in the unbelieving eyes of the villagers and the raiders alike, it became a blazing golden dragon. It stretched upward, roared, spread wide golden wings and rose higher into the night sky. A few arrows rose against it and passed right through it, blazing. Then Javor saw the raiders turning, spurring their horses faster as flame fell on them. Two died in burning agony, rolling futilely on the ground. The others disappeared into the forest again.

Silence again, and then a whoop from the holody. Then everyone was cheering. Even Photius was smiling. "Yes, that will keep them away for some time to come."

Someone stoked the bonfire in the centre of the village, someone else found some bread and wine and soon the whole village was celebrating. A little band of drum, lyre and pipes struck up and the villagers started singing.

They'll be back, Javor knew. He walked the perimeter of the holody, peeking over it or through spaces between the logs long after dark. But when daylight had faded completely, he guessed that the raiders were not used to fighting at night, so he relaxed a little.

He put his weapons away in the hut he shared with Photius, and when he stepped back outside, Lalya was at the door. She pressed a cup of wine into his hands. "Thank you, Javor. Thank you."

Javor drank. "For what?"

Lalya just smiled in answer, but gently pushed him into the hut. Inside, she pushed her mouth against his, and with her body steered him toward the straw bed. Her tongue pushed into his mouth and her hands pushed his tunic off his body. Before he knew it, they were both naked. Her mouth roved all over his body. He felt a rush as her skin touched his hard penis. He was aware that she was older than him by a good ten years, older than Elli by probably more. But in the flickering firelight that filtered in through the open window, she was beautiful. She was over him, now, smiling, caressing his face. "You are beautiful, and you don't even know it, do you?" she asked.

He pulled her down, rolled on top and kissed her, hard. She pulled away. "Relax, Javor. Not so fast. We have all night." She smiled again, and Javor kissed her again, softer this time, making an effort to be slow. He remembered how feverishly fast it had been with Elli that first time. Make it last longer, he reminded himself.

Lalya took the lead, kissing him slowly, encouraging him at every step. Javor took her example and kissed every inch of her body, moving his mouth over her high, pointed breasts and marvelling at how she responded. He tasted her, drank her in, took care to experience every bit of her, and she did the same. And when he entered her, he took time again, going slow and fast, consciously enjoying it as long as he could. At last, he could hold back no more, felt himself flowing into her. He collapsed, hot, sweating, spent, felt her body press against his. Skin on skin, he thought. It's wonderful.
Chapter 9: Refugees

Morning dawned with the sun gleaming redly under heavy black clouds. Drizzle started within an hour and continued on and off the rest of the day, leaving everything and everyone soggy.

Lalya was gone when Javor woke, but there was a loaf of bread in the hut. He ate it and looked through the doorway at the drizzle. He found an old cloak in the hut and held it over his head against the rain, then went to look for Lalya. She was crouching in the doorway to her father's hut, doing something he couldn't see. But Mstys was standing outside the doorway, miserable in the drizzle, and he glowered at Javor. Javor decided not to approach.

He found Photius near the stockade. In his wide-brimmed hat and long cloak, he seemed impervious to the rain. He had ordered pairs of sentries stationed at intervals around the stockade, and the two young men beside him, peering into the rain, looked very unhappy.

"Just because the raiders left last night, don't think they will not return," Photius explained. "In fact, they're doubtlessly anxious to punish this village—they have a reputation to support."

"Look sharp up there!" Mstys bellowed from right behind Javor, who jumped. The boys on the stockade looked briefly at Mstys, their faces miserable, but then quickly turned back to peer harder into the mist and drizzle.

In mid-morning, one of the sentries called out. Staggering up the hill was a sorry-looking group, men and women, old and young. Several limped, bled from wounds on their heads and limbs. One man had wrapped his head in an improvised bandage, almost completely pink. Another man was being partly carried by a heavy-looking woman; one of his arms hung limply, bleeding from a savage rip near his shoulder.

"Bilavod!" one of them called. "Help us, please!"

"They're from Kletka, by the river," said Mstys. "Let them in!" he bellowed.

Someone opened the gate, and soon the wounded were gathered around the fire in the centre of the holody. The people of Bilavod rushed to bring water and bandages, while Photius directed cleaning their wounds.

"What happened to you?" Mstys demanded.

"Raiders. Avars, I think," said one man. He had a raw-looking cut across his face.

"No, not Avars," said the man with the arm wound. "At least, not like the usual. Most Avars don't wear furred hats like that. And they had a symbol on their shields, too. More like Sarmatians."

"Don't be a fool," said a third refugee. "There haven't been Sarmatians here for centuries. They were Avars."

"Goths, maybe," said someone else.

"Whoever they were," said the first refugee, raising his voice. "They attacked our village at dawn. They didn't even make demands for food or anything. They just shot fire arrows at our holody, then burst in and started killing people. They burned down the village, killed the livestock." He looked down and started weeping. "They killed all the children." He started to sob.

"They took the young women and raped them," said a woman, herself bloody and bruised. "They tied the men, and killed many who fought back. They were merciless, completely merciless!"

Later, by the fire, Mstys held a council with the elders of his village, Photius and the eldest man and woman of the refugees from Kletka. "It's very strange, the way the raiders have attacked both our villages without warning or demands," he said. "I don't understand why they didn't take food or supplies or animals, but were only after killing and destruction."

"How often have you faced the raiders before?" asked Photius.

"Groups come through every month or two," Mstys answered. "Usually six or seven at a time. The big groups spread out through the country, sending small parties to each village to gather what they need. Occasionally they would take a girl for their pleasure, but always leave her afterward."

"Is it the same raiders from time to time?" Photius asked.

"No, never. But usually they're from the same tribe, I think. They dress the same," Mstys said. "They have the same kinds of weapons, and they always use horses."

"They're monsters from the wildernesses of the east," said Slawko, the one-handed man from Kletka; Photius had had to amputate his left arm above the elbow because of the savage sword cut that had nearly severed it. "I think they came out of Hell in Asia, across the prairies for our land."

"Don't be so superstitious, Slawko," said the woman from Kletka. To Javor, she seemed ancient, a haggard crone with long lank hair and deep circles under her eyes, but she couldn't have been even 40 years old. "They're just barbarians, raiding and taking what they want."

"I tell you, Allia, they're not human!" Slawko shouted, shaking his remaining fist.

"Men can be plenty evil, Slawko. You know that as well as I do," retorted Allia. "They're just men, doing horrible things to whoever they can to get what they want."

Photius interrupted: "Did the group that attacked you have a dragon design or symbol on their shields?"

The two refugees stared blankly for a moment. "No," they said together.

"What about those who have attacked you before, Mstys? The ones who demanded food and tribute?"

Mstys looked at the other elders gathered around him. Finally, he said "No, not that I remember. Most had no symbols about them at all."

Photius nodded. "This was a different group, then," he said.

Javor whetted his sword. He felt angrier with every moment. Finally, he walked through the village, stopping to speak to young men. "Meet me at the gate at sunrise," he told each one.

The next morning, Javor had a group of ten young men. A few had the arms and armour from the dead raiders, while others had hunting bows, spears, axes and long knives. Javor led them out the gate, to the surprise of the guards on watch, and through the forest path to a clearing near the river. He redistributed the arms: most ended up with a helmet and upper-body armour and a sword of some kind. But no one was fully armoured, and none of them knew how to fight with these kinds of weapons beyond the rudimentary skills he had shown them the day before. He started to show them the basics of sword-fighting. After a few near-disasters with the real weapons, he got them to practise with sticks instead.

Javor felt like he never had before as he showed the boys how to hold their "swords," how to stand and how to move. The boys asked him questions, to approve their stance and the way they swung and stabbed. No one had ever asked him for advice before, let alone instruction; his own village had always treated him with pity or scorn. He felt older, smarter, more serious. He had never felt so...competent. He corrected the boys' movements, told them how to anticipate their opponents' reactions. He was aware that his voice sounded deeper. He could feel his brows knitting together until he got a slight headache.

When the sun started to climb, the boys and young men returned to the village; none of them would tell much of what they had been doing, Javor knew. And every morning for the next seven days they met again. By the end of that time, they were by no means warriors, but they had developed a rough proficiency with weapons. Javor convinced himself that they could face an enemy force, and the boys themselves were enthusiastic. After that first week, Javor started giving out the weapons again, and for most of each morning they drilled, practising attacks and defences.

When the sun got too high and too hot for intensive drilling, Javor led his little class down to the stream to bathe, and then back to the holody where they all had to get back to chores.

Javor felt a pang as he watched the boys go back to their chores. They're exhausted. But each morning at sunrise, they all gathered to drill and train some more.

Photius found them one day. He strode purposefully into the clearing where Javor directed their training, motioned Javor to one side and demanded "What do you think you're doing?"

"I'm training them the way you trained me." Javor had expected Photius' objections. "I'm passing on my skills like you said you were doing for me."

Photius was grave and spoke quietly and quickly. "Javor, you're sentencing these boys to death. They're not warriors, and no more than two of them ever have a hope of becoming one. You're wasting time when they should be strengthening their defences."

"How can they defend themselves if they don't know how to use weapons?"

"By building up their stockade and their gate, laying in supplies of food and firewood, making refuges and secret escape routes. The only hope they have is in staying out of sight of raiders, making it difficult and costly for raiders who find them and want to attack, and paying them off as cheaply as possible. If any of them raises a weapon, he's not only going to get killed, he's going to cause the deaths of many more."

"And what about things that aren't Avars, the men who attacked with the dragon symbol, the things that have been following me?"

"If you really hope to help these people, then you will get away from them as fast as possible. Supernatural beings in this area are looking for you."

Javor didn't know how to respond to that. But just then, one of his students, a skinny, dark-haired man of about 20 named Krasimir, delivered a savage blow on Hach's arm with a stout stick that he was using as a sword. Hach howled in pain: the arm was broken. Javor was dismayed: their best archer was incapacitated. Muttering under his breath, Photius splinted the young man's arm, and the whole group, dispirited, trudged back to the holody.
Chapter 10: Counter-attack

Why is the night so quiet? The afternoon breeze had brought in high, wispy clouds, but it had died and smoke rose straight up. The thin moon sank early and in the almost complete darkness, every creature seemed to try to be silent. Even the owls and crickets seemed hushed, afraid to make much noise. The people of Bilavod stepped carefully to avoid making noise and whispered to each other.

Mstys ordered groups of men, including all the youngsters that Javor had tried to train, to stand watch in shifts through the dark hours; Photius stayed with them through the night, never tiring. Thrice, they heard a wolf howling, and all the men stopped their furtive whispering and touched whatever they had for weapons. But nothing happened.

Javor could not sleep. Tired as he was through the night, he could not hold still and paced around the village, from the gate to the stockade on the opposite side. Men and boys woke up a young man who fell asleep with his chin resting on the top of the stockade. Once, he saw Lalya near her father's hut.

Will this night never end? It has to be sunrise soon. But the sun refused to cooperate. Photius found Javor drumming his fingers on the eastern side of the stockade, staring impatiently at the darkness as it greyed with infuriating slowness.

When the first orange light touched the clouds, Javor exhaled noisily through pursed lips. "Finally," he muttered.

When the light was strong enough to see individual bushes scattered in the meadows outside the holody, one of the watchmen started to scream. On the grassy slope before the holody's gate sat a severed human head. Its eyes were half-closed, its mouth gaping, the tongue protruding, its hair matted with dried blood.

The rising sun revealed the full horror on the slope. Twenty paces from the head was another, also grimacing in pain and horror, covered in its own blood.

Mstys took an axe and leather jerkin and ordered some of his men out of the gate. They were joined by Bohdan, the scarred man and some of the others from Kletka. Javor and Photius followed. As they neared the first head, the men of Kletka started to weep. "Miro! It's Miro!" said one. The second head was a woman's. "Oda!" cried another man.

They could see a long line of severed heads leading down a path in the forest, but Photius stopped them from going farther. "We're getting too far from the safety of the holody already," he said. "This is a trap. Don't fall into it."

It was too late. Yelling, the young troop that Javor had tried to train came pouring out of the gate, waving spears and swords over their heads. They charged down the path, following the trail of severed heads from Kletka.

"See what you've done, Javor!" growled Photius. But Javor was already running after the boys, shouting "Wait! Stop!" It was futile.

He caught up with them when they had come a stop deep in the forest, unsure of where to go next. Javor could not see the holody. "You're not ready!" Javor panted. But it was panic, not exertion, that made his heart pound. The amulet, on its chain under his tunic, chafed him.

"We're not afraid!" said Krasimir, lifting his notched sword. His pilfered helmet was too big for him and slipped over one eye. "You see what they've done, what they're going to do to all of us if we don't fight back!"

"They'll cut you to pieces!" said Javor, but by the time he finished that statement an arrow was protruding from Krasimir's exposed eye and hooves were thundering around them. Javor just managed to draw his long sword and slash at a horse's leg before he realized the little troop was surrounded. Singing, the raiders joyfully cut down the young men. Javor leaped forward to parry a sword as it swung toward Hach, but a spear went through the archer's body from another direction. Javor killed the raider with his sword, whirled and cut down another who had dismounted, but it was useless. He was the only one fighting, and before he knew it he was surrounded by a ring of mounted spears and the dead bodies of the boys he had tried, and failed, to train.

The raiders were laughing now, talking in their strange language. Are they arguing about which of them will gut me? His left hand gripped the amulet through the tunic as one raider, evidently elected by his fellows for the honour, urged his horse a step closer.

Something flashed brighter than the sun. The horses reared and screamed, the men shouted and two fell off their mounts. Trees ignited all around them. Another flash, and two raiders were burning, running in circles and screaming.

"Javor, here!" Javor darted toward Photius' voice through an opening in the ring of horses where the two men had fallen. The raiders shouted and shot arrows, but they bounced off the trees. He found Photius with his staff glowing. "Get back to Bilavod, quickly!" he shouted, and they ran as fast as they could.

Behind them, hooves thundered again. Photius whirled and his staff flashed bright again, but he slumped, exhausted; the spells were sapping his strength. Javor grabbed his shoulder and propelled him through the trees until they reached the clearing and could see Bilavod's holody. Mstys stood inside the barely open gate, waving the two closer. "Hurry, hurry!" he called, and slammed the gate shut just as the two jumped inside. They heard thunk! thunk! as arrows hit the logs.

"Are you all that escaped?" Mstys asked, dismayed.

"I'm afraid so," Photius panted. "The young men—"

"I'm sorry, Mstys," said Javor. "I tried to stop them." He felt tears on his face as he thought of the brave, stupid Krasimir and the doomed Hach.

Mstys didn't say anything, but a woman stepped up behind him. "Murderer!" she screamed. "Butcher of children! Don't think we don't know what you've been up to!"

Javor shrunk back. "It was you who told them they knew how to fight!" the woman went on. "It was you who lied to them! It was you who led them to be slaughtered!"

"No, I was trying—"

There was no time to argue; burning arrows fell inside the stockade and villagers ran to put out the flames. A few archers shot through the loopholes that Photius had ordered made, while women brought Photius his powders and tools.

The rain of arrows stopped. Mstys peered through a loophole. "They've surrounded us, but they're not doing anything. They're waiting for something."

Photius worked feverishly, measuring out powders and treating arrows, doling them out as he could to the archers. "Don't shoot anything until I tell you to," he said. Javor helped as much as he could. The villagers rushed to reinforce the walls and pile logs and other odd items against the gate, but Javor knew it was useless. They need to be doing something. Somewhere, the mothers of the dead young fighters in the forest cried.

A tense calm gradually filled the holody. No one spoke. They stood, peering through loopholes and watch-holes, or tended fires or held unlit torches ready.

Outside, the raiders slowly circled the holody, silent and terrifying, just beyond bow range. The morning wore on, growing hotter, but still they did nothing. "They're waiting for reinforcements," said Mstys. He was soon proved right. By midmorning, thirty more riders joined the twenty that had ambushed Javor and the young men. They spread around the stockade evenly and, when they were all in place, raised their bows and shot volley after volley of fire-arrows into the holody.

The villagers did not panic. Mstys had ordered that thatch be taken off the roofs of the buildings and thrown outside the walls. The arrows did little damage as the villagers quickly and efficiently poured sand on the flames or stamped them out.

The raiders broke off their fusillade. Mstys took the chance to put his head above the wall. "What do you want?" he yelled, but received only jeers in reply.

Javor looked through a loophole to see a group of riders raise their swords and charge. There was a loud crash at the gates, and the whole stockade moved, but held.

"They have a battering ram!" shouted Mstys. Archers jumped to loopholes on the sides of the gates where they could shoot at anyone attacking there and began to fire Photius' burning arrows. They hit their targets, but the raiders had learned since the night before and immediately dropped and rolled on the ground. Several were hurt badly enough to withdraw, but Javor knew they couldn't drive them all off that way.

The battering ram was a big log carried between two horses; its crew backed the animals up, then slapped their hindquarters to send them charging at the gate again. "Kill the horses!" Javor shouted. Reluctantly, an archer shot at the horse, setting it afire. It tried to run, but fell on the other horse, setting it and the log ablaze as well. Javor felt sick at the pitiful sight of the dying horse.

Then the riders charged from all directions at once, standing on their saddles to vault the stockade. One landed behind Javor, whose sword seemed to find its own way to the raider's head, biting through the mail and killing him on the spot. Javor wrenched the sword free of the falling body and ran toward another attacker. His sword led the way, piercing the man's chest.

But there were too many of them. They killed villagers indiscriminately. Spears and swords bloodied tunics and skirts. Mstys wielded a scythe, cutting down the raiders until a blow to his head knocked him down. Photius had his sword out and Javor saw him dispatch two raiders before another blocked his view.

Javor swung his sword, but the raider was quick and skilled and engaged him in a terrifying bout. Time after time, Javor barely dodged swipes of the curved blade. He couldn't connect and was conscious of his own lack of skill and experience.

The other man knew he had the advantage. He hit Javor on the arm, then on the head with the flat of his blade. He drew no blood, but the pain slowed Javor down. He swung his blade again and missed again. His opponent seemed to go for his chest, but suddenly swiped savagely at Javor's legs, tripping him. Javor went down hard. The amulet fell out of his jerkin then, but its chain was still on his neck, and Javor grabbed it unconsciously. The curved sword struck his back, ringing on the armour, but it didn't penetrate.

Javor rolled on top of his sword. He tried to get out his dagger, but the raider brought his down on Javor's chest. The blow winded Javor, but the armour held, ringing.

He sat up and leaped forward at his opponent's legs, bringing the man down, and drove his dagger into the man's face and up into his brain. The raider spasmed, then slumped, dead.

Another blow took off his helmet and blinded Javor. He scrambled to his feet, clutching at his amulet. A huge raider, almost a head taller than him, swung a huge sword at his neck, aiming to take his head off, but missed; Javor felt the wind as the blade swept past his face. He lunged forward, using the dagger-to-the-brain strategy again, and it worked again. He picked his broadsword off the ground and ran to a knot of villagers who were trying to fend off ten or more raiders. From the corner of his eye, he saw yet more climbing the walls. It's hopeless.

Javor reached the knot of fighters and ran his sword into one's back, pulled it out and slashed at another raider who was about to decapitate Slawko, the refugee from Kletka. Allia was behind him, brandishing a small knife used for filleting fish. She looked terrified and grateful at the same time, but then Javor jumped past her and killed another raider coming up from behind. It's no good. There are too many of them.

Photius and Mstys were beside him, then, and pulled them toward one of the buildings where a group of people from Bilavod and Kletka had grouped to make a stand. They had bows, long knives, a scythe, axes and a few captured swords. They stood against the low wooden wall of a store-house, facing ten armoured raiders. Most of them were wounded; Mstys was bleeding from his face, another man—Lesek?— from the leg.

Then Javor became aware of something that had been bothering the back of his mind for some time: it was getting darker, but the time couldn't be past noon. Dark clouds had covered the sky, which had dawned clear and blue. The light grew dimmer and dimmer. It seemed to be bothering the raiders, who hesitated to attack the villagers.

Photius muttered and the end of his staff started to glow again, but before he could do anything, a cry like a huge raven's came from overhead. There was a rushing sound, and something huge with wings swept above them.

The raiders looked up, yelling in dismay. The raven's scream came again, and the villagers cowered, looking skyward. Photius and Javor kept their eyes on the raiders. Then came the rushing sound and something big as a large dog with wide feathered wings dove out of the darkening sky and knocked down a raider.

The thing settled on the ground and folded its wings. It looked at first like a monstrous eagle, but it had four legs: the forelegs were like the legs of an eagle, too, but thicker and more powerful than any bird's, and its body behind was like a huge cat's. A hooked beak terminated a feathered head on top of the long neck, also covered in golden feathers, but long ears like a horse's stuck out on the sides. The beak opened and it uttered a loud, harsh scream.

The raiders ran, scrambling over the stockade, leaving behind their fallen fellows. Someone groaned on the ground, but the villagers were frozen with fear.

The creature looked straight at Javor with huge, yellow, intelligent eyes. It took a step toward him and Javor reached his left hand toward the amulet that hung from his neck against his breastplate.

The creature slowly walked to Javor until he could have touched it with an outstretched hand. It reached a front claw out in an oddly human gesture toward Javor's chest. Javor clutched the amulet in his left hand and drew out his great-grandfather's dagger with his right.

The creature jumped back, screeched again and launched itself into the air. With two flaps of its wings it disappeared into the lowering clouds. Rain began to fall. Allia, still holding her filleting knife, fainted behind him.

Javor realized his mouth was hanging open. He stared where the creature had disappeared. "What the hell was that?"

"A gryphon!" Photius exclaimed. "I thought they were extinct since the Scythians were conquered."

Javor turned to him. "What?" he and Mstys said at the same time.

"A mystic creature, guardian of treasure, servant of the sky gods," said Photius, still gazing at the clouds. "They lived on the broad steppes. I had thought they disappeared centuries ago. And they have never been heard of in these lands."

"Well, it's gone now. I suppose we should be thankful that it came at all," said Mstys. He looked around at the devastation that had been his village.

"They've gone!" called a sentry. "The raiders, their horses, all gone! The creature drove them away!"

Javor and Photius slumped down. "Are you hurt, boy?"

Javor checked. "No, other than a few bruises. No cuts, though."

"I daresay your amulet protected you again. It seems to like you." He smiled a little.

"That thing—what did you call it?"

"A gryphon. A creature of the sky. A servant of Zeus. Part lion, part eagle..."

"What did it want?"

Photius looked at Javor. "What else? The amulet. But the amulet did not want the gryphon. And your dagger scared it off. Those items have great power, my boy."

Javor didn't know what he meant.

Cleaning up after the battle was a grim task. Mstys told them the score: besides the ten young men killed under the trees, they had lost 15 more to the raiders. Of those, there were eight dead inside the stockade, another four outside, felled by arrows burning or conventional.

Mstys ordered the raiders' bodies stripped of weapons, armour and any valuables. A number wore jewelled arm-rings and other precious items of gold and silver. Then they dumped the bodies in a pit in an area they used as a quarry, covering them with stones and mud.

A group of villagers, including many from Kletka, dug common graves for those they had lost. They put the bodies of the brave young men into one, and Mstys promised they would erect a monument at some time. They had another for the people of Bilavod who had died in the raid, and a third for the people of Kletka. Javor and Photius stood at the little graveyard with weapons ready in case the raiders, or the gryphon returned during this time of great vulnerability.

But the forest around the holody remained quiet. Even the birds seemed quiet, mourning the loss. Mstys supervised the burials and said a few words of prayer, and then the survivors hurried to lock their gate.

As the sun set, the villagers gathered in the middle of the holody and shared what food they had. They had defeated the raiders, but no one felt like celebrating. Their losses, especially of the young men, were too fresh. Mstys announced that the people of Kletka would stay in Bilavod, that the two communities would become one. Then he sat down beside Javor and Photius, looking concerned and sympathetic and sheepish all at the same time.

"I want to thank you for your help these past days. We could not have survived without you, and Bereh and Alia have recovered well. We didn't think they would even survive, let me tell you!

"But I think—we all think—that it would perhaps be best if the two of you moved on now. I don't want to be ungrateful, but it seems as though these new dangers, that creature, well, they've only come since you two have been around. It seems they're after you more than us. I have to think of everyone in this village. As I say, I don't want to be ungrateful, but I think everyone is better of if you moved on to where you're going sooner rather than later."

"Not to worry," said Photius, chewing on a piece of bread. "My companion and I were just talking about how long we had tarried here, and how far away Constantinople is. So we'll be leaving in the morning." Mstys seemed satisfied, and clapped Javor on the shoulder, then walked away.

They retired to the empty house they had been given, and that night, well after dark, when the fire had almost died away, Lalya came into his bed again, and they made love quietly and desperately, and when they were done, Lalya left him again before dawn.
Chapter 11: Into Dacia

The people of Bilavod gave them as much food as they could carry: bread, dried meat, apples that were just starting to ripen. "They'll get redder on their own," Mysts promised.

Javor felt grateful for the extra weight in his pack as he hoisted it to his shoulders. Photius made a flowery, smiling farewell speech, but Javor couldn't feel anything but regret and dread. He could not meet Mstys' eyes, and he did not see Lalya anywhere. Mstys does not want her to come near me.

A few other villagers watched them go from the gate. They were not sad to see the pair leave, but they were mourning their dead—especially the young men who had run to their own slaughter. Javor did not see the woman who had accused him of betraying them, of plotting to lead them to the raiders' spears. Maybe she's dead.

The two of them stepped down the slope without looking back. Javor checked the sky as he went: clear and blue, with only a few high wisps in the north. The days are starting to get shorter again.

When they were out of sight of the holody, Photius stopped under an oak tree, took out some of his powders and chanted and cast spells. "To keep us hidden," he explained. Javor didn't ask what he wanted to hide from, but feared that he already knew: the thing that had swept down from the sky at him on the climb up Ghastog's mountain, the thing that had smashed against the stockade around his own village. He climbed a large poplar and scanned the landscape as far as he could, but he could not see very far in these hills. He did not feel any better as he jumped down.

"Your amulet, I believe, hides you from their direct sight," Photius hypothesized in his elaborate way as they walked south.

Walking across country is a slow process, and a day after leaving Bilavod the ground grew steeper in the south. "The Montes Sarmatici reach out toward the west here," said Photius, pointing left to a succession of peaks that grew higher as they grew more distant. "But we need to cross the hills here, where they're still relatively easy." They bent their course slightly westward.

For days, they saw no one: just slopes that grew steeper each day, stands of trees broken by wide meadows, birds, rabbits and squirrels, and once at sunset, a doe and fawn.

"At one time, this was part of the ancient imperial province of Dacia, conquered by the Emperor Augustus, and then further by the great Trajan," Photius said one day as they walked through gently undulating forests. Far to their left, they could just see the tops of mountains, usually masked by dark clouds. "But when the barbarians attacked—the Goths and the Gepids and later the Huns—the Empire retreated behind its proper frontier of the River Danuvius. Emperor Diocletian, hated and loved in equal measure, had fortifications built along both sides of the river to preserve the sanctity of the Empire."

The names of kings, empires, countries and peoples meant nothing to Javor, but he tried to absorb as much as he could.

At other times, Photius would continue to teach Javor Greek. "It is the language of learning and culture today," he explained. "Its superiority over the Latin language of Rome is being proven by the numbers of educated people who depend on the tongue for its precision and verve." Javor surprised himself with his ease in learning a new language, especially one so different from his own.

One evening when they had crested the hills and had started descending, the weather changed abruptly. Clouds swept over the sky, faster than Javor had ever seen before, and blotted out the remaining light. A sudden flash and roll of thunder split a tree only paces away. Wind hit them like a fist and drove fat, heavy raindrops into their faces. They couldn't see more than a few steps ahead.

Javor saw a small bluff where a stand of trees struggled to live. "Let's take shelter there!" he shouted above the din of the rain on the leaves and the roll of thunder in the mountains, which didn't seem so distant now. The shelter wasn't much, but the rain didn't seem to be getting in.

Photius was not happy with Javor's choice of shelter, but they scurried over, ducking and crouching below some boughs. They were still cold and wet, but they were not quite so exposed.

The storm grew steadily more intense. Bolt after bolt of lightning flashed behind the hills and the thunder nearly deafened them. "Perun must be angry!" Javor shouted.

"The gods are battling," Photius agreed. "The sky gods are striving against the earth gods for supremacy in the universe. This storm is just the earthly manifestation of that struggle."

"What do you mean?" Javor shouted.

"What we humans can see and hear and feel is only a miniscule portion of the titanic energies being expended now. It is a struggle we can only guess at."

Javor could barely hear him over the noise of the storm, but he had to agree about the enormous energies. Just then, a burst of light combined with a terrific crack as lightning burst a tree into fragments just paces down the slope. They ducked as shards of wood and bark flew into their shelter.

The wind changed direction and the rain came into their shelter almost horizontally. In the flashing lightning, Javor thought he saw a deeper shadow at the bottom of the bluff only a few steps away.

"I think there's a cave over there!" he said, pointing.

Photius squinted against the rain and shook his head. "Caves are dangerous in these parts, Javor. You never know what else may be living in them already!"

"Staying out here could cost our lives!"

Photius considered that for a moment, then nodded. "All right, let's have a look." They edged along the bottom of the bluff until they saw that Javor had been right: the shadow was a low, narrow cave. Photius murmured and the end of his staff began to glow. He poked it inside and saw that the cave led inward and turned. "I daren't look what's around that corner, Javor. It could be a bear's den." They went inside just far enough to be out of the direct rainfall and wind. Photius doused his light and they stood there, shivering and miserable, to wait out the storm and the night.

Sleep was impossible with rainwater dripping from the cave's shadowy entrance, lightning flashing and thunder rumbling almost continuously. Must be one terrific fight among the gods, Javor thought idly.

The storm finally moved toward the east, fighting in the higher mountains. Without lightning, the cloudy night was almost totally black; Javor couldn't even be sure he could see his own hand. He shivered. His wet clothes stuck to his skin and his sword-belt chafed, and the straps of his pack dug into his shoulders.

Photius was uncharacteristically silent. He seemed to be staring out into the inky blackness of the night, but Javor couldn't even be sure his eyes were open. For that matter, are mine?

Gradually, he became aware of a tickling feeling on the back of his head. At first, he thought it was rainwater dribbling down the cave wall, so he shook his head. That stopped the feeling, but it returned a minute later, moving lower. Then Javor realized that whatever it was, wasn't wet. It moved lower and reached around his neck.

"Gah!" He reached up and felt something he had never felt before: cold, dry, scaly. His hand closed around something as thick as his arm, and he yanked downward, pulling something unseen off the cave over his head. He threw it to the ground as hard as he could and yanked his dagger out of its sheath.

Photius lit his staff, and in its cold, bluish-white light they glimpsed something long and utterly alien scuttling away down the grassy, wet slope.

"Lizard?" Javor asked, panting.

Photius shook his head. "No natural lizard, Javor. We cannot stay here." Shrugging to adjust his pack, Photius lifted his staff high to give them some light and led the way down the slope, careful to go in a very different direction from the creature that had just attacked Javor. The wind had died and the rain had turned into a miserable drizzle.

"What was that?"

"I cannot be certain in the dark, Javor. But be assured it was no mere lizard. There are not many lizards in these parts, and certainly none that large."

"Then what was it?"

"Some minor demon," he answered, almost casually, stumbling on the wet slope in the dark.

"I thought they couldn't see me!"

"Your amulet hides you from their searches. But if you walk right into their homes, then the demons of the underworld will of course see you. Or at least, feel you."

"So that cave was the home of a demon?"

"I don't know. It was probably the home of a bear. It was big enough. Or at least a wildcat or something equally nasty and dangerous. But that cave must have seemed inviting enough for anything in this weather. These lands have long been haunted, Javor. In these dark times, evil grows."

Javor was afraid to ask more questions. They tramped through the dark, wetter and miserabler with every step, until the sky greyed and the rain turned to a cold, clammy mist. When they could see without it, Photius extinguished his staff again. They were in a forest of thick, ancient oaks and beeches, birches and pines. Photius somehow found a path that led along the edge of a ravine, and they walked as fast as they could to warm up.

At sunrise, they found a slightly dryer spot under a wide, spreading oak. They stopped and broke their fast with some of the food from Bilavod. The bread, thought Javor, was delicious—better than any he had ever had at home, even though it wasn't as fresh now. The villagers had also given them some cheese, and he broke off a piece and gulped it down. Water was plentiful, and they filled their skins where a brook rolled over a rocky decline.

By noon, the sky was high and blue, the air hot. They stopped at a clearing in the forest and spread their wet clothes on rocks and logs to dry in the sun, then sat down to warm themselves and rest.

Naked, Photius did not appear as old as Javor had first thought. His face was grizzled, but his belly was flat, his body lean and hard, like it was carved from wood. He bore scars on his arms and one across his back, but muscles rippled as he moved. He didn't look like the old men that Javor knew from his village, men broken and defeated by a lifetime of hard labour and scant food.

When his tunic was dry, Javor pulled it on and, barefoot, went in search of berries. Near the edge of the clearing he found low blueberry bushes, and started picking, moving closer to the forest edge. Using the front of his tunic like an apron, he gathered blueberries, eating half of them as he went.

The day faded, narrowed to nothing but blueberries. Yum. Blueberries.

There's more. Lift those branches. Careful, they're prickly.

He stepped down a little slope into a hollow, around a small tree, picked more berries and took a step backwards to look for more, focused on finding more blueberry bushes, when his back bumped into something that gave way just a little. He heard a deep grunt and turned, thinking blueberries, and his focus was yanked to a huge, dark mass rising before him, a strong foul smell and a roar as deep as the underworld.

Javor jumped back, dropping his load of blueberries. Fumbling for his sword, he tripped on the slope that rose up behind him and realized he had left his weapons with his other belongings, drying in the sun. He fell, lucky as it turned out, for he felt the air move as something huge swiped past his head. He was dimly aware of huge claws and long teeth and felt panic rising in his belly.

His hands closed on a stick, a fallen branch, and he swung it up and out with all his might and felt it connect with something that yielded. The thing in front of him was still hidden by bushes and it roared again but moved back. Javor dropped the stick and scrambled as fast as he could up the slope.

Ahead, he could see Photius in the sunlight, naked, looking alarmed. Behind, he heard crashing in the bushes, branches breaking and a bellowing that seemed to rise from hell itself.

Javor reached Photius' side, grabbed his dagger and whirled without bothering to take it from its scabbard. He looked down the slope, but all he could see was the bushes at the bottom waving as if shaken by mighty arms. Whatever it was seemed to be moving away.

"What kind of fiend is that?" he yelped.

Then he heard another strange noise. He turned to see Photius laughing heartily. His belly shook, his hair and beard shook, and his laughter echoed off the trees.

"What's so funny?"

Photius was laughing so hard he couldn't answer. Tears streamed down his face. He bent over, holding his sides, then fell to one knee, shaking with laughter.

Javor's shock and fear turned to anger directed at Photius. "What are you laughing at?"

"Fiend!" Photius shouted, then fell helplessly into further peals of laughter. Startled birds flew out of the nearby trees.

Javor put down his dagger and sat down to wait out Photius' laughing fit. He began to wonder, again, about the old man's sanity.

Eventually, Photius regained control of himself. "Oh, Javor," he said. "Fiend, indeed. That was no fiend—you bumped into a bear."

Javor was stupefied. "What?" It seemed too commonplace, yet at the same time, terrifying. He had been raised to believe a bear was the most fearsome beast he was ever likely to encounter.

"Oh, Javor, forgive me, but you should have seen your face!" He started laughing again, but it didn't last as long this time. "Oh, don't worry about it now. I think you scared her as much as she scared you. But we need to be careful. There are many bears in these parts, and she may have had cubs to protect, too. You don't want to make her angry."

He began to pull on clothes, and Javor did, too. "I dropped all my blueberries," he complained.

"Ah, yes, the price of berries is often a bear," Photius smiled, buckling his sword. "It is the way of the world: nothing is free."

They walked only until they found a comfortable place to camp that night. Just as the sun was getting low and shining in their eyes, they found a spot sheltered by low-hanging willow trees. Javor collected dry brush and grass to make two little beds. Then he looked at the setting sun, where the slope fell away to a broad, open land covered with forests and meadows. A stream wandered out of the higher lands behind him and gathered momentarily in a little pond before finding a way between the low hills ahead. The land climbed to slightly higher, rounded peaks in front of him, while on the left, the tall, grim mountains marched to the south, their peaks lost in clouds. The rain had left behind a rinsed, fresh feeling to the sky and the earth. Somewhere, a nightingale hooted gently, and from behind him, Javor could smell Photius' small cooking fire.

The bear and the demon of the night before already seemed distant to Javor, in a world different from the one that held the hills, the trees, the grass and the tiny wild flowers. The world is a beautiful place, he thought. It truly is beautiful.

The next morning, Javor woke feeling truly rested and refreshed for the first time since his last night with Lalya. The sun was already shining brightly, and Photius was again beside his little fire, almost as if he hadn't moved since the night before.

"You didn't wake me for a watch!" Javor said, pulling on his clothes.

"You looked so in need of a good rest, I didn't have the heart to," Photius replied. He stretched and yawned. "In truth, I found it a very peaceful night, and I did nod off a time or two. But this seems a very well favoured place. I felt safe here, for the first time in years. There are such places, you know," and his voice fell into that instructing tone that Photius liked to use, the one that drove Javor's attention to other things. "Places in the world that are protected against danger, places where strife cannot enter. I believe that this is such a place."

"Then why don't we stay here?" Javor broke off a piece of bread and chewed it. It was the last loaf from Bilavod and was getting stale, but it was the only thing they had for breakfast. Javor resolved to find more berries or fruit, but to be more watchful for bears this time.

"That is not our fate, Javor," was Photius' answer. "We must return to the Empire with your great-grandfather's legacy."

Javor scowled at that. The mention of his great-grandfather's dagger and amulet soured the mood he had felt, and brought back the memories of his father and mother and the horrors of Ghastog.

The peace he felt was erased. A bubble formed in his belly, rising up until it burst out of his mouth, uncontrollable and terrible.

"Why me?" he roared, and his voice silenced the chirping birds.

Photius didn't say anything. "Why are these—these things after me?" Javor continued. "Why did it have to be my great-grandfather who found that medal and that knife? Why did they have to come down to me? Why did it have to be my parents who were butchered?" He stopped, his breath ragged and his heart racing. He saw his fists raised high, his arms extended, challenging the sky. He lowered them, feeling embarrassed.

Photius' face was grave but kind. "We cannot choose our fate, Javor. And we cannot escape it. These things have come to you. You can no more escape them than the night can escape the dawn."

"I don't want them, I tell you!" Javor wrenched the amulet from around his neck, snapping its chain, and pulled the dagger from his side. He hoisted them together to throw them into the peaceful pond, when the knife's edge caught the sunlight the reflected off the surface of the water. A gust broke up the smooth surface into millions of tiny mirrors, and Javor felt his mood suddenly change.

He hesitated, then found himself tucking the dagger into his boot-cuff. He looked at the amulet in his hand. He looked at the strange, illegible, inscrutable design on its face. What does it mean? He looked for a long time.

"How does this protect me, Photius?" he asked, his voice small again.

"You saw its power when you faced Ghastog. With the amulet in your hand, you were impervious to the monster's claws. And only with the dagger were you able to kill it.

"They have power partly due to their shapes, which symbolize their functions. The amulet is your shield, Javor, and it is yours alone. No one else can wield it, not even Ghastog. The amulet left the monster in favour of you.

"The amulet shields you, and more importantly, it hides you. And that is just as much protection as a great bronze shield that a warrior carries, for knowledge is a far more potent form of power than anything else. The amulet shields you from the eyes of your enemies, Javor."
Chapter 12: On the road

For two days after the storm, they walked through rolling hills covered with thick forests. Javor found himself enjoying the walk. He studied the sky, which, after the storm, stayed high and deep blue.

Until the moment he found himself looking, not at ranks of fluffy white clouds, but into the eyes of a man whose chest was punctured by Javor's sword. The eyes were dark brown, he had a black beard under a round helmet ...

Javor stopped walking. He could not breathe. The first man I killed. He remembered how the man had toppled from his horse, remembered how, without thinking, he had thrust his sword downward to finish the raider off. To make sure he was dead. He remembered the eyes looking up at him for only a moment. I did not watch him die, he realized. I turned away.

It was him or me. And the people of Bilavod. But the raider's eyes still stared at him, with an expression Javor could not understand.

"Javor? Javor!" It was Photius' voice. He sounded exasperated. The vision faded, but Javor saw his hands shaking. "Did you get stuck?" Javor realized that Photius was some distance ahead.

Javor caught up with Photius in the strangest clearing he had ever seen: long and narrow, only a few paces across in the direction they were walking, but stretching east and west until it curved out of sight.

"This is the highway the Romans built when they conquered Dacia centuries ago," he said, somehow both distracted and intense at the same time. He looked back and forth before deciding to turn right, and walking west, assuming that Javor was following. Annoyed, Javor followed—what choice did he have?

If this road is what made the Romans famous, then people are more easily impressed than me.

The road was little more than a wide track through the trees. Flat grey stones here and there were all that was left of the smooth surface the Romans had driven their chariots on. A long groove ran along each side of the vague line of stones. Photius said they were ditches that kept the road from being flooded during heavy rains or spring thaws. Javor still wasn't impressed.

"The Romans held this land for more than a century, exploiting its rich mines and building cities, fortifications, and of course roads." He spoke as if answering a question, but Javor was silent, as usual. "The roads form almost a loop in Dacia, coming north from the great bridge of Trajan over the Danuvius River, the true northern frontier, up to the northern mountains, then back south again along the west side of the Mountains Sarmatici. Here, we are close to the northernmost reach of the roads. We will take the road westward until it bends to the south, past the ancient mines and the former Roman cities of Napoca, Potaissa and Apulum, and so to the old capital of this land, which the barbarians called Sarmizegetusa."

"What?" Javor needed to hear that name again, twice.

"The Romans named it, in their Latin tongue, Ulpia Traiana, in honour of the Emperor Trajan who conquered Dacia four hundred years ago. It was that brutal fool Commodus who lost it again." The names meant nothing to Javor.

Javor realized they were again walking toward hills that rose before them. "Is this country surrounded by mountains?"

"Almost," said Photius. "We are on the Dacian plateau, a roughly triangular region bounded on the south by the Montes Serrorum, on the east by the Sarmatian mountains, and on the north by the Carpates—that is the range in whose foothills your home nestled. To get to the Imperial border, we will have to travel even farther south, across this plateau, and then through the Serrorum, which are much higher and more rugged than these."

Javor noticed a white stone beside the road. It had an oddly regular shape: straight sides and a flat spot. Markings were carved into its face. "A mile marker," said Photius. "The Roman engineers marked every mile with a white stone so they knew how far they were from each settlement or strong point. Many now are lost, though."

Javor looked ahead, and realized that the cliff they were getting nearer was not a natural formation at all, but a man-made wall running between two steep hillsides. "What is that?"

Photius looked briefly where Javor pointed. "Rome conquered all this land for its rich supplies of gold and silver and iron. Many Romans settled here. But they enslaved the original inhabitants of the country, and built fortifications against rebellions."

Javor shivered as they got closer to the wall. "Why did the Romans leave?"

"Barbarians from the east wrested the province from Emperor Commodus, a weak, sadistic and stupid brute. The barbarians shattered civilization here, and dark things crept into their hiding places. The bright light of civilization is abhorrent to the creatures of darkness, and when it retreated behind the Danuvius, darkness filled the land again."

Photius rambled on. As they drew nearer the ancient structure, Javor could see it had aged and crumbled. Trees and grasses grew in cracks on the wall and on the top; stones and sections had fallen, leaving random, gaping holes.

"Now, the most barbaric of all people are invading this land. The people who attacked your little village: the Avars. They are the ultimate cause of all the invasions that sacked the eternal city of Rome and destroyed the Western Empire—"

"The Western Empire? There's an Eastern Empire, too?"

"Yes, Javor, the mighty Diocletian divided the Empire into Eastern and Western halves three centuries ago. But under lesser emperors, the West fell under the barbarian onslaught because it tried in its folly to adopt the barbaric ways, even to use the barbarians as its army. Utter folly! Can you imagine, Javor: the rulers of the West sought to recruit their enemies into their ranks!

"The East has maintained its traditions and its institutions. Even as the West fell, the East was growing in strength. Under a powerful general, Belisarius, it began to re-take the territory of the west and reclaim civilization from the barbarians. But the dark powers work insidiously, and Belisarius fell from favour with the emperor. Soon, all the reclaimed land, or nearly all of it, was back in the shadowed hands of the barbarians."

Am I not a barbarian? What is so wrong with someone other than Rome ruling this land?

He thought suddenly of his father, of a talk they had had the day before his birthday—before Hell had attacked him. They had gone into the forest to gather firewood.

Javor could actually hear his father's voice—the memory was so much clearer than Photius' rambling lecture. "You're bigger than me, so you can carry the firewood," Swat had said. Javor had hauled firewood as the sun had climbed until he was sweaty, scratched and aching. He remembered thinking about his older brother, also named Swat, and how, years earlier, Swat had gathered the firewood while Javor had trotted behind, picking up kindling.

When his father was satisfied with the amount wood stacked beside the wattle wall, he told Javor to start cutting it and went on to repair his pride, the chicken coop. "Twelve chickens. I'm rich!" he had said.

"Not as rich as Grat's father," Javor had said. Livo, Grat's father, owned a boar and two sows and always had at least a litter of piglets. He liked to show off his wealth by roasting a pig for every harvest celebration.

"Don't begrudge Livo his pigs," Swat said, working a branch into the wood fence. "He has only one daughter left."

"Just like you—I mean, you have just one child left, too."

Swat suddenly put down his tools and hugged his son. He held him for a long time.

With his chin against his father's temple, Javor remembered the younger Swat. Remembered how his skin glistened with sweat as he chopped and stacked firewood. He thought of his brother's wide smile, his deep brown eyes, his laugh. Javor had adored Swat, and never resented that he was his father's favourite. He had been Javor's favorite, too.

Until he had died.

"Let's get back to work," Swat had said.

Javor had taken a good look at his father at that moment—a rare look. Javor paid more attention to trees and the sky than to people. Swat looked like his older son: wiry, not short but not tall, with thick, wavy dark-brown hair. Their skin was darker than Javor's, and they tanned dark in the summer months; Javor's skin burned every year until he turned a more golden colour. Why can't I be more like you, Dad? Why couldn't I be you, Swat?

They rested in the shade. "You'll be a man tomorrow," Swat had said. "After the solstice celebration is over, we'll have a big dinner." Javor nodded, but said nothing. He was looking at the trees.

"It's a big step," Swat continued. "Tell me, do you think about girls, much?"

"Huh?" Where is this going?

"Well, is there any girl that you like?" He reached over and tousled Javor's blonde hair. "Come on, I know that Vorona leads the moonlight dances. We had them, too, when I was your age. It's so that the young men and women can get to know each other, pick out a mate." He looked intently at his son.

Did he dance naked with Mama when he was sixteen? Papa! It was not believable. Maybe they danced under the full moon, but not naked, and they definitely did not... do what he and Elli had... and the other young people, too. Boleslaw, the old shaman, was not Vorona, after all.

"So, who do you like?" Swat asked again, smiling.

Javor picked his words carefully. "Well, I like Elli."

"Mladen and Lyuba's daughter?" Swat was impressed. "She's very pretty. Very slim, though." Swat seemed to be cheered and troubled at the same time. "Yes, pretty. Tell me, does she... like you?"

How much can I tell him? "Well, sometimes I think she does. She's much nicer than her friends like Grat."

"Yes, I've always thought that Grat is a little bitch." That surprised Javor. He had never heard his father speak ill of a child.

"But the last time we... spoke, well, the last time I tried to talk to her, she wouldn't talk to me. She ran off with her girlfriends. I don't know how she feels about me now."

"Did something happen?" Swat had asked. "Did you do something you hadn't done before? Something that might have changed the way she thinks or feels about you?"

How does he know?

"Did you... kiss her?"

Javor nodded. Don't ask any more questions. Please, Papa, don't ask any more questions.

"Was it at the moon dance?" Javor nodded again. "Ah. Did others see you? Yes? Well, that was it! She feels embarrassed, self-conscious now. Her girlfriends saw you kiss her, and she kissed you, no? So she is afraid of what her girlfriends will say to her, or what they might say to her mother and then what her mother will do."

"Papa?" Javor asked as another idea suddenly occurred to him. "You won't say anything to her mother, will you?"

Swat smiled and tousled Javor's hair again. "Don't worry, son. My tongue sleeps on this one." It was his father's favourite aphorism. Javor smiled back. "As long as your tongue sleeps on this: I did a lot more than kiss a girl in the moon dance when I was your age."

Mercifully, Swat had stopped talking, except to say, "Let's get back to work."

As the days went on, the summer grew hotter, and the walking southward on the Roman road became monotonous. "You don't talk much, do you, Javor," Photius actually said one hot afternoon as they rested in the shade of a great pine tree.

Javor was not feeling charitable in the heat. "I don't get much chance around you," he answered.

"Oh, really," Photius chuckled. "Yes, I have been accused of talking overmuch before. Still, I would like to know your thoughts, my boy. You have been through much more than almost anyone I've ever known in this past month."

"Has it really been that long? Well, yes. I don't know what to think. There has been so much that I never dreamed of before, Photius. Monsters and dragons—I never really believed in those things before. The world seemed a much safer place in my village. At least until..."

Photius stretched his legs in front of him. "One's childhood home always appears safe in our memories. But you have learned a valuable lesson."

"One that killed my family."

Photius nodded, the gentle note in his voice and eyes again. "Yes. It is a hard lesson nonetheless." He continued after a pause. "But you survived. Take heart from that: you have faced terrible dangers with only a scratch and a few bruises."

"Raiders, dragons, Ghastog—what chance does any of us have? How many of these—these things are there?"

"No one knows. Hell has launched a final war, to wipe us out. I told you that the seas are rising, coastal villages are disappearing—not a hundred leagues from here!" He waved vaguely to the east. "The number of monsters that have appeared out of the east has been rising. They have sparked panicked migrations of whole populations of barbarians, which destroyed the Roman Empire in the West and nearly destroyed the eastern as well. Persia and other kingdoms in the east have been shaken, too. Pestilences have swept across Asia and Europe, and killed nearly half the population of Constantinople itself."

Javor nodded. "But why are they after me? What is it about the amulet and the dagger that they want?"

"As I said, the amulet protects you. Your enemies cannot see you using magic; they have to come close to see you with their own eyes, naturally.

"As for the knife, you saw how it works against monsters. It killed Ghastog. It was the only blade that penetrated his hide. Do you know what that means? It's more powerful than the best steel made in the greatest human civilizations in the East. That knife is older than you can imagine.

"Javor, you are carrying a great weapon, one of the few that can make a difference in this war of extermination. And it belongs to you. Whatever intelligence lives within those two items is determined to stay with you.

"That is why that dragon is chasing you, has been following you since you climbed to Ghastog's lair in the mountain. I can sense it now, not far from us, searching for you. It knows you are nearby, but your amulet is masking you. That is why we must get to Constantinople and to my order. Only then can we completely unravel this riddle."

"I don't know if I can do this, Photius. I'm not a warrior. I'm just a kid from a poor village. I don't know these stories, these places..."

Photius laughed, surprising Javor. "Javor, do you not realize how extraordinary you are?" Javor didn't understand. "My lad, you have killed a fearsome monster, wounded a dragon—only the most powerful creature on this earth, I must point out—defeated I don't know how many barbarians, without suffering more than a scratch? If there is any person who can help, Javor, it's you!"

Javor felt his head spin. Me? A warrior? The hope of mankind in a battle against Hell? No, it's not possible. The old man is crazy.

But I need him. I have no idea where I am, and he knows the dangers. So I have no choice but to stay with him.

"Come on, lad. It's time we continued." He rose, and with Javor, continued on the road south-west.

As the shadows started to grow longer, Javor decided to speak his mind. "Do you want to hear what I think, Photius? I'll tell you something has been bothering me for a long time."

"What is it, my boy?" Photius didn't break stride, and didn't even look at Javor, but he knew he had the mysterious old man's full attention.

Javor found it difficult to express what he felt. "I've never been away from my house until now, not for more than a few days. Once, my father took me on a hunting trip, in the autumn with my older brother before he... he died. We were gone for three nights. We didn't go far. And then we came back to my village and my mother and my house."

"How long ago was that, lad?" Photius asked gently.

Javor thought about it. "Maybe three years ago."

"And how old was your brother?"

"Three years older than me."

"What was his name?"

"Swat, like our father. He was always thin, always small. I remember my mother giving him extra bread all the time and urging him to eat." The memories rushed behind his eyes, the words started to rush out of his mouth without his control. Javor's eyes burned and vision blurred. "He didn't make it through the winter. The pestilence came to our village and one night, he began to cough. He coughed up blood. My sister tried to help him until she started to cough, too." Javor's face was wet. He had to stop walking because he couldn't see the way anymore. "Then one night, when the fire was very small because we couldn't dig enough firewood out of the snow, he... he stopped coughing." Javor sat, or rather nearly collapsed and was surprised to feel sobs wracking his shoulders. He dropped his pack to the ground, then fell forward, face buried in his hands, tears streaming through his fingers, and simply cried for a long time.

Eventually, he felt a hand on his shoulder and heard Photius' voice beside his ear. "I'm sorry about your brother, Javor. I'm sorry for your parents, too."

Javor tried to focus on the older man's face, blurred by tears. "All my other brothers and sisters have died! I am the last!"

"How many brothers and sisters did you have, Javor?" Photius asked in a strange tone.

"I had four brothers and two sisters! And they all died." Javor took a deep, shuddering breath. "Most of them I never saw. Four died before I was born. And one of the girls was born dead."

"Six children, you say?" Photius seemed seized by some idea. "And you're the youngest? That explains much." Javor wiped his nose on his sleeve. "Tell me, did your father have six brothers, too?"

"Huh? I don't know. Maybe. All but one of my uncles died..."

"Of course, you could not know. Still, the seventh son..."

"What does that mean?"

Photius seemed exasperated. "You are the seventh son! That signifies great fortune—it has been said that the seventh son has powers to heal and to ward off evil. But the seventh son of a seventh son has a powerful, very important destiny."

"Destiny? This is my destiny? To have my family killed and to have to follow an old man who does nothing but speak riddles across a haunted wilderness, dodging monsters?"

"Few in this world ever have the destiny they would ask for, Javor. But someone like you has already shown that you have the power to change it."

"I don't want to hear about destiny. I want to find a place to live where I can get away from dragons and monsters and just have some peace."

Photius nodded. "Then, let us to Constantinople."

At sunset, they found a spot a little way from the road where a leaning tree provided shelter from eyes above them. They built a little campfire, cooked a little food, and then Photius cast his usual spell to hide them, and they took turns sleeping through the night.

Photius woke Javor before dawn, motioning him to be quiet. They gathered their meagre camp and at Photius' signal crept quietly to the edge of the road, hiding under overhanging pine boughs. Everything was wet with dew and Javor started to shiver. He wanted to ask what Photius was doing, but he hushed the younger man fiercely.

Before the sun rose, they heard horses' hooves clattering on the roadway. The noise drew closer, and then they saw a group of riders on big dark horses cantering westward on the road. The horses were dark brown or black, and all the riders were covered with long, dark capes and hoods. They swept past the two men hiding beside the road and disappeared around a curve.

Photius waited until the sun was well over the horizon before coming out of hiding. Javor was grateful to be able to straighten his back. "Why did you hide from those men?"

Photius was staring down the road. "Because I didn't know who they were."

"You've spoken to plenty of strangers before!"

"Yes, villagers. But never a group of armed horsemen, riding at night toward an abandoned city!" He started down the road. "Riding horseback in the dark is difficult and dangerous, Javor. What would drive a group of men to do that? They must be desperate. And desperate strangers are best stayed away from."

"Then why are we following them?"

"Good question." Photius strode on. He took two apples from his pack and gave one to Javor. "We are going this way, because our destination is this way. We need to get to the borders of the Empire, and this road is the fastest way now."

They walked in silence then as the day grew hot. Birds twittered, and the leaves were the darkest green that Javor had ever seen. After a few hours, stone walls rose ahead of them. "Porolissum," said Photius, and he led Javor off the road into the forest. For the rest of the day they pushed their way through the thick bush, up and down slippery slopes and splashing through small, swift-running streams. The ground grew steeper, and as the light failed, Javor took his bow and shot a rabbit. They made camp, ate, and slept turn and turn again that night.

The next day was more of the same: pushing through the bush, hunting and gathering as they went, but as the sun got low in the sky they emerged from the forest onto—

"Another road!" exclaimed Javor.

"The same road," explained Photius. "We have cut across a wide bend, and avoided two old Roman towns."

"Why avoid the towns?"

"Porolissum was abandoned centuries ago," said Photius, who was looking for another place to camp for the night. "I don't know who, or what, lives there now. But it's best to avoid such places in this land."

A new pattern emerged: for days, they walked alongside the road, forcing their way through thick forest. It was tough going: the forest was old and overgrown, and it seemed that all the bushes bore long thorns. Photius entered clearings only when they were well screened from the road. He wouldn't let Javor shoot any of the deer they saw in the evenings or early mornings. "They are sacred to a god that lives in this land," he said mysteriously.

"What are you talking about? You've never shown fear of any gods before!" But the old man refused to explain any more. So they ate rabbit, squirrel or birds, when they could catch them.

Whenever possible, Photius chose a campsite under oak trees; he had an inexplicable faith in their protective powers. They woke before sunrise, and ate very little. They drank from streams when they found wholesome waters, and Photius warned Javor away from many of the berries they encountered. Javor felt hungry almost all the time, even after a meal of a rabbit or squirrel.

They walked as far as they could until the nights were so dark, they could barely see ahead of them; only then Photius would allow them to rest, sleeping one at a time while the other kept watch. But he wouldn't say what he was watching for. He allowed no fires, except for cooking, and extinguished them as soon as the cooking was done.

Occasionally, they passed ruins of walls and towers, crumbling, sad, sinister. Photius gave them wide berth.

At least once each day, they heard the horses galloping on the road to their right. Photius would make Javor crouch low in thick bushes and wait until the sounds passed. But they never saw the horses or men, nor did they hear any voices.

One day as they crept through thick brush toward the road, Photius stopped dead in his tracks, his hand out to stop Javor. He held his finger over his lips and pointed with his other hand. Peering between the branches and leaves, they saw something their minds could not accept: a young woman, a girl, really, naked, tied spread-eagle to two rough logs cut and lashed together in an x-shape, then propped in the middle of the road. She was thin with long, light-brown hair that cascaded over her shoulders. They could see her ribs under her small breasts. Javor thought she was probably the same age as he was, perhaps a little older.

It made no sense to Javor: there was no one else around; no guard, no sign of the people who had crucified her. And there was no sign of violence on her, either—no cuts, not even a bruise. Her even, milky skin almost shone in the midday sunlight.

"What is she doing there?" Javor whispered.

"It is a trap, lad," Photius whispered back, shaking his head.

"We can't just leave her there!"

"That's exactly what they want you to think! Come, let's get away from here before we are discovered."

Javor was not listening. He dropped his bow, quiver and pack, loosened his sword in its sheath and crept as close as he could to the road while still under the bushes. He looked up and down as far as he could. Nothing. Although they could be hiding in the bushes, too.

He took a deep breath and ignored Photius' whispered, desperate protests, then sprang forward and ran as fast as he could, head down. His shoulder hit the girl's thigh, making her scream; his arm went between her legs, around the log; the other arm went under the upright part of the log. Without pausing, he wrenched upward, lifting the crucifix off the road and over his shoulder. The girls' soft body hit his back as he ran into the bushes on the other side. He dropped her onto the ground with a grunt. His lower back hurt.

Photius dashed across the road and squatted in the bushes beside them. He threw his cloak over the girl's naked body as Javor cut her bonds with a knife—not his grandfather's dagger. "I am Javor," he said in Greek. "This is Photius. What happened to you?"

"Hush, boy!" Photius whispered, lying on his belly and squinting up and down the road. Birds trilled, insects buzzed, the breeze gently moved the leaves, but there was no sign of anyone else.

Once free, the girl sat up and pulled the cloak around herself. She was shaking, even though the day was warm. Javor waited until Photius turned away from the highway. "Who tied you in the road?" he asked in Greek.

"Thank you," she said finally. But she said it in Javor's language, which Photius called Sklavenic. Javor was astounded that he could understand her.

"Who are you? Are you from around here? Or farther north?" he asked, excited. Photius, alarmed, warned him to keep his voice down.

"I am Danisa. Thank you again for rescuing me." She had an oddly deep voice for such a young woman.

"Who tied you?" he asked again.

She shivered again. "Rough men. Raiders. They attacked our town and burned houses. They demanded a hostage before they would leave us alone."

"I am very pleased to meet you, Danisa," said Photius in his most formal, accented Sklavenic. "But I think it would be best if we got as far from this place, as quickly as we can." He gave Danisa his spare sandals from his pack, scanned the road again, and led them across, back into the bushes and up the slopes, deep into the woods. He avoided paths, pushing through thick branches with his walking stick. They got scratched, hot and annoyed until they reached a clear, steep slope which they traversed awkwardly.

As they went, Javor looked Danisa over carefully, not so embarrassed now that she was covered by Photius' spare cloak. He should have noticed that her hair was remarkably clean and neat for a prisoner of barbaric raiders. He should have noticed that her eyelids were subtly shaded and delicately coloured, that her lips were very red. But he was a very young man, and the first time he had seen her, she was naked. So his eyes were drawn to her soft, rounded shoulders and the shape of her bottom under the cloak.

Photius listened for any sound of pursuit, but the only sounds were the wind, the birds and the insects. Somewhere, a shallow stream sang merrily over a small rapids. Finally, he felt comfortable enough to pause and start asking questions. They settled in the shade of an oak tree at the edge of a clearing. Photius gave the girl some water and a dry biscuit. She took little, delicate bites that fascinated Javor.

"So, Danisa, you come from a town that was attacked by barbarians. Were they Avars?"

"I am not certain. I think so." She spoke only after chewing carefully and swallowing, but she ate only half the biscuit.

"Why you? Why did they demand you as the hostage?"

"I am young, and my father is the hetman."

That seemed reasonable, but Photius wanted details. "What is your town called?"

"Zvitin. It is west of here."

"And what is your father's name?"

"Voyko. Hetman Voyko."

Photius nodded, peering intently at the young woman. "Why did they abandon you, tied to a cross of logs in the middle of a crumbling road?"

Danisa shivered again and looked down the hill. Somewhere below them was the road. "They said it was a sacrifice to their god, who would rise out of the ground at nightfall and consume me."

"Really? And we found you at noon," Photius said. "It seems strange that they would leave you alone for so long before their god came. I would expect them to wait at least until evening, to guard against unforeseen circumstances—like being rescued by travellers." Danisa just shrugged.

"Did they... did they..." Javor stammered. Just say it. "Did they...rape you?"

She shot him a hot glance, then looked at the ground. "No." And she pursed her narrow lips until they almost disappeared, a look that Javor would come to know very well.

Photius made them move on again, back under the trees. But they didn't go far before he chose a campsite for the night. He made as comfortable a place as he could for Danisa, then took Javor to look for food. "Does anything strike you as strange about her?" he asked.

"Well, the whole situation is strange—she's tied to logs in the middle of the road? With no one else around? But then, so much is strange, Photius. Monsters, a dragon, a gryphon, me running through the wilderness with a strange old man who talks all the time about legends and ancient empires. So, really, this isn't much stranger than the rest of my life for the past couple of months."

"Well, something else that seems odd is that she was abducted, then left as a sacrifice—without anyone to ensure that the sacrifice actually happens. What if she had escaped on her own?"

"Well, I don't think that would be..."

"Does it not strike you as coincidental that she was left in the road just before we arrived? And did it not seem very easy to rescue her?"

"What are you getting at?"

"Do not forget, Javor, that we are being pursued by enemies of many kinds. Do not forget the horsemen on the road. They could catch up to us at any time. Danisa seems to be a helpless victim, but she could also be the bait for a trap. Let us remember to be careful."

That night, Photius and Javor shared the watch again, leaving Danisa to sleep through. Javor fretted through his shifts. He kept imaging the horrors he had seen already, the creatures from Ghastog's mountain or the lizard-like thing from the ridge in the rain, creeping up behind him. Every sound, every creak of branches, every hoot of an owl was terror. And now, he was frightened not just for himself, but for Danisa, as well. Then he would look at her sleeping face, the way she held her hand close to her face as she slumbered, and he felt both comforted and vigilant at the same time.

Worst of all were the sounds of wolves howling, sometimes distant, sometimes near. When they howled, neither Photius nor Javor slept, but sat back to back, staring into the shadows until their eyes hurt.

But the daylight times that followed became the happiest time in Javor's life. The sun rose high, the weather was almost always clear and warm. Walking alongside a beautiful young woman who wore nothing but a thin tunic and occasionally an ill-fitting cloak, Javor could temporarily forget the previous month, the deaths of his family, the horrors of battles and demons. His focus narrowed again until his world was nothing but Danisa and the ground below his feet. Photius would have to touch his shoulder just to get his attention off Danisa.

Daytimes were beautiful with Danisa. She walked with Javor most of the time, and although she didn't talk much about herself, she asked him a lot of questions. "Where are you going, anyway?" she had asked that first day. Photius had said they were travelling to Constantinople for Javor's education, and she seemed to accept this.

She asked Javor about his home and the things he had seen on his journey. He was reluctant to say much at first, and she would narrow her lips again when he would not answer directly. Over the hours and days he relaxed and told her details. She seemed interested in his family, especially the few tales he could tell about his great-grandfather. And when he told her about Bilavod, she was entranced.

"A gryphon and a dragon! But those are fairy tales! You're just teasing me because I am a girl."

"No, it's true. The gryphon seemed to want to help us, but I had to cut off the dragon's foot to drive it away."

"Oh, come now. Everyone knows you cannot pierce a dragon's hide."

"I know. But I have a magical dagger."

"And where did you find a magical dagger?" she asked with a very sceptical expression, her lips drawing thin again.

Oops. So he had to tell her about Ghastog, about the attack on his village. He wept when he told her about his parents, and then he could not speak for a long time after.

Even though he was happy by day with Danisa, Javor's nights began to fill with nightmares, of deep brooding dread that he could never remember when he woke. Often, he would waken in the middle of the night, sweat soaking his head, to see Photius sitting nearby, staring into the shadows, and Danisa lying near the dying fire. As he would drop back into sleep, he sometimes felt the ground below his head sucking him back, pulling at his spirit. He fought it, wasting more precious hours of sleep until Photius shook him for his turn to watch.

One night, he woke with a shock to see Danisa's face, illuminated only by moonlight, inches from his own. She looked worried.

"What is it?" he asked, sitting up.

"You were thrashing in your sleep and calling out. It was a nightmare."

Tendrils of a dream faded from his memory as he tried to call them to mind. He couldn't remember anything definite, just a feeling of panic that also faded in the soft moonlight. "I'm all right now," he answered. She nodded and leaned forward to kiss him softly on the forehead. "Go back to sleep," she whispered.

But Javor couldn't sleep after that. He sat down beside Photius, who stared into the darkness. Neither of them said anything, but sat together until dawn.

In the morning, Danisa seemed especially attentive to Javor. She kept asking him if he felt rested and how he felt in general. She smiled at him a lot and made little jokes. She laughed and skipped ahead as they walked across meadows. She picked flowers and put them in her hair. Javor was perplexed and very, very pleased. Even Photius seemed to relax a little and smiled at her. That night, she slept very close to Javor; he woke once as he felt her back curve against his chest. He put his arm over her thin body and slipped back into sleep.

During the next few days, Danisa's good mood continued. And Javor's mood rose along with hers. They found more opportunities to be alone together, out of Photius' gaze, even as they continued south. Once, Javor tried to interest Danisa in his favourite activity, climbing trees. Without any warning, he leaped up, grabbed a branch well out of Danisa's reach and scrambled up. "Come on, it's great!" he called down to her.

Danisa just looked up at him. "How?"

Javor reached down as low as he could, grabbed her hand and pulled her up. They were both astonished at his strength. She clung to the tree's bole.

"Climb up higher with me, so we can see farther," he said.

Danisa just shook her head. He saw that she was trembling. "You won't fall. Just hang on. Look how steady these branches are."

She squeezed her eyes shut and said "Please take me down."

Javor did not understand it. He looked up then at the view. He could see rolling hills and the ever-present mountains. Closer, an exasperated Photius walked toward them.

"Come down from there, you two! We still have a long journey ahead!"

Javor looked farther down their path: nothing but trees under a clear sky. He shook his head and then carefully helped Danisa down.

Then next day was very hot, and even Photius slowed his pace. They came upon a pond and Photius announced they would rest there for the day. They set up a camp. Photius swam in the pond and then said he was going to look for herbs.

Javor took off all his clothes but his trousers. Danisa looked at him for a long moment, her lips apart. She saw a tall young man with a deep and broad chest and muscles rippling under fair skin. He looked back at her, liking what he saw: a slender brown-haired girl smiling at him, wearing his own tunic. It gaped open at the top, exposing enough of her breasts to stop his heart. Together, they jumped into the pond and splashed each other. The wet tunic clung to Danisa's skin and became almost transparent. Javor stayed low in the water to hide his arousal, but she saw it and laughed merrily.

Drying under the summer sun, Javor had never felt better in his life. Is this what happy feels like?

A sudden summer storm came that evening. Photius found his own shelter, leaving the two young people in each other's arms under a huge fallen tree. The thunder startled Danisa and the rain chilled them both. They cuddled closer together and as suddenly as the lightning they were kissing. As the rain ran down over their skin, they were making love, softly yet intensely. And as the rain lightened and stopped, they held each other's naked bodies close and fell asleep.

Danisa woke with a gasp in the morning and pulled away from Javor. She covered herself quickly with the old tunic and wouldn't speak to him the rest of the day.

Javor could not understand her. Making love to Danisa was the culmination of his hopes since he had rescued her. But she would not walk with him anymore, instead staying close to Photius.

The first time they were alone, Javor put his hand on her shoulder, but she slapped it away. "Danisa, what's wrong? Did I hurt you last night?"

"Shut up!" she hissed, and stalked away. Her face was red and he could not see her lips. "I'm sorry if I hurt you," he said.

"You didn't hurt me, you idiot!"

"Then what's wrong?"

"Just shut up, will you? Never mention last night again, to anyone!" And that was all she would say to Javor for a long time. She asked Photius about the Roman Empire, and Photius, delighted to be asked, talked the rest of the day.
Chapter 13: The stricken village

Danisa never took a watch at night; that was left to Photius and Javor. The old man did not say anything about it, and Javor would not let himself resent the fact that, of the three of them, only Danisa could sleep through the night.

But Javor started to feel that resentment at the end of an especially exhausting day. It seemed that they climbed up hills all day long. At night, clouds hid the moon and stars and stifled the wind. The air was damp, heavy, oppressive. Danisa ate the food the men found without saying a word, then stretched out on a mossy bit of ground and closed her eyes.

Photius took the first sleeping turn and was soon snoring. Javor found it harder and harder to keep his eyes open. It seemed pointless: without a fire, he could barely make out Photius' head in the darkness, couldn't see Danisa except as perhaps a slightly darker shadow on the ground. he couldn't see whether there was anything between the trees.

He experimented, closing his eyes and opening them suddenly. Almost no difference, he decided. With his eyes closed, he could see diffuse, dim blue lights that, when he opened his eyes, were replaced by deep grey and black shadows.

Gradually, Photius' snoring faded. Javor closed his eyes one more time and then saw Elli from Nastasciu. They walked hand-in-hand across a meadow scattered with white flowers. The sun was warm on their shoulders, and they were laughing.

They came to a stream, and then Elli wasn't Elli, but Danisa, and then she changed again into another woman he had never seen before. He realized they were both naked.

Javor leaned forward and kissed the strange woman on the mouth. She parted her lips and drew his tongue into her mouth. They lay on the ground. He could see—no, somehow he just knew, she was much older than him. She rolled on top of him, trailing kisses over his jaw, his chin, onto his throat. Every kiss made her seem older. Her hands roamed over his naked skin, and her kisses became nips and bites. She kissed his throat hard, sucking the skin into her mouth until it hurt.

A sharp pain penetrated his neck, and his eyes flew open as he gasped. The sun was gone the sky was dark, and Javor felt cold. He was back in the night under the oak tree, and there was a terrible pain in his neck. He groped at it and felt something... hairy. It fluttered and Javor cried out.

Photius was awake instantly, reaching for Javor. "What is it, boy?" Something at his neck squirmed and fluttered and sprang away into the darkness and Javor felt blood trickling down the side of his neck.

"Strigoi!" Photius hissed. He held his staff near Javor's face, illuminating a wound on Javor's neck: two small round incisions. "Bloodsuckers! We'll have to be more careful."

Danisa woke and gasped when she saw the blood on Javor's neck. She found a piece of cloth to dab it as Photius reignited their cooking fire. He rooted through his pack for some dry leaves, crushed them and rubbed them onto Javor's wound. He gave the young man water to drink and told him to sleep. But Javor could not sleep—he was terrified. He remembered hearing stories of the bloodsuckers, who would bite people on the neck and turn them into more undead bloodsuckers, doomed to hide from the sun and roam only at night, always hungry for human flesh.

After that, they chose their campsites earlier in the day and kept the fire burning through the night.

Two days later, they came upon a village. It had no stockade, no wall; its only protection was a low ridge and a stand of trees. In a rough clearing stood a dozen or so low, crude round huts. In the centre, a small communal fire gave only smoke, no warmth. Javor didn't see any gardens or fields for crops.

And there was almost no sound. No one spoke. Even the wind was still. A few apathetic faces turned toward them as they entered the circle of huts, then turned away. Javor saw that every person who looked at them tended someone else who was lying prone on the ground. No one spoke; a few chewed slowly on dry crusts of bread.

Javor drew back when he saw their emaciated faces, grey skin and lifeless eyes. "It's a pestilence! Let's get out of here before we catch it, too!"

But Photius wouldn't go. His brow furrowed more deeply than usual. He took one of the villagers by the chin and looked into her eyes. A thin young woman wasted well beyond her years, she did not react. He went to another villager kneeling in the dirt. Javor thought he looked like a grandfather, but he was really no more than thirty. Again, Photius lifted his chin, gazed into his eyes and looked at his neck. He checked four more villagers the same way. "It's not a pestilence. It's strigoi. The bloodsuckers that attacked you the other night. They're minor demons that feed on the blood of the living. Look here," he said, and lifted another villager's chin. He pointed to two small wounds, angry red on the grey neck of the thin man. "You had these same wounds the other night."

"The strigoi have colonized this village. They come every night and drain their victims' blood until they're just barely alive, then return the next night. In this way, they can survive for months before the village succumbs and they move on to the next village."

"Have you seen this before?" Danisa asked.

"Strigoi infest this region. They are notorious among my order. Javor, do you want to help these people?"

Javor wanted to run as fast as he could, but something in him made pity stronger at that moment. He nodded.

"Good. I'm going to gather some herbs in the forest before nightfall. While I do that, I want the two of you to look through all the huts here and gather all the garlic you can find."

"Garlic?" But without answering, Photius disappeared into the trees. Danisa and Javor started looking through huts.

The first one that Javor entered disgusted him. Rats rustled in the darkness, squeaking in protest as he shuffled through the villagers' meagre possessions. He found a strand of garlic cloves tied together near the door. A villager sprawled on a straw mat, staring at him silently. He took the garlic and went to the next hut.

In hut after hut, he found the same situation: one or two people lying down, alive or dead, he couldn't tell. Rats ran without fear through the homes, their droppings crunching under his feet. Some homes had garlic, others none. By the time he was done, he was carrying a score of garlic cloves plus two heavy strands, and his hands stank. He put them in a pile on a flat, clean stone near the centre of the village. Danisa had found even more and piled them together. In all the time they had rummaged through every hut, none of the villagers had spoken; they barely even moved. Only a few looked at Danisa, but without interest, the way sheep would.

Photius returned carrying leaves and weeds. He started pulverizing leaves and boiling water, mixing things together. The villagers sat listlessly. Not one has even asked who we are or what we're doing. Photius filled a bowl with mixed, crushed leaves and boiling water. He blew on the mixture to cool it, set it aside, and poured more water into other bowls. He touched his lips to the first bowl and judged it to be cool enough, then brought it to the thin young woman he had examined earlier and held it to her lips. "Danisa, come help me," he ordered when the woman didn't respond.

Reluctantly, Danisa stepped closer to the village woman. "Hold her head up," Photius said. Danisa fluttered her hands and shook her head. Photius glared at her impatiently. Danisa brought her hands close to the sick woman's head, then stepped away. "I cannot," she whined.

Photius shook his head and called Javor over. The young man tilted the sick woman's head up and held her jaw as Photius poured some of the liquid into her mouth, but she wouldn't swallow; her mouth overflowed and the liquid dripped off her chin onto her lap.

Shaking his head, Photius dipped his fingers into another bowl that held some paste he had mixed, and smeared it onto her throat. They went to another villager, an emaciated man who looked old, but something told Javor he could not have been more than 20. They repeated the process, but this time the man drank a little of Photius' potion.

Holding the man's head, Javor shifted uncomfortably. The amulet, against his skin under his thin tunic, chafed his chest. He slipped a hand under his tunic to move it, dropping their patient's head. Photius scowled and muttered.

As Javor's fingers brushed the amulet, it seemed to... vibrate. He jerked his hand away, jostling the patient. Photius glared at him again as the villager slumped lower. Javor shrugged. How could it be vibrating by itself? What does that mean?

Photius gently lowered the villager to the ground and then went to another, who also apathetically sipped a little of the potion. They dosed several more villagers before Photius said they should eat. "Look to see what stores we have in our packs, Javor. I wouldn't touch any of the food in this place," said Photius.

Javor found some nuts and dried fruit, remnants of the gifts from the people of Bilavod. They stepped outside of the village and ate as much of these as they could, sipping water from the skins they carried. "Don't drink the water here, either," Photius warned.

"Why didn't you help?" Javor asked Danisa.

Danisa shook her head. "I just could not... touch them."

"Sometimes, to help people, you have to get messy, Princess," said Photius drily.

Danisa glanced over to the circle of huts where the villagers slumped and sprawled. "It does not look like you have helped them at all," she said, her lips compressed thin. Javor could tell that she meant to sound sarcastic, but she only came across as very scared.

He looked up. The day had begun bright, but clouds had gathered as they had worked. Now, the sky seemed unnaturally dark. Evening seemed to be drawing on faster than normal. And Javor's amulet was vibrating again.

Thunder growled low in the east without lightning. Photius peered into a villager's eyes again. Javor look to the west, but the sun was hidden in almost solid grey clouds.

"Danger."

Javor turned. "What? Where?"

Danisa looked up. "What? I didn't say anything."

"Didn't you just whisper 'danger'?"

Photius came back quickly, loosening his sword. "Did you hear a voice?"

But Javor didn't answer. He reached for his grandfather's knife, just to feel it in its sheath on his thigh. The amulet was quiet under his skin now, but the villagers were beginning to stir. One by one they stood and turned toward their visitors. Some shambled closer, jerking and awkward with dead eyes. Some drooled, others moaned quietly.

"Photius, I don't like the looks of them," said Javor, backing away.

"Make them stop," said Danisa, hiding behind Javor.

Photius looked nervous, but stepped toward the villagers. "Well, I'm glad to see you on your feet again. My name is Photius..."

One of the villagers, the wasted young woman who looked old, reached for his arm. For a moment Javor thought she was going to kiss Photius' hand. "Well, that's... " Photius' expression turned to horror as she parted her jaws and sank her teeth into his forearm. He screamed and yanked his arm free.

Javor drew his sword. He and Photius stood back to back with Danisa between them, swords held out. They hurriedly shouldered their packs. "To the stream, Javor," Photius ordered, and they moved awkwardly away from the villagers.

An owl hooted, and then another. Javor felt his amulet trembling again as owl after owl screeched from the trees. Fluttering like a hundred wings came from the tops of the huts, and then from under the trees that surrounded the village they saw human forms approaching.

The light was almost gone. Photius stamped his staff on the ground to make it glow. In its bluish light, they could see three women, emaciated, naked and grinning, striding toward them. Their faces were drawn and bones stood out from their shoulders, chests and elbows. They all had red hair and black eyes. Their hands were hideous, bony and cracked with long nails like talons.

"Hello, Photius and Javor, and Princess Danisa," said the one in the middle in a voice as cracked and horrible as her face. The others grinned and Javor could see their long teeth, pointed like a dog's. "So nice of you to stay for a meal," she cackled, and the three stepped even closer.

Javor jabbed his sword into her chest. She looked down at it and laughed as he wrenched it out again. No blood spurted—there was just a hideous, gaping wound in the middle of her chest, beside a sagging, shrunken breast. She snatched at the blade but he managed to pull it away.

"The knife, Javor, the knife!" growled Photius. He waved his glowing staff at the three horrible women, who shrank back from the light. One drooled and spat as she dodged. Javor had just enough time to re-sheath his sword and pull out his great-grandfather's dagger. He brandished it toward the centre bloodsucker and she shrank back, hissing. The other two howled as he swept the shorter blade toward them.

"To the water, children, hurry!" said Photius. They ran, stumbling over rocks and uneven ground. Javor tried to hold the dagger out behind him, which threw off his balance. The light from Photius' staff wavered and sputtered. Javor was surprised to see how fast Danisa could run. She reached the stream-bank first.

The villagers and the three strigoi followed at a distance. "Into the water!" Photius cried and jumped in. Danisa and Javor followed, and the cold water was a shock on Javor's sandaled feet. Photius led them, splashing and stumbling downstream, walking backwards to watch the strigoi and their enthralled villagers.

Danisa waded fastest, intent on escape. She's strong! Javor realized.

Their pursuers stopped at the bank. The strigoi ran along the stream, careful to stay outside the circle of bluish light from Photius' staff. Then one of the villagers stepped into the stream. He stiffened when his foot touched the water as if a spear had jabbed his back. He pitched face-forward into the water and lay still.

Javor, Danisa and Photius ran downstream, but it got deeper, slowing them down. Soon, they were waist-deep, but the stream was also wider, and they were farther from the bloodsuckers on the bank. The strigoi screeched, waving their arms and legs. Then Javor could no longer touch the stream-bed with his feet.

"Can you swim?" Photius asked, holding his staff over his head to keep the glowing end out of the water.

"Yes," Danisa gasped.

"Sort of," Javor lied.

"Then do your best, boy!" Photius lowered his staff and launched himself into the water, kicking and sweeping his arms before him to propel himself forward. The staff's tip hissed as it touched the water and the light went out, and they realized just how dark the night was. Danisa did not seem to be having any trouble keeping up with Photius, swimming just as strongly and confidently.

Javor somehow sheathed the dagger underwater and tried to mimic Photius' actions. He kicked and splashed, but was having trouble keeping his head out of the stream and kept swallowing water.

Behind them, the stigoi began a terrifying, high-pitched chant. Javor could hardly see anything. He was cold and the weight of his clothing and weapons dragged him down. What am I doing? I can't swim! He panicked and his head went under the water.

He sank until his feet touched the mucky bottom; he pushed and his head broke the surface. He took a shuddering breath, swallowed more water, coughed and sank again. This time he pushed harder against the bottom and managed to take a deeper breath when his head came above the water. He found a pattern: breathe in above the water, shut the mouth tight, sink, breathe out under water, push against the bottom, try to swim forward, breathe in again when he breached the surface.

The stream was now a full river. Javor concentrated on keeping his head above water when he realized the current was pulling him from their pursuers faster than he could swim. He looked to his right: the strigoi had stopped, stymied, where another stream entered the river he floated in. They can't go into the water!

Photius and Danisa were swimming, slowly but strongly, toward the left bank. They held onto a branch that extended over the river, and Danisa climbed onto the shore. As Javor floated by, Photius grabbed his shoulder and pulled him sputtering and flailing to the bank. Slowly, they dragged themselves out of the water and collapsed on the ground. Everything was heavy: clothes, packs, weapons, even their sandals felt heavy. They panted until they began to shiver.

"Let's find some shelter," said Photius when he had caught his breath. They found a protected spot under a leaning tree. Javor used his sword to chop pine-boughs into a windbreak. Photius tried to make a fire, but even with magic couldn't get a spark from his staff. Javor found a tinder-box wrapped in oiled cloth in his pack, and managed to start a fire naturally. Photius grinned gratefully as the flames caught the tinder and kindling, holding his shaking hands to the heat. Danisa threw dried twigs and pine needles on to build it up, then huddled against Javor for his body heat.

"What were they?" Danisa asked when she could control her chattering jaw.

"Strigoi, shape-shifters, damned undead women who drink the blood of the living," Photius answered. "They have taken over that whole village, and the people are completely under their spell. Every night, the women come to feed, draining not just their blood but their will and their very humanity. Even with our help, the villagers are unable now to prevent the demons from taking more blood. They do the bidding of their parasites—that was why they pursued us. And they are becoming strigoi, blood-drinkers and cannibals, themselves. You saw how that one young woman bit me!"

"What would they have done with us?"

"Taken our blood, too, which is more potent than what's left in those poor villagers. We would have made them even stronger, and able to create yet more bloodsuckers."

"How did they know our names?" Javor asked.

"The strigoi have some ability to read minds, or perhaps to tell the future; I am not certain," Photius answered, staring intently into the flames. Is he making it burn hotter that way? Javor wondered. "We must dry off and rest tonight, and leave at first light. And until we are through the mountains, we had best stay away from any people we find in these lands."

Photius took first watch, but chilled and terrified, Javor found it hard to fall asleep, and when he finally did, it seemed like mere minutes before Photius woke him again for the second watch. Nervous and cold, Javor peered into the darkness until dawn purpled the sky. They had no more food, so they shouldered their damp and clammy packs and walked along the river until Photius recognized his way south-west.

They continued walking during the day as quickly as they could beside the remains of the Roman road. On their right were low, sullen hills; on their left a flat, forested plain. The road followed a river valley which became a pass between the lower mountains.

By afternoon, Danisa had recovered her composure. "Javor, was that knife the one you cut off the dragon's foot with?" she asked. Javor hesitated to answer. Photius gave him a warning look.

Danisa would not let the question go. When they made their camp in the evening, she asked Photius about the dagger. "Why did Javor's dagger repel the witches, when the sword was no threat to them?"

"I have put spells on it," he lied as he filleted a fish he had caught. His eyes remained focused on the thin blade. "Spells that repel creatures of the underworld. It was not so much the blade as the spells." Danisa drew her lips together until they almost disappeared.

Nights grew longer and cooler, and as they climbed into the mountains, game got scarcer. They had to keep to the road most of the time, as it was their only path beside the swift river. The road grew steeper as they climbed higher; the mountains thrust jagged heads and necks of grim grey stone over evergreen-clad shoulders. They passed ruins several times a day, and often they could see more than one at a time.

At least twice a day, Photius would make them hide in thickets. He was spooked by the sound of hooves on the road, sometimes by a sound carried on the wind or sometimes even the number of birds in the sky.

At night, it got so cold that Photius let his chills overcome his caution and allowed Javor and Danisa to build larger and hotter fires. Of course, that meant that they had to gather more firewood. All of this slowed their progress. Photius spoke less as the road climbed higher and higher.

As the summer was coming to an end, they made camp in the midst of a small stand of trees that was almost isolated in the rocky ground. Danisa sat on a log to rest and Photius began setting up for supper. As usual, Javor went to gather firewood. The light started to fail before he had found enough, and he nearly lost his balance as he carried an armful of sticks and leaned with his free hand on a boulder that jutted into the path. Beyond the boulder, the ground pitched down steeply. A stream tinkled over a small waterfall.

And there, just below him, blinking great bright red eyes and dripping water from the end of its snout, was the dragon.

Javor had no doubt—the setting sun was behind his shoulder and shone right onto the beast. It was the dragon from Ghastog's mountain: horse-sized, black-skinned, gleaming reddish in the setting sunlight. It blinked at Javor, then reared back, raising its snakelike head high on its thin neck, jaws gaping. Its front legs rose up, and Javor could see that the left leg had no claw, but a stump of light green with two long bumps.

He dropped the firewood and scrambled back around the boulder, then crouched and listened. There was a lot of crashing and trampling, but the sounds receded. His feet took over and he found himself running to the campsite. Photius was whetting his sword and Danisa was drinking water. They looked up in alarm.

"The dragon! The dragon from the mountain! It's found us!"

Photius sprang to his feet. "Where?"

Javor pointed up the slope. "Where the two hills meet." He described his encounter.

"It sounds like it was as scared as you were," Photius concluded. "Still, we'd best not stay here." The three retraced their steps down the slopes to a brook, splashed upstream for a while and then got out on the far side where the trees were low and thick.

By now it was completely dark, and clouds blotted out what little starlight there could have been. The only thing they could see was a sullen red glow from behind the mountain. Photius chanced a dim glow on the end of his staff and led them under a dense bush. They found a hollow big enough for them to sit side-by-side. To Javor's frustration, Danisa chose to sit with Photius in the middle.

The hollow was damp and smelled of rotting leaves, but Photius refused to move any farther. He dimmed his staff just as it started to rain. Thick as it was, the bush didn't prevent the water from dripping on them. After about an hour, a little stream of run-off from up the slope found its way right under Javor's buttocks. He tried to move, but Photius hushed him. "It's looking for you right now," he whispered. "I can sense it."

"I thought I was invisible to it!"

"You are, but I am not. And if you keep shaking that bush, you'll make it wonder what's underneath the leaves, and it will come to investigate. Now hold still!"

The three spent a sleepless, miserable night under the bush, waiting for the sun to rise. And when it did, it rose behind thick grey clouds that continued to drizzle on them through the day. The drizzle continued for the next several days as they climbed up the long pass through the Montes Serrorum, until one day the sky cleared as they stood on a crest, looking down a long valley that fell slowly lower between towering crags of rock.

"Now, youngsters, the hardest part of our journey is done. It is literally all downhill from this point (well, nearly all downhill, but on average, all downhill) to the borders of the Roman Empire, and safety. We will go to the town of Drobeta, at Trajan's mighty bridge over the Danuvius, and from there take a boat downriver to Constantia and the Euxine Sea; from there, a sailing ship to Constantinople." He turned and beamed at Javor. "We're almost home."

Chapter 14: The Roman outpost

The mountains were behind them, the breeze hinted at coming chill, but the sun was warm on their right shoulders. Javor could see clusters of oak trees interspersed with meadows; in the distance to the south, the land turned into a wide plain. To the north, a rocky outrider of the mountains reached, shadowy and grim. Behind it, the mountains receded, darkening, their tops lost in clouds. Is a storm coming?

"At last, the first signs of civilization: the border-town of Drobeta," said Photius. Javor and Danisa squinted eastward at a smudge on the side of a hill just at the edge of the horizon. Was that a broad river running just in front of it, winding across his field of vision? At that distance, Javor couldn't be sure. But the road didn't lead that way.

"What's that?" Danisa asked, pointing where the road curved toward the shoulder of the mountains. There was some kind of structure, bigger and more impressive than anything Javor had ever seen before. It was a massive pile of rock, purposely piled, obviously the hand of man. Since he had never seen any building larger than the hetman's lodge in his village, Javor couldn't imagine how people could construct anything so huge.

"Our immediate destination," Photius answered in his usual grand way. "An ancient Roman fortress, once abandoned, and now, it seems, re-occupied." A thin plume of smoke rose above the structure.

Photius strode purposefully down the slope, following the road rather than cutting across the curve. Shrugging, Javor followed him. Danisa looked at both of them, then trotted to catch up. Photius as usual prattled on, the bronze end of his walking stick tapping a regular punctuation.

"The Empire once held sway over all these lands, children, and the area beyond the mountains as well, even the lands where your village now stands, Javor. As I have mentioned before, the province of Dacia was lost centuries ago to barbaric tribes.

"The Emperor then set the northern boundary of the Empire at the great river Danuvius, all the way from Germania to the mouths of the river into the Euxine Sea," Photius went on, waving his right arm vaguely southward. "You can't see it, quite, from here, but the Danuvius is that way, too, across that plain. So you see, we are now very close to safety in the civilized world."

Javor was only half-listening to Photius, but something bothered him. "If the border is still miles away, why are we heading for that fortress?"

Photius stopped, turned, and leaning on his staff, said wryly "Because we really don't have a choice in that matter." As he said that, Javor could see over Photius' shoulder two riders galloping down the road toward them. Quietly, so that Danisa could not hear, he said "Hide your amulet and dagger, Javor, quickly."

Javor stepped behind Photius and tucked his grandfather's sheathed dagger under his trousers. He touched his amulet, making certain it was still out of sight under his tunic. Then he straightened to see the riders had come much closer in just a few seconds.

They took Javor's breath away. Their armour burned golden in the sunlight and their bright red capes fluttered wildly behind them as their horses rushed closer.

Alarmed, Javor reached for his sword, but Photius' hand on his wrist told him not to. The older man seemed pleased by the strange armed men rushing toward them, almost smiling as they got within easy spear range and then closer, pulling up just out of sword-thrust from the walking trio.

Their horses were bigger than any Javor had ever seen, and they wore bronze armour on their foreheads and chests. Leather straps ran from their mouths, and others crossed their chests, meeting at more bronze armour plates.

The riders were the most magnificent men that Javor had ever seen. Their polished steel armour, overlapping plates over their shoulders and torso, shone like silver in the sun, and gorgeous scarlet capes billowed out behind them, fastened at their shoulders with bronze disks. Steel armour protected their lower legs and forearms, and their shining iron helmets were trimmed with what Javor thought must be gold. Each had great long flaps on the side, and Javor thought of a hound's ears. But he didn't laugh.

Each horseman held out a spear, one pointing at Javor and the other at Photius. "Halt!" said one sternly in a voice like a bear's. "Who approaches the border of the Empire?"

While he didn't understand the language, Javor could by now recognize it as Latin. Photius answered. "I am Photius of Constantinople, son of Clementus, Roman citizen." That part, Javor understood, but not much of what followed. "I am returning after extended travel beyond the borders on official reconnaissance."

"And your companions?" The spears did not waver.

"This is Danisa, daughter of a chief of the north whom we rescued from barbaric rites. And this is Janus, my bodyguard." Javor was startled by the lie about his name, but didn't show it. Photius, though, looked pleasant and completely at ease. He lies well. "Can you tell me, good sir, how far are we from the River Danuvius?"

Under the helmet, deep brown eyes brooded. Then the horseman who had spoken raised his spear till the tip pointed straight up; his companion copied him. Apparently they were accepted as, if not friends, at least not immediate threats. "It is still several leagues south."

"And whom am I addressing?" Photius asked in his politest voice.

"I am Manius Meridius, Equite with the Fifth Legion. Come with us to the fort," said the lead rider. The two men made clicking sounds and the horses turned as if man and horse were one animal. They began an easy walk back along the road. Javor, Danisa and Photius had to hustle to keep up.

"I am, I admit, somewhat surprised to see the fort occupied," said Photius conversationally to the leading horseman, who didn't reply. "It was not the custom, I believe, for Imperial garrisons to occupy emplacements outside the borders." Still no reply. "How long have you been in this region?"

"Legate Valgus brought us hither these twelvemonths," said Manius Meridius.

"Oh really?" Photius raised an eyebrow at Javor. "I have been away for some time. And who did you say your commander was?"

"Legate Decius Valgus," the Equite grunted.

"And, I take it from your uniforms, you are an Imperial cohort, rather than an auxiliary?"

"Obviously."

"Oh, are you Laconic, then?"

"Quiet, or I'll bind you."

Javor was glad of the Roman's order for silence. He concentrated on the fortress.

It suffered with every step closer. Imposing from a distance, the grey stone walls were weathered and crumbling in several places, although the new inhabitants had tried to make repairs. One wall had completely toppled, and Javor saw dark streaks on the stones. Burned? A screen of logs had been erected in its place, their tops sharpened.

But the gate remained intact—remained, to Javor, very imposing. A ditch surrounded the walls, spanned by a new-looking wooden bridge that was really just a series of planks joined with iron braces. Javor was looking at the first drawbridge he had ever seen. It had no railings on the side, nothing to prevent someone or something from toppling over the side.

The bridge ended at a very stout-looking solid wood gate reinforced with iron. On each side were massive stone columns, and over it a stone platform held stern armoured men. More soldiers stood on either side of the gate, spears ready and shields at their sides. At a nod from Meridius, the guards moved aside, still standing stiff at attention, and the gate creaked open.

Inside the fortress, Javor was struck by the quiet of the place. There were more people than he had ever seen together in one place before. The inside of the fort was really a fully functioning village, with craftsmen and a forge and bakery and kitchens—but hardly any human voices. Men, women and children walked here and there, gathered near walls, stared at the newcomers. But they barely spoke. They stayed near walls and doorways and only furtively moved to the open areas.

Javor heard the gate rumbling and scraping shut behind them again, the clop-clop and slapping of the door-wardens driving donkeys to turn the great spoked wheel that moved the gate, heard the clopping of Meridius' horse's hooves and those of Danisa's, Photius' and his own feet in the dust, rustling and clattering as people moved about their business, jingling of fittings and armour, and only sparse, hushed conversation. It's like they're hiding from something outside the walls.

The legionnaires dismounted. With the silent legionnaire behind them holding his spear, Meridius led the three travellers to a high inner building, also made of crumbling stone, also temporarily repaired with logs or planed wooden boards. It was a grim-looking affair with a row of stingy-looking openings for windows high above their heads. It was the first time that Javor had ever seen a two-storey building.

Four legionnaires with spears stood on either side of high double doors that opened onto a wide stone landing at the top of three broad steps. Above them was a wide opening for air, covered with a screen made of thin wooden strips. On either side were painted insignia of the Imperium. It seemed that the original builders had made hasty attempts to make the place look grand, then abandoned it. The overall effect was sadness.

One door scraped open as Meridius approached. "Wait here," he said without pausing, and disappeared inside. The guards formed a circle around Photius, Javor and Danisa, holding their spears butt-down and not looking directly at the prisoners. Why did Photius want to come here? Photius smiled at the guards complacently. Javor could feel his grandfather's dagger under his trousers.

He could not take his eyes, though, from the guards' polished armour. I have never seen any metal shine so bright. He could see his own reflection in the silvery breastplate ...

"Back up, country boy!" growled a Legionnaire. Javor realized he was so close to the man, his nose was almost touching the armour. Several legionnaires looked very uncomfortable.

They didn't have to wait long. Meridius appeared in the doorway, holding his helmet under his arm. "The Legate wishes to see you." He held up a hand as they stepped forward. "You must leave your weapons aside."

Javor felt alarmed again at this—they would be completely at the legion's mercy. But Photius complacently put down his long bow, shrugged off his pack, unbuckled his sword belt and dagger and placed them all at the feet of one legionnaire. He then smiled at Javor. Javor shrugged, then put down his pack and weapons, too. But he kept the dagger under his trousers and the amulet around his neck. Danisa, weaponless, looked at the legionnaires calmly.

"What about the staff?" Meridius growled.

"Surely you wouldn't deny an old man his walking-stick?" said Photius, and at that moment, he looked even older and more frail.

"If you walked over the Montes Serrorum, you don't need a walking-stick indoors," Meridius growled. "Come!" he barked and turned on his heel, not doubting that the travelers followed.

Photius leaned his staff against the side of the door, and Danisa and Javor followed him into a wide, open room. The air inside was stuffy, occasionally alleviated by a draft from the open windows and screens high above. On either side of the doorways, staircases—the first staircases that Javor had ever seen—rose to galleries that ran along opposite walls, just under the small, mean windows Javor had seen from outside. He was fascinated by the semi-cylindrical shapes of the columns that rose up the walls to support the barrel ceiling, lost in shadows.

Light filtered in from the high windows and the screened opening, and was bolstered by torches flickering in sconces on the walls and a brazier burning in the middle of the room. Beyond the brazier was a small stone platform, and on it was a great wooden chair with a high back. On either side were Roman standards, red and purple and gold on ornate poles, and beside them were two more fully armed legionnaires, standing at attention.

The man standing before the chair seized Javor's attention. He was not tall, but robust and solidly built, dressed in gold-coloured armour that reflected the light from the torches. A smooth red cape hung from his shoulders. His bare forearms were thick and muscular. His chin was square and smoothly shaven, his nose broad, his dark hair cropped very short. Javor thought he was magnificent, but Photius noted that the armour, though polished, was dented, the leather straps worn, the cape threadbare.

Meridius marched forward, his footsteps echoing, stopped directly in front of the dais with an extra stomp and saluted. "Legate Valgus, the armed travellers." He stomped again and stepped to one side.

"Thank you, Centurion. At ease," ordered the man on the dais in deep, accented Greek, a voice used to being obeyed. He turned to the travellers. "I am Decius Valgus, called Adjutor, and I am Legate of this cohort. Who are you and why are you travelling heavily armed in these lands?"

Photius bowed, and Javor copied him clumsily; but Danisa stood tall and proud, regarding the Legate without expression. "I am Photius of Constantinople, son of Clementus and a citizen of Rome," he repeated. "This is Janus, my assistant and bodyguard. And the maiden is Danisa, whom we rescued from a barbaric rite some weeks ago."

The Legate looked at them intensely, then sat slowly on the great chair. Javor felt he was being measured. "And what are you doing beyond the Empire's borders, especially in these wild areas overrun with barbaric hordes?"

"We are mystics, my lord, traveling on behalf of the Empire to seek knowledge from beyond the borders," Photius answered earnestly.

Wow—what a lie! Javor thought. Did he just make that up now, or has he been keeping that one in store for situations like this?

Valgus' eyes narrowed. "What are you, missionaries? Out converting the Slavs? Or are you hoping to convince the Avars to give up raiding the Empire and turn the other cheek?"

Photius chuckled and shook his head. "No, Legate Valgus. We are seekers of a deeper, older wisdom. We have been adding to our knowledge through our travels in the wild North."

"The locals here say those regions have always been haunted," the legate answered, his eyes sharp.

Photius nodded. "Yes, there are old tales in Constantinople and throughout the Empire of strange happenings in these regions. That is why we travel: to prove or disprove any of these stories."

"Your young bodyguard here looks like a local."

"He is only accoutered so. He has been with me for some time, now." At that comment, a look that Javor had never seen before crossed Valgus' face.

"Then why are you so heavily armed?" Valgus demanded in a voice that made the hairs on Javor's neck stand up.

"As you yourself said, these are dangerous lands, and dangerous times. We are merely seeking to protect ourselves," Photius answered politely.

"Have you been troubled by the barbarians?"

"From time to time, but we have managed to survive," Photius said vaguely.

"And the girl? What about you, young lady—why are you jeopardizing your virtue by travelling with two men?"

"As I said, we rescued her—" Photius tried to interrupt.

"I asked her."

Danisa looked at Photius, then at Valgus before answering. What is she going to say? What will the Romans do if she contradicts Photius? Javor wondered.

"I have little choice," she answered in flawless Greek. How did she learn that? "I was tied to a cross and left in the road for wild beasts or anything worse. These men—actually, the young one—rescued me. I have been with them since. Where else can I go?"

"And as for your virtue..." the Legate prompted.

Danisa's eyes flashed and her lips grew even thinner. "I am a hetman's daughter. I can guard my own virtue, thank you very much!"

Valgus just nodded slowly, then turned toward Photius again. "Tell me: after your travels, do you believe the land is haunted?" he asked searchingly.

Photius weighed his answer. "There is much yet to learn about these lands, which were abandoned so long ago by the Empire. There are tales that have grown in the retelling, until the demons are sufficiently fearsome to make the heroes sufficiently impressive."

Valgus peered at them for a long time, his chin resting on a fist. Then he stood again, and Javor noticed that he seemed to have a little difficulty rising, although his face showed nothing of it.

"Tell me, wise man, are you a healer? Have you skills in the arts of medicine?"

Photius looked concerned. "Why yes, Legate. I trained at the Collegium in Alexandria. But has this garrison no surgeons?"

"Come with me." Valgus stepped off the dais and strode across the hall to another staircase near the back.

Javor and Photius followed, but Meridius blocked Danisa. "You stay here. This is no matter for girls. Tullus, bring her something to drink." One look at the legionnaires convinced Danisa not to argue.

At the top of the stairs, Valgus led Photius, Javor and Meridius to his personal quarters, a small room lit by a wide open window. Late-summer sunlight streamed in, making it much warmer than the hallway. Almost in the middle of the room stood a gleaming, polished wooden table with ornate bronze legs. It was the most beautiful thing Javor had ever seen. Behind it were another chair whose style matched the desk, and a cabinet of open shelves, filled with scrolls and other items that Javor didn't recognize. Another door was on one wall.

Valgus sat on the chair and motioned for the visitors to stand in front of the desk. He nodded, and Meridius closed the door, leaving them alone.

"What do you know about tales of dragons?" Valgus demanded.

Javor felt stabbed with shock. Photius' face betrayed nothing. "Do you mean the Draco Legions? The Cohors Sarmatorum? Are you not part of that legion?"

"Do not play games with me, old man. I'm not talking about a legion with a dragon totem. I'm talking about dragons! Huge monsters! Surely you've heard of them—the people in these regions talk about them all the time!"

Photius looked thoughtful. "Every race, every nation has tales and legends of dragons," he said. "Although very few people can claim to ever having seen a dragon. Dragons are, as far as I can tell, extremely ancient beings, bearers and representative of the most ancient and potent power in the world. There are those, particularly in the East, who hold that the dragon is the earth, itself..."

"A dragon has been raiding the villages in these parts," the Roman interrupted. Javor hoped, again, that his face didn't show the shock he felt.

Photius remained cool. "A dragon? Raiding? Here?" He sounded skeptical. "Have you seen it?"

The Roman nodded, his face grave, eyes never leaving Photius. With obvious difficulty, the Legate rose to his feet again and began to unbuckle his armour. As his fingers tugged on the straps on his left side, he winced unconsciously. "I with to show you something, Photius of Constantinople. Something beyond the skills of the Empire's military surgeons." The armour clattered to the ground, and Javor wondered at the carelessness with which Valgus let it fall. Under that, he wore a military red tunic. After unbuckling a belt, he pulled the tunic off, leaving only a thin, long white shirt and an undergarment wrapped around his waist and between his legs.

Is he going to get completely naked in front of us?

Valgus slowly pulled the shirt over his head, wincing and grimacing. He was left in just his loincloth and white bandages wrapped around his midsection. Red stained the left side, below his arm.

"Help me take off these bandages," he said, and Photius untied the flat knot at the side, then began unrolling the long strips of cloth going round and round Valgus, gradually revealing a muscular torso, tough-looking as if it were carved of wood, crossed with scars. As more of the bandage came off, Photius and Javor could see a deep, fresh red gash along the Roman's side. Blood dripped slowly, oozing into the cloth bandage; one drop fell and stained the floor. Javor noticed several such stains, faded to a rusty brown.

Photius bent down to peer closely at the cut, gently touching the pink, swollen skin near it. Valgus gritted his teeth, but did not complain or wince.

"When did you receive this wound?" Photius asked.

"Almost ten months ago, in the autumn."

"What! But legate, this wound is fresh!"

"So it appears," agreed Valgus. "But believe me, I received it almost a year ago."

"What gave you such as wound, that did not kill you, yet will not heal on its own?"

Valgus pulled his shirt and tunic back on, but left the armour on the floor. He pulled on a rope that hung from a hole in the wall beside his desk. Javor heard a bell ring. A soldier came in immediately. Without a word, he picked up the discarded bandage and the legate's armour and left.

"Tell me how you received this wound," said Photius when the man had gone.

Valgus sat down, looking tired. "A year ago, my cohort was stationed in the fortress at Trajan's Bridge over the Danuvius. Our assignment had been to patrol north of the great river, to keep it clear of barbarians and troublemakers and to protect the border. We are the outer screen of the Empire's defences, if you will.

"One day, a stream of refugees, mostly Goths and Slavs, appeared at the Gate, pleading for sanctuary, for protection. We thought they were running from the Avars, who were raiding and pillaging the whole region, but the refugees were all babbling like terrified infants about monsters and demons.

"I finally got one man who seemed to have more of a stomach than the rest, and he told me a tale of whole villages wiped out by demons. He talked about scores of monsters and dragons that swept out of the sky and devoured people whole.

"Naturally, I didn't believe any of this superstitious babble." He looked into Photius' eyes, asking for understanding, and there was something else in his eyes that Javor recognized: a request for verification that he was still sane. "I am a civilized, educated man, Photius. I believe in the rational world, not in imagined spooks."

His voice changed again, became businesslike. "But people don't leave their homes, their farms and livelihoods for imagination. They were plainly terrified.

"We took them in, of course, let them find places within the borders. And then my commander, the general-governor of Drobeta, Oppius Sabinus, ordered my cohort out to investigate.

"We came north to this former fortress in the land of Dacia, where Rome had once held sway, and effected some repairs as we could. Gradually, the locals started to move in and settle the area. We have let as many live inside the fortress as we have room for, and they make for useful logistical support—grooms for the horses, provisions, that sort of thing..."

Valgus was beginning to lose the thread of his story. His voice dropped, losing its power. He was getting tired.

"You haven't told me how you got that wound," Photius reminded him politely.

That seemed to focus the legate. "Of course. I ordered patrols out to scout the area. They came back with tales of devastated villages, burned farmsteads. One patrol did spot a band of Avars in a river valley east of here, but they fled at the first sight of an Imperial standard, and we haven't seen any Avars since.

"Then, high in the foothills of the Montes Serrorum, they came upon something, I know not what, that destroyed them utterly. Ten heavily-armed cataphracti! One man came limping back to tell us the news. All he could tell me was that the patrol had been wiped out by a group of something. But he couldn't say what it was before he died in my arms." Valgus closed his eyes and shuddered. "He was a big man, an extraordinarily strong man, Photius. A veteran soldier, tough and smart. He came back barely clinging to his horse. Both his legs had been broken and he had horrible scars on his body and strange burns on his arms. Bite marks all over his skin. He looked infected. He was the most horrifying thing my eyes have ever seen, and I have seen terrible battles. He called for me and told me his patrol had been killed. Ripped was the word he used. Then he begged me to kill him, to end his suffering." The Roman commander opened his eyes again and looked deeply, pleadingly at Photius. "I hesitated. I needed to know more, and this poor man was in such agony he was asking me to end his life. And I hesitated. But the gods did not. No, they took pity on the man and I saw the light fade from his eyes."

Valgus drew a deep breath.

"I myself led the next foray. I took fifty cataphracti, fully armed, into the mountains. Understandably, we were unable to convince any of the locals to guide us, but our destination was not hard to find. We climbed higher, until we had to dismount and walk our horses.

"Although it was summer, the weather grew unnaturally cold—too cold even for mountains, for these were not that high. The clouds gathered quickly and the sky grew very dark in midday. And then we found one of the villages. I have never seen such devastation before. Bodies literally ripped apart. The savagery! It was the work of nothing...human. It could not have been! People had been crushed, the bodies literally smeared against the ground. I cannot imagine what it would have taken for men to do those kinds of things! And bodies burned—no, not burned, but horribly mutilated by something like burning, yet unlike it!

"We all were sickened and dumbfounded by the horrors that we saw. And then we were attacked, doubtless by the same things that had perpetrated the horrors on the village. Two of my best, most experienced men, were flung from their mounts and dragged through the grass by something we could not see. They disappeared into the trees before anyone else could move, and then their screams... stopped."

The room had grown dimmer. Javor looked out the open window and saw that dark clouds had gathered. Somewhere beyond the mountains, thunder growled.

Valgus continued: "That's the first time I saw the dragon, Photius. It was huge—the length of two horses, with a neck half as long again and a tail like a snake, almost as long as the body itself, long legs with claws like an eagle, and a head like—well, I don't know what. A lion? A lizard? Like nothing I have ever seen.

"And wings! Huge, wide black wings like a great bat! It swooped down on us faster than a falcon and crushed two more legionnaires in its talons. It laid into us like a lion among sheep, killing men—hardened warriors at will. Our arrows and spears were useless—they only bounced off its hide, which was covered with black scales that shimmered green. It would reach out with its neck and take a man in its jaws—huge, gaping jaws lined with rows of teeth like daggers that would pierce iron armour! Or with its talons that severed limbs like straw!

"And from its mouth dripped a liquid that stank like brimstone and burned through flesh like a flame through paper. Ten men died horribly in minutes.

"I never felt so terrified in my life. I have fought many battles, Photius, against men and armies with terrible machines of war, against fire and sword and spear, but I have never felt that I was facing Hell itself. And there it was before me.

"I felt sure I was going to die, but I saw—or thought I saw—an opening. Right under the fiend's throat, at the spot where the neck joined the body, I thought I saw a soft spot in the hide. So I took my lance and spurred my horse, but it reared and threw me. And that saved me, for the beast took my horse's head right off. I have been thrown by horses before, and I still had my spear. So I charged on foot. No, I am not boasting about my bravery. No, I said, I felt I was about to die and that I should try to do something for my men while I breathed. So I charged forward, my spear in front of me, and drove the point into the beast's underbelly.

"Well, the spear broke, though I daresay I gave the beast a wound! It reared and roared and swiped at me, catching me in the side. One of the claws went right through the armour—hardened steel!

"When my men saw me fall, they rallied. I don't know whether it was the jab that I gave it or the sight of 30-odd legionnaires forming a testudo and bristling with spears, but it flew off. The wind from its wings knocked all the men down! But it was gone. My men pulled me out of there and we rode back to the fortress as hard and fast as we could, leaving behind the bodies of our fallen. No doubt they became fodder for some unholy pack.

"And that, wise Photius of Constantinople and young Janus, is how I got this wound. It has never healed. The way it looks today is exactly how it has looked since that first day, despite the treatments and unguents of Roman surgeons and even the local witch. Nothing works. And it aches, my friends, it aches every moment of every day, and if I let it, the pain takes my mind back to the horror of the day I received it."

Photius looked at the commander for a long time, and Javor wondered what the expression on his face meant. "Bring me my pack, legate," he said finally. "I can help alleviate some of your suffering. A dragon wound is a very rare and difficult thing, but you are obviously strong to have survived it at all."

Valgus pulled the bell cord again. "Bring their things in," he ordered. They waited until, with a lot of clattering, two legionnaires dumped Photius' and Javor's packs, bows and weapons in an untidy heap on the floor.

"Bring me a small brazier, three big jugs of water, seven wooden bowls and as many clean rags as you can," Photius ordered. The legionnaires looked questioningly at Valgus, who just nodded.

When they returned, Photius ordered them to set up the brazier and set it alight, then sent them out again. He fussed around the brazier, putting water to boil and searching through his pack for his medicinal herbs again.

Javor looked outside. Below them, legionnaires and local villagers moved furtively around the courtyard, hardly speaking. He could see a blacksmith working, tapping as quietly as he could. He could also see an odd building, small and square and bearing, above its door, a plain cross symbol. He wondered what it meant. In the sky, clouds were moving fast, lowering and darkening as he watched. Again he heard a distant thunder, but saw no lightning.

When the water boiled, Photius measured it into bowls, and added a different powder to each one, creating a yellow, a brown and a green potion. He dipped the end of a cloth into the clear hot water and gingerly cleaned Valgus' wound. The whole time, Valgus was silent. He didn't grimace even when Photius poured hot water directly on the gash, but watched closely.

Photius carefully poured the green potion into the wound, and had Valgus drink the brown one. As his last step, he smeared the thick yellow paste liberally on the wound. "That will help promote natural healing," he said. "But as for supernatural, that must come from within you." He gestured Javor over, and together they helped the legate to his feet. He seemed weakened by the attention, but peaceful. "Help me bind this afresh," Photius told Javor. He had Javor hold a clean white rag on the wound, then took a long, thin roll of cloth and, muttering prayers, started to wrap it around the Roman's body. Javor helped, and got into a rhythm with the old man, taking the roll from Photius' hand, wrapping it around Valgus, then passing it to Photius' other hand and repeating the process. Photius tucked the end in.

"Nice job," said the legate. They helped him into his tunic.

"Legate, you must rest for the remainder of the day," Photius advised. Valgus nodded and rang for his men again.

"Meridius, take these two and their girl to Didius' old quarters. Give them some food and wine, whatever they want. Then bring me some wine and make sure I'm not disturbed until suppertime.

"Photius, Janus, I thank you. Please, join me for supper this evening. We have much to discuss."

Meridius led them out, and two legionnaires carried their gear. They went out of the hall through a side door to a long, low building with several doors in it. It, too, looked battered and crumbling, but Javor saw the roof had new thatch.

"Didius was the previous second-in-command here," said Meridius as he held the door open for them. "He was killed soon after we arrived." By the dragon? wondered Javor, but Meridius offered no further information.

Didius' quarters were very similar to Valgus', but a little smaller. There was the office, with a simple table and a number of chairs, and off to one side, a bedroom. It was the first time that Javor had seen a real bed—a platform raised above the floor, with a straw mattress and soft-looking sheets and a blanket. Two legionnaires brought in their gear, set down the packs and placed the armour and weapons carefully in racks made for them. They left and returned with two more beds, which they placed in the outer room. Another legionnaire brought Danisa, holding her by the elbow. Once inside the quarters, she wrenched her arm away and stomped into a corner, huffing but not saying a word.

A local followed with two jugs of wine, bread and cheese, setting them on the table. "This is Ulf," Meridius said. "Ask him for whatever you need. Ulf, see that they get it, and quickly, mind!" He turned toward Photius. "Thank you. And if Ulf cannot get you what you need, send for me." He saluted and left.

They looked at the food, then tore into it—even Danisa ate greedily. After weeks of camping food, of the game they had managed to catch and berries they had found while walking south, the simple meal was a feast. Javor drank the wine a little too quickly and started to feel light-headed. He slumped down on the bed and gazed up, out the window. The clouds were lifting again and the wind was dying down.

He was startled when Danisa said to Photius, "Would you mind taking your stuff out of my bedroom?" in a peevish tone.

Photius looked at her, then at Javor, and then smiled at Danisa. "Of course, my dear." He dragged his things out and fussed to place them just as he liked.

Javor didn't know what to say. Danisa looked down at him until she rolled her eyes and snorted, then turned on her heel, stomped into the bedroom and slammed the door.

"Don't worry, lad, a girl likes to have her privacy," Photius said.

"How long do you think we'll have to stay here?" Javor asked.

"Just long enough to convince the Legate that we're not enemies of the Empire. And maybe to see whether his wound begins to heal at last."

"Is that what happens when a dragon hurts you? The wound never heals?"

"No, that is very rare. In fact, I've never seen or heard of anything like that before. Usually, any encounter with a dragon is fatal."

Javor wondered why his last two encounters with a dragon hadn't been fatal for him or it, but he didn't say anything. Instead, he asked "What was that little square building with the cross on the front of it?"

"That, my boy, was a Christian Church," Photius took a big swallow of wine.

"What's a Church?"

"That is the temple for the worshippers of a new religion. I have told you about those who worship one God, rather than many. Do you remember?"

"Yah, yah. So they have to go to that building to worship?"

"That is what they believe. The spirit of the One God comes to that building during their worship services and blesses them."

"This is the religion with they guy who was crucified, right? Oh! Now I get the cross! That's the one he was killed on, right?"

Photius smiled. "Yes, and two days later He rose again to lead the believers. And ever since, His worshippers gather in their little communities. The Emperor Constantine converted to Christianity two centuries ago and made it the official religion of the Empire, and now today—well, let's just say it doesn't pay not to be a Christian within the Empire's borders."

"Should I become a Christian?"

"Do you believe in the One God?"

Javor thought about that. "I'm not sure. I guess it makes as much sense as many gods. Would the One—what's its name, anyway?"

"Most of the Christians call Him simply 'God,' and Jesus Christ is His son, they say. The old name is Yahweh, but many of the Christians prefer not to say His name. It's a little superstition of theirs."

"Okay, so what do Yahweh and Jesus think about Perun?"

"According to the Christians, there in no Perun, there never was. Nor any Zeus or Apollo or Jupiter, either. Those were all false gods."

Javor thought about that for a while, finishing the last of his wine. He looked out the window and saw the sky clearing as the sun moved westward.

"Are you a Christian?" he asked after a time.

Photius did not reply immediately. "Yes, I am, among other things," he said finally. "But that answer is far, far deeper than it sounds. For the nature of God is far more complex than—"

There was a knock, then, and the servant came to collect their dishes. He was carrying three towels, three clean tunics and three pairs of slippers. "The Centurion told me to invite you to the bathhouse. The girl first—we don't have separate baths for women."

The bedroom door sprang open and Danisa almost bolted out the door. Javor was astounded.

"Ah, that will be fine!" Photius exclaimed. "Oh, that is what we need after all those months in the country! Enjoy yourself, my dear!" he called after Danisa, but Javor doubted she could hear him. "Oh, Janus, you will really enjoy a Roman bath!"

Javor was mystified. It seemed awfully cool for bathing, but he waited patiently, dozing occasionally. After about an hour, Danisa returned in a fresh tunic that actually seemed to fit her, with a white cloth wrapped around her head. She seemed renewed—Javor thought her skin actually glowed in the afternoon sunlight.

"What's on your head?" he asked her.

"It's a towel, you idiot!" she snapped. She went back to the bedroom and slammed the door shut again.

Why is she so mad at me? Javor wondered yet again as he followed Photius and the servant across the courtyard to a small building, one surrounded by narrow stone pillars.

Inside was the most opulent luxury that Javor had ever seen: a tiled Roman bathhouse. First was a room with tiles on the floor and hooks on the walls. Photius stripped, completely un-self-conscious, hanging his trousers, tunic, shirt and cloak on the hooks, then took a towel and wrapped it about himself. Javor followed suit, a little embarrassed because the servant, Ulf, was still standing there holding the clean tunics. He carefully hid his dagger under the tunic, but kept the amulet around his neck.

Ulf led them to the centre of the bathhouse. Javor had never seen anything like it. The interior was covered in shining white tiles. Sunk into the floor was a huge, wide tub, big enough for several men, filled with steaming water. Jugs of water, wine and oil stood on the side of the tub, and on a table were more towels.

Photius poured wine for himself and Javor into two cups and handed his towel to Ulf, then stepped into the bath, sighing with pleasure. Javor dipped his foot into the water and was shocked to find it warm. "Come on, Janus, settle in and relax—you haven't lived until you've had a Roman bath!" Photius said. He began splashing water onto his face and scrubbing his skin with his hands.

Javor was amazed at how easily Photius had started calling him by that false name. I guess I better get used to it. Better respond to it like it really is my name. Slowly, he lowered himself into the water until he was sitting on tile. He copied Photius by washing his face, then drinking wine. The steam rising from the bath, combined with the wine, made him even more light-headed.

Photius stretched out, wriggled in the water to get more dust off his skin, dunked his head under and washed his hair. Then he climbed out, taking a towel from Ulf and wrapping it around himself.

Javor copied as best he could. He felt completely lost. Naked but for a towel, he was weaponless, among strangers, wet and uncomfortable. But Photius, whom he had been following like a dog for months, was exultant.

They went into another room, where two men in tunics waited for them. "Ah, the massage!" exclaimed Photius, and immediately lay face-down on a kind of narrow, padded table. The masseur poured oil on Photius' back and began rubbing vigorously.

Javor didn't like the looks of that. But the other masseur was pointing at the table, so he lay down like Photius. He didn't like the feel of the oil on his skin, and recoiled at the feel of the man's hands on his shoulders, but gradually relaxed. Soon, he realized just how good the massage felt. All too soon, the massage was over. Javor stood, flexed his shoulders and felt somehow less tired.

Next was a tiled room that Photius called the caldarium. Javor jumped as Photius opened the door and clouds billowed out. But Photius stepped through the steam and sat on a bench, motioning Javor to sit beside him. The older man leaned back and closed his eyes, breathing deeply.

"It's awfully hot in here, Photius," Javor said.

Photius chuckled. "That's the point, my boy. The heat makes you sweat and cleans out your skin. It takes away all the deep ground-in dirt and filth. And it takes out the minor spirits, too, from deep inside your being and exorcises them gently."

Javor noticed a number of braziers placed in the room. On each one was a wide pan filled with water and several good-sized round stones. Beside each was a bucket with a long-handled wooden ladle. After a few minutes, Photius poured a ladle of water over the stones, which hissed as steam filled the room even more thickly, and Javor felt the higher temperature like hundreds of needles prickling his skin. His head felt tense, like his scalp was too tight. The air got hotter. Photius breathed in deeply, a content smile crossing his face, and leaned back again.

Javor breathed in and felt his nasal passages open. Gradually, he got used to the heat. It is relaxing, he thought. Water trickled down his back and he couldn't tell whether it was sweat or collected steam.

After a while, Photius picked up a small curved metal tool and, to Javor's amazement, scraped it along his skin. A wave of steam and sweat preceded its leading edge, splattering onto the floor. Photius scraped his neck all around, then his shoulders, his chest, torso, arms and legs, then wiped the tool on a towel and handed it to Javor.

"Do my back."

Javor hesitated, but Photius turned his back to the younger man. Javor shrugged and scraped the tool down one side of his back. "Ouch! Not so hard!" Photius protested. Javor relaxed the pressure and more gently swept the tool down, pulling a wave off the old man's back.

"Now, you do it," Photius said after Javor had finished scraping his back. Javor looked at the iron tool. "It's called a strigil," Photius explained. Javor copied the older man's actions, scraping sweat, water and dirt off his skin. After, he felt renewed, smoother, cleaner.

Javor followed Photius to the side of the room, where a deep bath was sunk into the floor. Photius dropped his towel and without hesitating plunged in and climbed out immediately. Javor copied him. "Ahh! It's hot!"

"Of course," Photius chuckled. "It's in the caldarium, the hot room." He didn't stay, but wrapped the towel around himself again and went out to the cooler room where they had been massaged, where Javor now felt chilled in comparison. Servants handed them more wine. Photius waited a few minutes until he felt he had cooled enough, then said, "Back to the frigidarium." The baths had been refilled, and again without hesitating, he plunged in. Javor hesitated this time, and then lowered himself gingerly. The cool water felt icy on his goose-pimpled skin. Photius was splashing the water over his body, and Javor copied him again.

"The heat in the caldarium opens the pores of the skin, allowing sweat to flush out the dirt that has been ground in over these weeks over travel and travail," said Photius in his expansive way. "You scraped much of it off with the strigil in there, and then the hot bath washed the rest away. Now, the cold bath closes the pores again to help prevent more dirt from getting in. The whole process very much promotes good health."

Back in the changing room, they found fresh Roman-style tunics laid out for them. "Where are our clothes?" Javor asked.

"We have taken them to be laundered, sir," Ulf replied, bowing his head. Javor was amazed. "The legate invites you to the officers' mess for evening meal, in about an hour."

"An hour! How long were we in the bath, Photius?"

The older man just laughed and pulled on the fresh tunic. He combed his hair and showed Javor how to do it, and then Ulf held up a bronze mirror. "Ah, that's much better!" Photius exclaimed. "I look like a civilized man again!"

Ulf held up the mirror for Javor. He had seen his reflection before, in streams and pools of water, but had never seen a mirror. He was surprised by what he saw: his face was longer than he remembered, and his blonde hair hung in long wet waves almost down to his shoulders. A wispy beard straggled across his jaw and his lip hinted at a moustache.

"Looks like you'll be needing a shave!" said Photius.

"Oh, no, I want a beard like my father!" Javor protested, alarmed. But Photius just laughed. "Thank you, Ulf. We will stroll about the fort until it's time." Ulf bowed again and left them. "Come, Janus. Let's look around."

"What about Danisa?"

"To tell you the truth, I could use a little break from Danisa. Let's you and I keep each other more manly company for a short time."

The sun was getting well to the west, and the shadows were getting longer. Photius strolled casually around, but Javor could tell he was evaluating the fort's strengths. "Ah, it's good to be in civilization again, Janus." They walked to the little church and peeked inside. The westering light streamed in the open door, falling on a picture made of an arrangement of many small, coloured tiles that Photius called a mosaic. It depicted a woman with a long face wearing a hood, holding a strange-looking baby— who appeared to Javor more to be a miniature adult wearing flowing robes. "That is the Virgin Mary, holding the infant Christ," said Photius. Above it was a sort of wooden table, covered with a pure white cloth, and behind it another table with a kind of box. Javor wondered at it all, but Photius led him away, preferring to inspect the fortifications.

The people in the fortress studied them furtively, and Javor knew they were wondering who they were and why they were given such freedom in the fortress. But no one spoke to them. Legionnaires standing guard at various points drew themselves to attention as they approached, but no one asked any questions.

Finally, a gong sounded. People put down their tools and headed into various buildings. Photius followed a group of officers into the main hall. Javor saw someone leading Danisa in ahead of them.

Long rows of high torches on poles, plus more on sconces all around the walls, made it brighter and warmer than outside. Down the middle of the hall, a long table was covered with platters of food: roasted chickens, a haunch of beef, plates of grapes and others with cheeses, bread, fruit, a platter of olives. Servants or slaves poured wine into cups and goblets. The air was filled with appetizing odours and cheerful chatter of officers.

And at the head of the table, on a chair set at the foot of his dais, sat the Legate, Valgus, in a loose, pure-white toga. He smiled and chatted cheerfully with men on either side, dressed in military uniforms but no armour.

"Ah, Photius, Danisa and Janus, my guests, welcome to our dinner!" he exclaimed. "Forgive me if I don't get up, but your orders were to relax. Still, I must thank you!" He raised a golden goblet and some red wine sloshed over the rim. Valgus ignored the wine dripping over his fingers. "A salute to the miraculous healer from the north! For the first time in a year, the pain has diminished!" and he drained the goblet.

Servants pressed goblets into Photius', Danisa's and Javor's hands, and officers moved away from couches at Valgus' side. "Come, sit down with me, my friends! Eat, enjoy all the poor repast we can offer in this remote fortress!"

Javor looked uncertainly at the strange furniture that was offered: it seemed like a cross between the bed in his sleeping quarters and a chair. Photius lay down on his side, propped up on one elbow, and started picking up food from a plate that a slave put in front of him. "Oh, Legate Valgus, you needn't be so modest with three simple travellers. This is the best supper we have had in months!"

Javor tried to lie down like the Photius. It was uncomfortable, and his side and neck cramped. Danisa, he noticed, did not seem to have any such trouble. Soon, he sat up and put a plate on his lap. But the food was delicious. He tore into it. "Remember to chew, Janus," Valgus chuckled.

And no matter how much wine he drank, someone kept refilling Javor's goblet. Soon, he just sat, hunched forward on his couch, listening as Photius and Valgus talked and joked and laughed with the other officers. He chewed absently on chicken and veal and strange dishes that tasted like fruit he had never eaten before, until he couldn't eat another bite. Gradually, as he drank more wine, the whole room began to sink into a pleasant haze until he woke to find Photius coaxing him to drink a big cup of water. "Trust me, my boy, you'll feel much better in the morning if you drink this now."

Danisa was tipsy, too. After the sun had gone down, she asked to return to her quarters. Gallantly, Javor accompanied her, but all he could think was Why is she so cold to me, now?

At their quarters, Javor touched Danisa on the shoulder. "What's wrong?" he asked.

She ignored him and went into the bedroom; Javor followed. "Ever since we made love, you've acted like I have a disease," he said, following a script he had rehearsed in his mind. "You know I love you, and you love me. So why are you acting this way?"

She just glared at him and tried to shut the door, but he blocked it. "Danisa, what is wrong?"

"You do not even know who I am!" she snarled, retreating to the back of the room. "I am the daughter of a king! I am a princess! What are you but a simple farmer!"

He was ready for that one. "And what is a king but the toughest farmer? I am the seventh son of a seventh son." That did not seem to impress her. "I love you, and you love me," he repeated.

She laughed so he took her in his arms. She pushed back, but she could not break his grasp. She pushed and cried out a little, but then his mouth found hers and she kissed him back, hard.

They fell together on the bed and soon they were naked. They made love intently and sweetly as the moon rose higher outside the window.

Later, she rolled on top of Javor and he marvelled at the sight of her naked breasts in the moonlight through the window. She moved back and forth, eyes squeezed shut, then froze at knocking on the door.

"Danisa?" It was Photius' voice. "Danisa, are you there?"

"Don't come in!" she said in her haughtiest voice. How can she do that now? Javor wondered.

"Have you seen Javor?"

"What am I, his keeper? Go away—I need my sleep!"

Under her, Javor stifled a giggle, but snorted through his nose. Danisa leaned down until her lips were touching his ear. "Quiet!" she hissed. Javor bit his lips and held his breath until they heard Photius going out again. Danisa stayed motionless above him, until Javor craned his head to kiss her nipple. She did not pull back, but stayed attentive for noise until she could not help moving on top of Javor again. He could not hold back for long. They fell asleep in each others' arms.

Danisa woke Javor before dawn with soft, quiet sex, covering his mouth when he made any noise. She bit her lower lip and held him still, hand over his mouth as he climaxed. And when the sky greyed, Danisa pushed Javor out of the bed, threw him his tunic and pushed him out the door. After she saw him collapse onto his straw bed beside Photius, she closed her door in relief.

Javor woke with the sun falling full and hot on his face. His mouth felt full of straw and his eyes felt heavy. He looked and seemed to be in the middle of a cloud: everything was white and blurry. He blinked and sat up, then groaned.

"Well, good morning, sleepyhead," came Photius' voice. Javor blinked, and gradually the room came into focus. He was in Didius' quarters again, lying on the bed. Photius was standing in the doorway, smiling.

Did that happen last night, or did I dream it? His head was starting to hurt.

"I should have warned you about drinking so much wine at once." He sighed. "Still, I suppose that every young man has to go through his own first hangover. Experience is the best teacher."

Javor felt awful: sick to his stomach, sore in the head. His tongue felt thick and dry. He tried to drink water, but that just made him vomit. Fortunately, Photius had placed a bucket near the bed.

Javor spent the day lying in his bed, trying to stay in the shade as much as possible. At Photius' urging, he occasionally drank water as long as it didn't make him feel too sick. Eventually, he ate some dry bread. Every so often, Danisa would come into his field of vision and give him a look of distaste.

When Javor's stomach settled enough, Photius gave him a mild potion. By suppertime, he felt just well enough to eat some bread and cheese and one glass of red wine. I'll never drink that much wine at one time again, he vowed. And to his credit, Javor never did.

Chapter 15: Dragon attack

To Javor, the fortress, rough by Imperial standards, was the most luxurious, civilized place on earth. All he had to do for days was stroll the dusty grounds, drink wine and take steam baths every evening.

And the food! The thankful Valgus welcomed the travellers to his table, and Javor stuffed himself at every meal. At least four different types of bread, cheeses of strong and delicate flavours, grapes and preserved meats, olives and cows' milk and so much more! There were combinations of cooked food that Javor could never have imagined.

Valgus grew noticeably stronger every day. In the mornings, Javor watched the commander moving about his men, laughing and slapping them on the back. It's a big change since the day we arrived!

One bright and sunny day, the locals who were staying in and around the fort set up a little market in the courtyard. On tables and under awnings made of fresh-cut pine boughs, they offered apples and grapes, bags of flour, chickens in cages. One man sold cheeses, another gourds filled with wine, others handicrafts or clothes they had made. The Legionnaires and some women who had attached themselves to the soldiers milled among the makeshift stalls and made occasional small purchases. Still, everyone seemed to be speaking in hushed tones. Photius actually remarked on it: "In every market I've ever seen, there are at least a few vendors shouting out praises of their own wares. These people are terrified, Javor."

Javor took a few coins he had taken from Ghastog's hoard to the market. He bought a long, colourful scarf from a crone who grinned toothlessly when he pressed a copper coin into her hand, and a tall, pointed hat of red cloth from another man. The food looked good, but he thought he could get all he wanted for free from the Romans.

Javor bent to look over some jewelry one of the locals had fashioned out of shells from the river and brightly-coloured pebbles when he felt a twinge from the amulet under his tunic. At the same time, a soldier, out of uniform and wearing just a plain blue tunic and carrying a load of apples in his arm, bumped into him and dropped all the apples into the dust. "Now look what you've done," he said in thickly accented Greek.

"Sorry, but you bumped into me."

The soldier's face twisted, showing a few broken, yellow teeth. He was short and stocky, but his arms were thick like heavy rope. Except for his shaven face, every bit of skin seemed covered with black hair. His nose had been repeatedly flattened between beetling brown eyes, and scars crossed his face. A gold chain with a heavy cross on it dangled from around his neck. "Don't talk back to me, boy," he snarled, spit flying with every consonant. "I paid good money for them apples, and now you've gone and spoiled them!"

"I said I was sorry," Javor protested, struggling to find the right words in Greek. "Look, they're not spoiled, just a little dusty." He bent to start picking them up and his face met the Roman's boot.

Javor sprawled into the dust. "What did you do that for?" He scrambled back to his feet.

"To teach you a lesson, brat," the Roman yelled. "You don't know your place, you don't." He raised his fists and stepped closer.

Javor stepped back and found himself backed into a vendor's stall. The locals yelled, protesting, telling the combatants to get away from their produce. The soldier stepped in and swung a heavy fist at Javor's head. Javor ducked and the fist hit the vendor, who crashed to the ground. But the soldier did not take just one swing at a time—his left caught Javor on the side of the head and he, too, flopped onto the ground, smashing a flimsy table and scattering cheese.

The gathered locals tried to clear their property out of the way of the fight while avoiding fists themselves. Javor struggled to his feet when the Roman's boot hit him in the chest, but it struck the amulet, which deflected the blow. Javor rose again to see the soldier in a boxer's stance: fists up, elbows in, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. Javor copied him. The man was at least twenty years his senior, toughened with years of drilling and war. He was a head shorter, but much broader. Thick muscles showed where his tunic parted. He clearly had the advantage over Javor, but he waited. He's measuring me, Javor realized. He's looking at my size, my moves. Javor lunged forward and jabbed at the soldier's jaw.

He connected with a smack, but the Roman barely flinched. He grinned and jabbed back, catching Javor on the chest, again striking the amulet. It clinked and a painful grimace crossed the soldier's face. He shook his hand, looking puzzled, then jabbed again with his other hand, getting the same result. Now he had two sore hands.

He swore and aimed a blow at Javor's nose, but Javor dodged and struck back at the same time. This time he hit the soldier in the nose, splattering blood across his face.

The Roman stepped back, grinning. "Oh, ho! The brat has some fight in him!"

"What's the matter with you? It was just a bunch of stupid apples!" Javor shouted, dodging another swing of those heavy fists. This time, a fruit stand shattered and collapsed.

Javor jabbed again and hit the soldier's arm, then followed up and hit him in the chest. He thought he felt a crack, and the soldier grunted suddenly, doubling forward. But he straightened and closed in, ramming his fists repeatedly into Javor's chest. Incredibly, Javor barely felt anything. He grabbed the Roman's head in both hands and pulled down while bringing his knee up to smash his opponent's face.

The soldier staggered backward, mouth bloody, spitting out teeth. He looked up and grinned hideously, blood streaming down his chin, sticking his tongue out through the gaps in his teeth. He laughed, but he was enraged now.

And from behind him, two more off-duty soldiers ran to his aid, carrying thick clubs. "Hey, Antonio!" called the first as he ran past the soldier and swung his club at Javor's head.

Without even thinking about what he was doing, Javor checked the soldier's wrist with his forearm and then kicked. He spun on one foot and kicked with the other; his foot connected with the second soldier in the side and sent him sprawling. But the first was swinging the club again. Why did I leave my sword behind? He dodged, jumped onto a table which immediately collapsed under him, leaving him standing on squashed fruit. A club swung, missed and landed on a table of vegetables, splattering Javor with pulp.

Javor saw a hand with a club and kicked the wrist, then seized the club as it fell. He swung it up at the other club as it came down. They collided with a bone-shaking thud that he felt all the way up his shoulder.

The new soldier was tough and brought the club down hard on the club Javor held. His hand went numb and he dropped the club. The second soldier was on his other side, grabbing at Javor's left arm. Again instinctively, Javor jumped in the direction the soldier pulled, sending him off-balance. Somehow, Javor ended up standing on the man's chest. He spun again in time to block the first soldier with a kick to the chin. The man staggered back, tripped and fell on his back.

But Antonio, the trooper who had started the whole fight, was still there, face bloody and hideous, snarling like a hound. Faster than Javor could think, he grabbed the young man by the tunic and pulled him close as his right fist cocked back for a brutal blow to Javor's face. There was nothing Javor could do—the legionnaire's grip was like iron.

"Hold! That's enough!" Manius Meridius strode into the wrecked market, brushed past the protesting locals, took Antonio by the shoulder and wrenched him away like a cat flicking a mouse. "You've done enough, Antonio. Go get cleaned up." He turned to the other soldiers who had come to Antonio's aid. "You two are a disgrace. You're confined to barracks and on half rations today and tomorrow." He looked around at the locals, who either glared at him or at Javor or the men who had been fighting him. "What's the matter with you? You call this a market? Clean this place up now!" Finally, he turned to Javor. "How are you?"

Javor shrugged. "Not a scratch. But why did that man attack me?"

Meridius looked at Javor curiously. "Not a scratch, hey? Well, well. You've done better than I would ever have guessed. Antonio, here, is the best boxer in the unit."

"What? You knew—"

He was cut off as Legate Valgus boomed "Hold!" He and Photius, fully a head taller, rushed across the courtyard. All the villagers froze, staring fearfully at the Legate. "Are you hurt, lad?" asked Photius. Javor shook his head and stepped away from Meridius.

"Is everything under control?" Valgus asked Meridius quietly.

"All except those two fools, Flaccus and Brutus. They came in to help Antonio. I've confined them to barracks and put them on half rations." Valgus nodded.

"And Antonio?"

"He's suffered worse before. Broke his nose again, lost a few more teeth. But nothing he's not used to."

Valgus chuckled. "Any more matches like this and he'll be eating only soup!" Meridius laughed, a little forcedly.

Photius was looking over Javor, pulling his head and his arms this way and that. "No bruises, even! Remarkable! Javor, how many fingers am I holding up?"

"Two. What is this?"

Photius put a hand on Javor's back and led him away from the market and out the front gate, which stood open on the fine late-summer day. "What happened, boy? Why did you get into a fight with our hosts?"

"It wasn't my fault! The fool of a legionnaire bumped into me, dropped his apples, blamed me for it and tried to hit me!"

"Did you hit him back?"

"Once or twice, but mostly I just dodged him. Then two of his idiot friends ran up with clubs and tried to knock my head off!"

"What did you do to them?"

"Mostly dodged, too. But I did manage to kick one in the chin. That put him down!"

Photius peered at Javor closely again. "Lad, are you wearing your amulet?" Javor pulled it out from under his tunic, then hid it away again. Photius nodded. "Interesting. I think, lad, the Legate asked this Antonio to pick a fight with you to test you."

"What!"

"Yes. He wants to see what kind of a fighter you are."

"Why? Does he want me to join the Legion?"

"I doubt that. No, he wanted to evaluate just how much of a threat you are."

"Threat? I'm not threatening him! I just came here with you! I thought we were going to Constantinople!"

"Yes, we are. But how does he know that? How does he know he's not just letting another enemy of the Empire into the borders, and a powerful one at that?"

"But... oh, no, Photius, what am I going to do? Is he going to kill me?"

"No, lad, the Legate Valgus is an honourable man. He wanted to see what kind of man you are. And his duty is to protect the Empire. But now he has more respect for you, as a fighter, at least. He may now try to enlist your help."

Their conversation was cut short as they saw a large band of people, some leading animals, coming up the road under a great cloud of dust. The sentries saw them too. "Sklavenes approaching!" one called from the tower above the gate. Another blew a horn, which summoned a small troop of spearmen. They marched out of the gate, spears pointed forward, to await the arrival of the newcomers.

Even though the people were obviously moving as quickly as they could, it took nearly half an hour for them to reach the fort, for it seemed it was an entire village with old men and women, children and babies, goats and pigs and even cattle. Several of the people were weeping, many more were limping, and a number of old people were being helped along by younger comrades. Two young men carried an injured woman on a litter. Four legionnaires blocked them on the far side of the ditch.

"What are Sklavenes?" Javor asked Photius.

"You are a Sklavene," Photius answered, with surprise in his voice. "Your people. You share a language in these parts, north of the Danuvius."

Javor wondered about that. It was a term he had never heard before; it sounded a little like his people's word for "speaking," but he had never thought of his people as belonging to a larger nation before.

An old man with wispy hair and a comically bulbous nose mistook Photius for the fort's commander. "Please, please let us in," he pleaded in heavily accented Greek. He wore a frayed, plain brown tunic, and his bare feet were covered in mud. Standing behind him was a thin woman with stringy hair and dark circles under her eyes, and an even thinner teenage girl with the same silly nose.

Valgus brushed past Photius and the sentries. "Who are you and why should the Imperial Legion allow you into a military precinct?"

"Please, oh lord, we are under attack!" the little man whined. Even Javor could tell he was terrified. He cringed before Valgus, who seemed to puff out his chest the more the other man cringed. Behind him, the other villagers cried and whined and begged for mercy and aid. "A horde of terrible barbarians burned our village..." said the leader.

"Tell me where it happened. I'll send a patrol to deal with these raiders. But we cannot let every person and all these animals into the fort! Stand up for yourself, man! You take your people back and rebuild, and the Fifth Legion will deal with any roving barbarians who dare to come so close to the Imperial border!"

"Please your lordship, we need shelter!" the wispy man begged. "We have nowhere to go, no protection! If you leave us out here, we will all die horribly!" Behind him, women wailed, including the stringy woman who was presumably his wife. His daughter, however, appeared silent, resentful and very, very sad.

Danisa came out of the fort and stood behind Javor. Knowing she was there made him feel hopeful.

"We cannot accommodate all of you inside the fort. I won't have every peasant for miles around banging on our door!" Valgus ordered. "Now go back where you came from—I'll send a contingent to drive away the bandits, and you'll just have to rebuild."

At that, the wailing from the crowd became almost unbearable. "You don't understand, lord!" the leader begged. He fell to his knees in the dust. "We cannot stay outside! We will all die! Please, please take us in—we will do anything! Fulfill any need for the Roman Legion! Just please protect us from...from the horde that pursues us!"

Valgus kicked the man. "Get up, you fool. Are you being pursued?" The man nodded. "Meridius! Ready a patrol, heavy armour."

"Ave, Legato!"

"Now, fool, tell me, whom am I addressing! Your name, you idiot!"

"Ch-chibor, lord. I am called Chibor!"

"All right now, Chibor. I am the Legate, Decius Valgus Adjutor, commander of this cohort of the Fifth Legion and of this fortress, and the local representative of the Imperium," Valgus said more gently. "Now tell me in full what happened to your village. Where is—was— your village, anyway?"

Chibor wrung his hands and looked at the ground. "It was... two days ago, my lord. We were starting to bring in the harvest of cabbages when, it seems from nowhere, suddenly there was a... a horde of... of barbarians! They surrounded us! They killed three of our people right there! And they stole all the cabbages, and then they set fire to the fields and our houses!" All the while he said this, he continued to stare at the ground and to wring his hands.

"That was two days ago?" Valgus demanded.

"Yes, sir. We didn't know what to do at first, and then my wife said — that's my wife there, Dalenka—she said, 'Ask the Romans!' Oh, she's very smart, my wife. So I said to all the people, 'Let's go ask the Romans for help. Surely they'll give us shelter and protect us from the ... the barbarians."

"So you've been walking here for two days? Where is your village?"

"Not far, my lord, just north of here a little! Well, north-east really." He waved vaguely.

"That's south," said a legionnaire.

"Yes, south," Chibor affirmed.

"You said your village was north-east. Yet you point south," said Valgus.

"Sorry."

"And you were attacked by barbarians?"

"Yes, sir."

"How many?"

Chibor rolled his eyes and wrung his hands even more. "Oh, my lord, I don't know. Many. Maybe twenty?"

"Were they mounted? Did they ride horses?"

Chibor looked at his wife and the other refugees, then at the ground and wrung his hands rapidly. "M-m-mounted? Oh, ah, no, I don't believe so..." his whine trailed off.

"You don't believe so? Most people notice horses. They're quite large, you know!"

"Yes, my lord. I mean, no, no, there were no horses."

"Then they shouldn't be too hard to track down. Twenty heavily armed men cannot go swiftly in mountainous terrain. How were they armed?"

"My lord?" Chibor was looking more and more like a cornered animal. His eyes darted left and right like he was looking for an opening to escape through. He cowered lower, turned and looked behind him, then back at Valgus but never met his eyes.

"What kind of weapons did they have? My men are going after them to protect you people, and they need to know what they'll be facing. So, what kind of weapons did they have: spears, swords, mattocks, clubs? Pitchforks?"

"I – I am not certain..."

"Oh, I have had enough of this lying cretin!" Valgus exploded. "Alexius!" he called to a centurion standing near him. "Put this fool in irons and throw him in the hole for lying to an Imperial Legate!" Chibor begged for mercy as the crowd of refugees wailed even louder. "The rest of you can clear out of here! I'll have no beggars bleeding Rome's stores dry because you're too lazy to work! Now get out before I have you decimated!"

The crowd probably didn't understand the legate's words, but they understood his tone and wailed even louder. Four legionnaires lowered spears and advanced on the crowd slowly, and they began to move back down the dusty track, crying and protesting. Two other soldiers dragged the crying and shaking Chibor into the fort.

Javor noticed a strong-looking young man among the crowd, short but powerfully-built like Antonio the boxer. He had black hair, a black beard and thick black eyebrows. Like the chief's daughter, he was silent and appeared resentful, as if he was biting back words. He glared at Valgus and stood his ground until a legionnaire's spearpoint touched his chest. Then he slowly turned and followed the rest of his people.

Valgus noticed him, too. "You there! Blackbeard! Come here!" A legionnaire grabbed him by the tunic and pulled him to the Legate. "Now tell me the truth: why has this whole community come up here to beg?"

"Chibor said truth, sir," the man said in halting Greek. "Attacked us."

"Who attacked you?"

The man looked directly into Valgus' eyes. "No men."

"Oh, come now, what are you going to tell me—demons attacked you? Fairies? Sprites?" The black-bearded man looked confused. "What is your name, man?"

"Zdravko." His voice was deep and rough as gravel.

"Now tell me, what was it that attacked you?"

"I tell you, you not believe. That why Chibor lie."

"I will not tolerate lies. It is disrespectful to the Empire, and it will put my men's lives at risk. Now tell me the truth."

Zdravko hesitated, but his eyes never left Valgus'. "Drako."

The colour left Valgus' face, but his stern expression did not change. "Drako? Explain yourself. And don't give me any fantasies!"

Zdravko shook his head vigourously. "No. I tell you, no men. No women. Drako. Big, big... animal. Long tail. Long neck. Black krilo."

"Wings," Javor translated.

"Do you expect me to believe that?" There was no more anger in Valgus' voice. Javor thought he detected a note of fear. "I warn you, Zdravko, if you lie to me, I will have you crucified!"

"Is true, lord," Zdravko replied, still looking directly at Valgus. "Drako. Big, long as two horses, plus long neck and long tail. Eagle claws. That man," he pointed to Javor. "He talk my language?"

"Eh?" Valgus turned and seemed startled to see Javor standing there. "Oh, yes, I believe he is one of your countrymen. Janus, come here and translate this barbaric tongue for me, will you. He's not making any sense and claims some weird monster attacked his people. Ask him the true story."

Javor stepped forward. "I think I speak something close to your language," he said in the tongue he had used at home. It felt strange now, after months of speaking Greek almost exclusively. "Where did you come from?"

Zdravko seemed to relax as he poured out his story in his native language. It sounded almost the way the old folks at Javor's village had spoken, but oddly accented, almost like the Romans' inflection. There were a few words that he did not know, but Javor understood most of the story.

"Our village is a day's walk north-east of here," Zdravko said. "We were getting ready to pick the cabbages four days ago in early morning. The sun was not up yet, but some of us like to get to the field before it gets too hot. I was pulling cabbages up, when I felt a hot wind from the east. The sun started to rise, but it was blotted out by a spreading darkness. Down the slope, people were screaming. The fields around me caught fire, and I saw a dark shape come and snatch away a young girl who had come to help her mother. It took her away and left the field on fire.

"We went back to our village and hid inside our grady." Javor understood the word was the same as his own holody, the protective wooden stockade around the top of a hill. "We spoke all day about it, until the sun went down. The old people had always told stories about dragons, said there was an old, old dragon in the mountain, living in a huge cave. They said it must have been disturbed and was coming for revenge.

"When the sun set, the mountain on the west glowed red all night. And then we felt the strange wind again, blowing all around in every direction at once. The children cried and the people panicked. The dragon landed on the grady and knocked it all down. I saw it clearly in the firelight: a body as big as two horses, plus a long neck and a head like a snake, but with huge teeth jutting out. It had a very long tail, too, as long as the body, and huge black wings. When it flapped its wings, the wind would knock you down! Its legs were thick and strong, tipped with claws like a monstrous eagle's. It crushed a goat and reached for a child, and her father came running up with a hunting spear. The dragon barely flicked its foreleg and the man, a big man, strong, he went flying. His back was broken. The dragon spat on the mother then, a thick heavy fluid that smoked and stank and she fell down, screaming. I saw her skin crack like it was burning. Smoke came from her body and she died in agony.

"The dragon grabbed the child again and jumped straight up. The wind as it flapped knocked us all down and it flew back into the night.

"Well, everyone was crying and panicking and running around. Some of us set up a watch, but the dragon did not reappear until the next night. We thought we were ready, and we all threw our spears at it, but they just bounced off its skin like it was made of steel. Again, it took a girl, a young woman actually, who was about to be married. It cut her in two in front of us like it was laughing at us, and then ate her in two gulps. Then it flew off again.

"It returned a third time the next night. We thought we were armed more heavily. We had fashioned armour of leather and our blacksmith had made as many shields and breastplates as he could in a day. But the swords and the spears did nothing, again, and the dragon's spit burned straight through the hardest leather, even through the metal. It squashed one fighter, a brave young man named Darko. He was my friend." Zdravko closed his eyes at that point and a tear worked its way down his cheek. "It seemed enraged and struck out all around, killing with its long claws, squashing pigs and cattle, flattening houses. It leapt from house to house, tearing through them, piercing women and children, eating some, burning others! It was horrible, horrible.

"We had never seen such evil. Why did it attack us? We were doing nothing wrong! We were only trying to live, to grow a few crops! We have been peaceful for years and years. We wanted no trouble. We sent no young men to war. When the Avars came, we gave them as much food as we could so they would go away. We did not even retaliate when they would rape the girls. We just kept our heads down and went on with our lives. And now to be punished like this.

"That is why we came here. All around, the people know of the Roman fortress. No barbarians dare attack the Romans in their fortress. Everyone knows the power of the legions. So we came to ask protection. That fool, Chibor, he thought you would not believe in the story of the dragon. So he made up a flimsy story of an attack by Avars, and made us promise not to talk about a dragon. But the idiot is a bad liar.

"And now I have told you the truth. We are running from an ancient evil so powerful that nothing can stand against it. If you do not believe me, then you may kill me. I don't care. I have already lost everything: home, family, friends."

Javor translated all as best he could. "And he says, if you don't believe him, then... then you can decide what to do with him. He has been pushed beyond caring.

"And I understand exactly how he feels."

Valgus nodded silently. Then he drew in his breath and looked down the slope. The refugees had gathered a hundred paces away, where the legionnaires were no longer pushing them along. They were too far from the fort to be any threat or nuisance; the legionnaires were not willing to go any farther from the gate without more reinforcements, and the people were not going to go unless they were forced. They certainly weren't willing to go back to their ruined homes.

Meridius came up then on a horse, followed by ten mounted knights. "We're ready, my lord."

"Call them back," said Valgus.

"My lord?"

"Those people. Call them back. And bring me Chibor." He waited while Meridius rode down the slope and directed the people, while other legionnaires dragged Chibor back to the gate. There were heavy black manacles around his wrists and ankles and a thick iron brace around his neck, all linked by heavy chains. He shambled and stumbled as a soldier pulled him by another chain to fall in the dust at Valgus's feet.

By then, the rest of the refugees were gathered in front of the little bridge, ringed by Roman spears. "This is my decision," said Valgus is a strong, clear voice. "You may stay here for three days. You may set up tents or camps inside the courtyard, within the walls. But you cannot bring your animals in. I suggest you slaughter them now, as we cannot spare enough food for you all. And you will do work here, fetching water and such.

"You will be peaceful and respect the Empire at every moment. I will tolerate no nonsense, no disrespect, no disorder. Any transgressions will be immediately punished by ultimate means. And you," he said to Chibor. "Pick him up," he said to his men, and they hauled the pathetic Chibor to his feet. "If you lie to me again, I'll have you killed. Do you understand?" Chibor nodded, weeping. Valgus tossed his head and strode back into the fort. Babbling and crying, the refugees started slaughtering their goats and cattle on the spot, making a terrible mess. Some went into the fort to set up camps in the courtyard.

Photius brought Javor and Zdravko to his temporary quarters and asked him more about his home and the stories that the old men told. Javor provided translation where needed, and felt pretty smart about it.

"We lived a few miles north-east of here, on a pretty steep part of the mountain because that's where the grapes grow best. We make a good wine there," he said while chewing on a loaf of the Roman bread that Javor liked best. "The Romans say our people did not always live here. I don't know. The mountains have many caves and the old people tell stories about heroes and monsters who live in them."

Danisa listened quietly with an expression that Javor could not identify. She seems to know these people's story already, he thought. No, that's crazy! How could she?

"I heard one story about a dragon when I was very young. It told how a young man was in love with the chief's daughter but had nothing to offer her in marriage. So he went searching for treasure. He climbed high up the mountain until he found the opening to a cave. I think there might have been something about following a white rabbit, but I'm not sure. There were also stories about a young girl who chased a white rabbit, so maybe I'm getting them mixed up.

"Anyways, this guy, he goes into the cave, right? It's very narrow at first, but he squeezes through until it gets wider." The hairs on the back of Javor's neck rose—this sounded like Ghastog's cave. "And finally, he comes to a great open cavern where there's a huge pile of treasure! Gold coins and cups and jewels and gods know what else! And on the very top of the pile is a dragon. It's sleeping and smoke is coming out of its nose.

"Now this guy is scared, but he sees all this treasure, and he wants to marry the chief's daughter. So he creeps close as quietly as he can, and he takes a cup, a single golden cup, because he thinks the dragon won't even miss it, and it's precious and will make a good bride-price.

"So he hustles out of the cave with this golden cup, and he's all happy cause he thinks he's the richest man in the village now. And he makes it back to the village and he gives the cup to the chief and asks for the daughter's hand in marriage, but he doesn't say where he got the cup, right?

"Well, night comes and the dragon wakes up, and boy, it notices the missing cup. It gets really mad and charges out of the cave and burns up the whole mountainside with its breath—did I mention it breathed out fire? Yah, so it breathes fire and sets the whole forest on fire, and the vineyard too, and then it flies down—oh, yah, it could fly on great huge wings—it flies to the village to get its cup back. It's a greedy bastard.

"Well, it sets the whole village on fire and kills a whole bunch of people. And when it finds the cup, it picks it up. Then it grabs the guy who stole it and the chief's daughter and eats the girl, and then it kills the guy. And then it flies back to its cave, and no one else ever dared to bother it again, let alone tried to take any of the treasure."

Photius said nothing through the whole story, just nodded his head or looked to Javor when he needed a word translated into Greek. When Zdravko was finished, he took a drink of wine and sat back in his chair. "An interesting story. It's similar to stories told in many other places, but it seems to fit here. Come, eat up, the Romans have been more generous with the two of us than with all of you for some reason." Zdravko was already tearing into chicken and pudding.

Ulf and two other servants came back then with a complete evening meal for all of them and another jug of wine. Javor asked Zdravko about his home, and they passed an pleasant hour comparing villages. They were surprised to discover that their lives had been very similar. They each amused the other with the small differences in their languages and words for the same things.

When dinner was done, Photius announced that he wanted to talk to the village's chief. "What was his name? Chibar?"

"Oh, Chibor is not the hetman," said Zdravko, still chewing on a big piece of cake. "The hetman was Chibor's brother. The dragon killed him, and his son, too, so Chibor stepped up and said he would be the hetman, and for some reason—I'll never understand why people do what they do—the whole village accepted this. I tried to say something, but everyone shushed me—even my friends!

"Chibor thought no one, especially not a Roman commander, would ever believe that we'd been attacked by a dragon. So he came up with that stupid story about being attacked by unmounted barbarians, and he's such a fool that he did not even come up with a believable story. He did not even think about what kind of weapons they had. I've always thought he was an idiot."

By now, it was evening, and the sun was setting behind the mountains. Photius, Javor and Zdravko went out to the crowded courtyard. Danisa followed them. It was a chaos of makeshift tents and lean-tos with little cooking fires flickering in every direction. The refugees looked for space to cook a meal and get what sleep they could. Legionnaires barked commands to keep what order they could. Babies cried, children whined, old people whimpered. And the stench of unwashed bodies, of human waste and fear! Javor thought he would lose his mind.

They found Chibor stirring a pot over a miserable fire. Photius hunkered down beside him and spoke politely. "Tell me everything you know about the dragon."

Chibor looked both scared and guilty at the same time. He stirred his pot of soup and looked from Photius to Zdravko and back. "What did you tell them, Zdravko?"

"Just what happened."

Chibor opened and closed his mouth repeatedly. Javor started to feel very uncomfortable. The amulet felt hot. "Photius..." But before he could say anything, the wind whipped up a cloud of dust that stung Javor's eyes and filled his mouth.

"What did you do?" Chibor screamed at Zdravko over the wind. Refugees screamed and legionnaires shouted as they ran to battle positions. A bugle sounded as the wind reached an insane level.

Javor saw it then, silhouetted against the angry red sky: the dragon.

In its way, it was beautiful, sweeping out of the sky on outstretched, bat-like wings. And then it was in the middle of the fort, its head towering over the men. It used its tail as a whip to scatter civilians and warriors. The light of the cooking fires reflected off its shiny, scaly hide. Its neck was as long as... well, Javor had never seen a snake that long. Its head was shaped like a snake's, but it had horns on top of its head. When it opened its mouth, Javor saw rows of teeth longer than his great-grandfather's dagger. It snapped at panicking people who ran back and forth. It reached out a claw and with talons as long as spears cut people in two. It walked through the crowd, crushing tents and wooden sheds without noticing.

Legionnaires poured out of their barracks, strapping on armour or waving spears. Centurions bellowed orders and the soldiers threw spears and shot arrows, but the missiles bounced with no effect off the dragon's scales. It reached out its long neck and snapped up armoured soldiers, biting them in two and gulping down half their bodies. Blood dripped off its jaw. Dragon drool dripped onto the ground, hissing and smoking. Flames climbed along thatching and tents as the dragon scattered cooking fires, and a choking smoke filled the courtyard.

One huge claw came down on Chibor, squashing him into a horrifying mass as Photius, Javor and Zdravko jumped out of the way. The dragon reached into the hetman's tent and dragged out his wife and daughter, both of them screaming and pounding on its claw.

Javor realized he had no weapons. He grabbed a spear that had fallen on the ground after bouncing off the beast, and jabbed it into the claw. The shaft shattered, and the point slid over the beast's skin and fell uselessly to the ground. The dragon turned its head to look at the spear, then peered closely at the shaft. It hesitated. It doesn't see me!

But the spear is useless. I need great-grandfather's knife! He ran back toward the barracks. Behind him, a legionnaire in full steel armor swung a huge battle-axe at the dragon's rear leg. The steel blade rang as it struck the beast's hide. The soldier raised the axe and brought it down again on the leg, and again had no effect. The dragon stepped forward and unconsciously kicked the soldier, knocking him down.

The dragon's long, long neck reached out to snap at people as they ran. Where its spit fell on people, their skin burned and they screamed.

Javor ran as fast as he could across the yard, bumping into villagers as they panicked. As he neared the barracks, he bumped into a woman carrying a baby, and they all fell sprawling. The baby screamed and the woman said something he couldn't understand. Javor picked himself up and ran into the barracks. "Coward!" someone yelled.

Where is the knife? Emotions spasmed through him as he lifted the straw mattress to find the hiding spot: fear that he wouldn't find it, panic when he didn't see it in the gloom, despair when he realized it wasn't there.

Fear and anger surged as he stumbled out of the barracks. Helplessness. How could I have lost it? What can I do now? Run? Save myself?

Where is Danisa? He ran around a corner of a building and suddenly she was right in front of him. She was walking away, past panicking Slavs and rushing legionnaires. Unlike everyone else, she was calm, composed. He caught up with her and tapped her on the shoulder. She stiffened, stopped and slowly turned around, eyes wide.

"Where are you going?" he asked. "You can't get through here alone!" Then he saw the dagger in her hand: his great-grandfather's dagger. "What are you doing?"

Danisa opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Javor could only hear the dragon's roaring and the men's screaming. "You weren't going to try to kill the dragon yourself, were you?"

She just looked at him with wide eyes. She shook her head, and then nodded.

Javor reached for the dagger, but she pulled it away from him. "Give that here," he said. "You don't know what to do with it." He got his hand on it, but she resisted. "What are you doing?"

Danisa would not let go of the dagger. She wrenched it out of Javor's hand and ran toward the dragon. "Wait!" he yelled, running after her.

They turned a corner and were suddenly in the hell of the courtyard. The noise was maddening: women shrieked, children wailed, men shouted and cried, soldiers shouted orders and replies and pleas for help. People were still running and fires leapt high, silhouetting the bulk of the dragon which had walked to the far end of the courtyard. It had dropped the two women it had held before; Javor didn't know if they were alive or dead. The dragon deliberately swept down buildings and stepped directly on the well just to see it break. Spears and arrows continued to bounce harmlessly off its shiny reddish scales. It slashed its claws, long as a Roman legionnaire's sword, tearing through steel armour as easily as through human flesh. Blood gushed as the monster moved through the fort. Its head moved back and forth, and Javor realized it was looking for something. Photius was waving his glowing staff, trying to attract the monster's attention. Zdravko carried a limp woman across the courtyard.

Danisa stopped dead, and as the dragon turned its head toward her, it stopped, too. For long second they stared at each other. Then it moved toward her, slowly and deliberately. Danisa raised the dagger high.

Stupid girl! That's not how to hold a dagger! She won't be able to stab it that way—she might as well just hand it over!

Javor snatched the dagger from her grasp. Danisa gasped, then ran, disappearing into the chaos. Javor could not take his eyes off the dagger, though. It felt so good in his hand again.

Then he saw the Legate Valgus, glorious in shining steel armour and plumed helmet, double-timing up to the dragon. Following him were two fully armoured spearmen and three archers. Valgus led his little contingent in front of the dragon, and even though it kept killing anyone it could reach, the soldiers followed him.

Valgus pointed. "Aim for the eyes!" he shouted over the screams and the roar of flames. The archers shot their arrows, but missed. The dragon reared up, its height terrifying.

Valgus pointed again. "The base of the neck! Aim at the little hollow at the base of the neck!" One of the spearmen charged forward, lifting the spear over his shoulder, but a flick of the dragon's tail sent him tumbling head over heels. The dragon spat on him and the legionnaire screamed as his body burned.

But the other spearman was already charging forward, and instead of throwing the spear, he closed in on the dragon as it settled back down on all fours. He leaped, thrusting the spear forward, driving it into a spot where the neck met the body. The spear struck and bit in. Black blood spurted. The spearman hit the ground and pushed hard, driving the spear in deeper. The dragon roared, its spit spraying all round. More legionnaires, emboldened by the beast's agony, charged forward. Two men leaped on its back and began hacking at it with axes.

The dragon shook itself like a wet dog and the legionnaires flew off. It bent its neck and closed its jaws around the spearman, and Javor heard him scream for a second before the monster bit him in half. But then he was in front of the beast, and saw its eyes focus on...

The dragon's eye. Javor couldn't take his own eyes away from it. Red, it had depths that lured him in. Shadows danced, merged, changed hue. Javor stood still, transfixed, looking deeper into the eye. What would you have me do? he asked the eye. In answer, he heard only murmurs, confusion. The eye wasn't looking at him. It wandered, letting him go, and then focused on...

... his dagger. The dragon roared, revealing row after row of knife-like teeth. It saw him. Javor took his dagger in an underhand grip as the dragon's head came nearer, jaws parting and long forked tongue flicking. He jumped and slashed downward, aiming at the fiery eye—and missed. Instead, the point of the dagger dug into the dragon's snout. He pushed and dug it in. The dragon roared even louder and snatched its head back. The dagger sliced off a long strip of snout and Javor dodged as a gobbet of spit dripped from the jaw.

The dragon roared in agony, but now it could see Javor and his dagger bright as icicles in winter sun. High above Javor, its head wavered on its long neck. It reached out a claw and grabbed its assailant, the first thing to cause it pain in its millennia-long life.

Bright white light flashed all around, illuminating the dragon's head with the hideous red gash. Javor slashed at the claw with the dagger, drawing more blood, and the thing released him. He slashed again, but it was pulling away, retreating. There was another white flash, and the dragon spun, faster than Javor could ever have imagined anything that big could move. He thought then of the monster Ghastog and its hellish speed. The dragon ran two steps and flapped its wings and the gust nearly knocked Javor off his feet.

In one fluid movement, the dragon jumped, flapped its wings and as it rose off the ground snatched at someone. Javor recognized the bulbous nose of Czibor's skinny daughter, and then the dragon was aloft. Arrows and spears clattered against it, but soon it was out of their range, and soon out of their sight in the blackness of the moonless night. The screams of Czibor's daughter echoed over the roar of fire and wind.

Javor realized that Photius was standing beside him. His staff was glowing white, and he suddenly understood it had been the source of the white flashes. He must have been using some kind of spell. Is that why the dragon let me go, or was it the knife? Or the amulet?

"Your amulet kept you from harm," said Photius, staring up at the sky where the dragon had disappeared. "I do not know whether it attacked here because it was specifically hunting down these refugees, but it certainly seems to have been targeting them lately. But when it was here, it seemed to be hunting for something it didn't see.

"And it didn't see you, Janus. But it did see your great-grandfather's dagger. I don't think it was prepared to face both that and white magic at once."

Javor felt his knees shaking, but then anger churned his stomach. A burning jumped up in his belly. "We have to go after it," he was surprised to hear himself say. "We have to save that girl."

"What?" said Photius. But then Valgus strode up, helmet plumes waving. "Well done, Janus! You continue to surprise me! You have turned out to be remarkably useful in a fight that I thought unwinnable." He directed soldiers to douse the fires and tend the wounded. Legionnaires started lining up their fellows' bodies in the courtyard. Javor was shocked to see how many Romans had died, how many had lost limbs. The soldiers dragged the dead civilians into another line; their remains were even more gruesome.

Javor vomited into the dust, stomach heaving over and over. When he closed his eyes, he could see the dragon's head up close again, the red light of its eyes dragging him in, its burning stench in his nostrils. He vomited again and again until his stomach was empty and he was spitting blood.

A legionnaire led him to his bed and covered him with a blanket. And after some time, he fell into a sleep disturbed by dreams of his mother, who was running from something and trying to tell him something at the same time.

Chapter 16: To kill a dragon

"You must chase it. You must save girl, Veca," said Zdravko in his halting Greek. He was frantic, pacing across the Legate's hall, hands waving.

Javor wanted him to shut up. He had felt sick since the dragon had flown away the night before. Nausea and anger combined into a hard nut in his belly.

"I am sorry, but she is dead already," Photius replied. "If the dragon didn't kill her when it picked her up, the fear would have finished her off by the time it got to its destination with her."

"We not know that! She was living when I see her last! I hear scream!"

Javor exploded. "Never mind her, it has Danisa, too! Even if we don't go after that stupid girl, we have to rescue our own!"

"Now, Javor, I'm sorry, but..." Photius sputtered.

"I agree," Valgus interrupted. "With both of you." He was standing in the centre of a beam of sunlight. He looked like he was glowing. He was calm, serious, and dressed in a perfect uniform.

"Doubtless, the girls are dead," he continued. "That monster tore through veteran legionnaires like butter. But we must pursue this monster and destroy it. It has dared to attack an Imperial fortress! Not only is that an affront that cannot be tolerated or forgiven, it would symbolize the impotence of the Empire if we did not retaliate. For our own protection and that of the Empire, not only against this—this dragon, but against barbarians who might hear of this event, we must strike back and eliminate this threat once and for all."

Javor, Photius, Valgus, Meridius and, as the representative of the refugees, Zdravko, were gathered around a long table in the Roman hall. Morning light streamed in the open windows. Birds sang occasionally, chickens clucked, but the fort had returned to its accustomed scared hush.

"Now, Janus, here, has shown us that it is possible to hurt the dragon. And Photius has shown some special abilities as well, some weapons that he won't tell me about, but which I saw help convince our reptilian enemy to quit the battle. Nothing else worked! My bravest legionnaires gave it their all, and many of them fell without so much as scratching its hide! No, but you two, arriving so fortuitously just prior to the dragon's attack, you knew exactly what to do. Lightning from a stick that you described as a walking staff! And a knife that you had kept hidden, the only weapon to penetrate the dragon's scales! Very lucky for us, indeed."

Javor suddenly was aware of the number of fully armed legionnaires guarding the doors and the stairs and most of the windows. Is he accusing us? Threatening us?

"What do you want of us, lord legate?" Photius asked quietly.

"Tell me what you know about dragons, especially about this one," said Valgus, leaning on the table, forearms bulging. "And tell me more valuable information than you did when you arrived. 'Every race has legends of dragons,' my ass!" he shouted.

Photius got to his feet. "Very well, my lord. I did not lie when I told you that dragons are powerful, and ancient, and native to all lands—"

"No, you didn't lie. You just told me nothing I didn't already know!"

"—yes, and this is key to understanding them. There are many, many dragons, and many different kinds of dragons, as well." Javor sighed: he recognized the openings of a Photius lecture. "The first dragons were the original children of the earth and thus the race is the oldest in the world. And they are necessary to life. They are the source and the guardians of fertility and wisdom."

"If they are so wise and benevolent, then why did this one attack my fort? And for that matter, the people all around here? And so many others?"

"That is unclear, my lord legate. As I said, there seem to be many different kinds of dragons. There are old stories, stories which many in my order have found credible, of dragons helping man very long ago start to plant crops, dragons passing on great amounts of wisdom to men. And there are other stories," he continued before the Roman could interrupt, "of dragons stealing gold and other treasures and hoarding it in great caverns in mountain ranges, particularly in the north. They are very jealous of their hordes and there are many stories of how dragons hunted down and killed anyone with the temerity to steal the smallest bauble. There are stories of how dragons have destroyed entire towns because of one fool's effrontery."

"Is that what happened here?"

"Why don't you ask Zdravko?"

"What!" Zdravko was shocked as the whole room's attention swung to him. "No, no, I no steal from the dragon, I swear!"

"Calm down, Zdravko," Photius said. "Tell the legate the story you told us yesterday, about the young man who stole the golden cup from the dragon."

"That was old story!" Zdravko protested, pushing away from the table. His eyes darted fearfully between Photius, Valgus and the armed men at the doors. "Just story for little children! Old lady told me, long time ago! Not true story, just story!"

"What are the two of you babbling about?" Valgus growled.

"Allow me to repeat what I remember," Photius said irritatingly. "Zdravko told us how there is an old tale in his village from long, long ago. How a young man with no means of his own wanted so much to marry the chief's daughter that he went off looking for treasure. He wandered into the mountains and found the cave of a sleeping dragon, a cave filled with wondrous treasure. He took a single cup as a present to his hoped-for father-in-law. But the dragon woke, noticed his cup was missing, and came out to get it back. It burned the mountainside with its breath. Then it came to the village and killed a number of villagers, including the chief's daughter in front of her suitor, and then killed the thief." Photius turned to Zdravko. "That was the gist of it. Am I correct, Zdravko?" Zdravko hesitated, then nodded.

"So what?" Valgus demanded.

"So I think that Zdravko, or someone in his community, can help us find this cave."

Valgus glared at Zdravko, and to the villager it seemed he was looking up a great height to the legate. "Can you? Can you find the beast's home?"

"I, I, I no can. Maybe someone in village can. You rescue Veca?"

"If we can. If she's alive. And yes, Danisa, too. If not, we can try to bring back her remains. I'm sorry, but we have to be realistic. You understand, she's probably dead already.

"And I have lost many brave men. Seventeen legionnaires dead last night! And more wounded, more who won't live the rest of the day. But this monster has to be stopped."

"You realize this is a trap, Valgus," said Meridius. "The dragon wants to draw you to its own territory. It took the girls for bait."

"Agreed. So we must prepare. We need as much knowledge as we can get. We must know about dragons, about the territory, and we need to use that knowledge. Tell me, wise man," he turned to Photius, "how does one kill a dragon?"

"There is only one way: from underneath," Photius answered. "You have to slit open its belly and sever its heart."

Valgus nodded. "Very well. Janus, that will be your job, with your special knife."

"What! Why do I have to do that part?"

"Because you can," said Valgus, coming up close and staring directly into Javor's eyes. "Believe me, I am suspicious of you and your friend. You show up days before a dragon attacks, and you alone are impervious to it. My best warriors it cut down like grass. Yet you wounded it and drove it away. Somehow, you are connected to it, but you are also the only hope we have of killing it."

Javor had never felt so isolated in his life as in that moment.

They were ready the next morning. The sun rose, but they couldn't see it. Heavy dark clouds filled the sky. There was no wind, and the air was heavy.

Javor stood beside a saddled and armoured horse, wondering what to do. At Valgus' order, he and Photius and 50 cataphracti had gathered, ready to ride at sunrise. The legionnaires were fully armoured and mounted on horses that wore coats of mail themselves. Javor was also wearing armour, the spoils from Ghastog's cave. He had the sword he had taken from the Avar raiders that had attacked Bilavod, and showing on his other hip, his grandfather's long dagger. But the amulet he kept out of sight, against his chest.

The legionnaires jumped easily into their mounts. Javor had never ridden on a horse before. Horses were a luxury that the Sklavenic villages seldom had. So Javor stood beside the horse, wondering how he would get up.

Antonio the boxer came up in full armour, with a new red scar across his face to go with his smashed nose. He grinned toothlessly. "Need a hand up?" Javor nodded, embarrassed. Antonio laced his fingers together as a step and hoisted Javor so that he could get his leg over the horse's back. He clung to its neck, terrified of sliding off.

A horse cantered up beside him, carrying a Photius who looked very much at ease. "Hold on with you knees, lad. Relax and you'll find yourself much more secure in the saddle." Javor was very aware of the cataphracti who looked at him with indulgent smiles. Danisa, he thought. I'm coming for you. If you're still alive.

Javor felt sick when he thought they had waited a full day before going after the dragon and trying to rescue Danisa and Veca, the girl it took. But he had to admit that he hadn't actually seen the dragon take Danisa away. He hadn't even realized she was gone until the next morning.

No matter how much he had argued and urged an immediate rescue attempt, Valgus refused to leave until his men were completely ready for war. The fort was filled with sound and action as men repaired armour and weapons, packed food and tended horses. Only after a short night's sleep did the Legate express his satisfaction that the Legion was ready to face a dragon.

Sitting on the same horse with Zdravko was an old man Javor did not recognize. They both looked miserable. "This man Volos," said Zdravko. "He is oldest man in our village. He maybe knows way to cave. If it is real. Maybe." The old man said nothing, just sat trembling on the horse.

Valgus was still on the ground, talking to a rider who didn't seem as heavily armoured as the rest. The man nodded, saluted, and then the horse sprang forward and galloped at full speed out of the gates and down the road, heading south.

A squire brought a beautiful white horse, covered in silver plate on its head and a mail blanket. Valgus sprang into the saddle with seemingly no effort at all. Photius cantered over to him, and for some reason, Javor's horse followed.

"Hail, commander," said Photius. "Was that man a scout?"

"No, a messenger. I have sent him to Drobeta to ask for reinforcements. I lost too many brave legionnaires to the dragon—sixty a year ago, and 17 two nights ago. And now I am taking another 50 probably to their doom. This fortress cannot stand such losses without reinforcements.

"Come—it is time for us to move out, too." He signalled, and the troop, with Photius, Javor, Zdravko and Volos, left the gates under a brooding sky. Valgus led; beside him a man on another white horse carried a bronze staff with the legion's standard, which drooped sadly in the heavy air. Zdravko and Volos rode beside Valgus to lead the way to their village.

Javor jostled in the saddle until Antonio came up beside him and gave him a few tips that settled him in. Still, he was uncomfortable.

They rode for hours, stopping occasionally to rest the horses, drink water and adjust their armour. All Javor could think about was Danisa, Danisa, please don't be dead. I'm coming for you. That, and not falling off the horse. He had no idea horses were so slippery.

On one break, Photius took Javor away from the others.

"You realize that is not the same dragon that has been pursuing us, Javor."

"You mean we've got to kill two dragons!"

"Probably not at the same time. I have never heard of two dragons working in concert before. But didn't you notice that the dragon that attacked the fortress was different from the one you've faced three times already? Didn't you notice that both its front claws were intact? That this one was twice as big as the other? That they're different colours?"

Javor had to admit his lack of attention. "The dragon has been in this area for years. It has come out of hiding because it wants something," said Photius.

"What does it want?"

"What is new in this region? You, of course."

"Me?"

"Something attracted the dragon to the fort, and something drew it here. I don't know if these people disturbed it in its lair at some point, but that doesn't really matter. The supernatural beings have all been drawn by the power that surrounds you, which may come from your grandfather's treasures. The amulet shields you from direct detection, but they sense a power.

"When you attacked the dragon with that spear, it clearly did not see you until you brought out the dagger. And that was only because, I believe, at that proximity the power of the dagger outweighed the amulet's ability to hide you.

"Our route to this village takes us not far from the path we followed to get here in the first place. I think that the power of your dagger and amulet stirred the dragon from its sleep when we passed. Zdravko's village was just unlucky enough to be in the way. It did not follow them to the fort: it followed the scent of power from you."

"Is that why it took Danisa?"

"Doubtlessly, it took Danisa as an irresistible lure for you. It knows that you would have to come to rescue her. I think that's why it took the barbarian girl, Veca, as well—it probably cannot distinguish between them. So it took both, to be sure."

"I thought you said dragons are wise."

"The dragons of old are. I do not think this is a very old dragon—at least, not like the ancient original dragons. But do not underestimate it, Javor. It is a very smart beast more than capable of killing us all in an instant."

A centurion bellowed, and they all remounted. As they rode up hills, Valgus paused, letting the men go past until he was riding beside Photius and Javor. "What does your knowledge of dragons tell you about this region, wise Photius?"

"Nothing specific, I'm afraid. Dragons seem to favour mountainous areas, perhaps because of their affinity for caves. They are children of the earth and seem to crave returning to the womb, as it were. And this region, north of the Danuvius, has long had a haunted reputation. Some say that is why the Empire could not hold it."

"The Empire could not hold it because Commodus was a weak, pagan fool!" Valgus snarled. No one said anything after that for a long while.

As the light was failing, when Javor was beginning to wonder about finding a camp, they came to Zdravko's village. They smelled it first: death. Atop a low hill were the remains of a wooden palisade, smashed into twigs. Within its perimeter, horror: bodies of men, women, children, chicken, cattle, pigs; worse, dismembered limbs and heads and shapeless masses of flesh scattered among broken timbers and thatch. Rats and worse creatures scuttled under the carnage, stealing carrion. Vultures strutted and picked at dead flesh, scattering when the legionnaires came close.

Javor leaned as far as he could to the side to vomit hard. He could hear several legionnaires doing the same. He did not dare think whether Danisa's remains were mixed into the carnage.

"Enough!" cried Valgus, and led them away from the village. They found a clearing in the forest away from the smell of the village and made a camp.

Night fell quickly. Photius surprised Javor by telling him the equinox was near. That doesn't explain why it's so chilly, he thought. Meridius told the men to take special measures to stay warm through the night.

The legionnaires had little tents, and a number of men set up a big leather tent for Valgus. He ordered them to set a two-man tent for Photius and Javor, and another for Zdravko and Volos. Then he ordered the four to join him in his big tent, where a folding table had been set up with benches for all of them. A soldier served them warm wine and tough cakes.

Valgus had spread out a parchment on the table. It was the first map that Javor had ever seen. Valgus asked Volos, through Zdravko, to describe where the dragon's supposed lair was, but the man couldn't point to it on Valgus' map. He just made vague references to a high, steep, forbidding mountain and a land devoid of life. Valgus scowled. Then he described his strategy. Javor could not concentrate on the Legate's voice. He thought of the dragon, its huge mouth, its multiple rows of sharp teeth, its red eye, its deep, dark, shadowed and fascinating eye...and he thought of Danisa, running across the courtyard with his dagger. Was she trying to bring it to me? Why do I have so many doubts about her?

"And the main thing, is Janus, here, has to be in position to deliver the killing blow," brought him out of his reverie. "Janus, what do you need?"

"Huh?" he blinked. "Oh, just keep its attention until I get close enough," he babbled. What am I doing? I can't kill a dragon!

"Good. Then we're set. All right, men, I suggest a good night's sleep. We'll need to be rested for the trials we face tomorrow. Pray God looks on our venture with favour."

But Javor could not sleep. I'm not going to survive tomorrow.

Beside him, Photius snored peacefully. Photius says they're the most powerful beings on earth. What can I do, even with great-grandfather's knife? It will be ready for me now. It's seen me. It knows about the dagger.

Haven't I done enough?

He was woken by cries of struggle and outrage from the Romans. He burst out of the tiny tent, fumbling for a sword. There were legionnaires running all around the camp, shouting and slashing with their short swords. Something rustled in the bushes, then was quiet. The Romans kept yelling, however, pointing into the dark.

"What happened? Is anyone hurt?" Meridius bellowed. Two soldiers helped to a head-count; all were accounted for. "Then what happened?"

"The food!" someone shouted, pointing to empty packs. The soldiers gathered around, babbling, aghast. "They've taken all the food!"

Valgus came striding up then, looking diminished without his uniform, dressed only in a nightshirt. "What happened?" he growled.

Meridius saluted. "The provisions, lord. Someone or something snuck into the camp and took all our provisions."

Valgus looked disgusted. "Is anything left?"

"No, lord."

"Did you not put anything in bear-barrels and hang them in trees?"

"Yes, sir, and those are empty, too."

Valgus shook his head. "Who was on watch?"

"We had ten in a perimeter, lord."

Valgus sucked in his breath and looked, if anything, even more disgusted. "Double the guard. Pack up as much as you can. At first light, send a team of five men, fully armed, to find some water. Another team to shoot some rabbits or something." And he stomped back to his tent.

No one slept after that. Javor dressed, arranged his sword beside him and slumped against a tree. He dozed on and off, waking with a start every time an owl hooted or a guard walked past. Finally, the darkness began to turn to a dim grey day.

The soldiers decamped quickly; no one grumbled about having no breakfast. They watered their horses, drank water themselves, put on their armour and jumped into their saddles. Once again, Antonio helped Javor up and gave him his broken yet warm smile. "Thank you," said Javor, mystified at the soldier's attention. Antonio went to help Zdravko and Volos.

Valgus called the two refugees to the front of their column as they rode up the mountain. "Which way do we go?" Volos wasn't sure, but he directed them uphill to the northeast. Javor felt that Volos was so afraid of the Legate that he just guessed.

They rode through the morning and Javor became aware of his empty stomach. But no one else complained. The cataphracti rode in near silence, occasionally warning one another about something on the path or a low-hanging branch. Meridius rode up and down the column, keeping the men and horses in line. Other than that, the only sounds were the soft clopping of hooves on the earth, creaking of leather and clink of metal.

Valgus hung back to ride beside Javor. "How do you feel, Janus?"

"Lousy. Hungry. Scared. And my butt hurts from this damned horse."

"Is your sword-arm good? Any aches? Will you be ready when we find the dragon?"

"I don't know. Ready as I'll ever be, I suppose. How do you feel?"

Valgus' face took on a look as if he saw something far away, or as if he was remembering something long past. "I feel strong, yet hopeless."

"Hopeless? Why?"

"I am sorry for you, young Janus. But I had no choice but to pull you on this suicide mission. Still, I do have some hope, some feeling that you may yet survive this adventure."

Javor felt horrified, more than he had even at Zdravko's murdered village. "If it's a suicide mission, why are you going?"

"As I said, I have no choice. We cannot let this monster go unpunished for attacking a fort of the Roman Empire. It seems to be my fate. The monster came for me once before, and I defied it, defied my fate. So now I go to meet it once and for all, and to determine whether I shall kill it, or it, me."

"Do you not have a wife or a family that you might leave behind?"

"That is not the soldier's luxury, to put his family's fate before the Empire's," Valgus explained, looking gently at Javor. "But no, my family died in a pestilence that passed through Constantinople ten years ago. Even today, I ask myself, 'why was I spared?' I can only answer that it was all part of my fate."

They were a little apart from the other riders, so Javor took a chance on a question that had been nagging him for some time. "Are you a Christian? Don't worry about answering—I am not."

"I was, once," Valgus sighed, looking at the overcast sky. "But when my wife and daughters died, even after I prayed... I began to doubt. And the monsters in this region—it seems the older religions make more sense here. But now, I wonder if there are any gods at all, or just men and beasts and chaos. I don't see that there is any order in the universe now."

Valgus seemed to be in a confessional mood. "When I came here, I exceeded my orders. We were supposed to investigate and repel bands of Avars from the region beyond the border of the Danuvius, the area north of Trajan's Bridge. We were supposed to punish barbarians and re-establish order and set up a camp across the river.

"But Belisarius had re-conquered so much of the Western lands that had been lost to the barbarians. I committed the sin of hubris, Janus. I thought, I dreamed of driving the barbarians back and re-establishing ancient Roman Dacia. I dreamed of a... a renaissance of the Empire. I dreamed—fool that I am—that..."

"With 500 men?"

"I dreamed that by pushing into this area and succeeding, I would be given more troops, that my example would lead others to join in the drive to reclaim civilization in all the Roman lands. I dreamed that news of my success would reach the Emperor's ears.

"I failed. It was a vain hope, I see that now. It was a fantasy I concocted to glorify my own fate. It brought me to this accursed land. I was wounded in my first foray here. And I have wasted the last year in my pain and vanity." He sighed again.

The legate's confession inspired Javor. "I've been on a mission like this before," he said, and at Valgus' encouragement told him about his parents' murder. "It was by a—well, you'll probably laugh, but then, you've faced a dragon, so—it was a monster. I don't know what else to call it. Man-shaped, but much bigger. Like two men. It killed people in my village, including my parents, and I killed it with my great-grandfather's dagger." He didn't tell him about the amulet, though.

"That long, wonderful knife you carry? The one weapon that can pierce a dragon's hide?"

"Yes. My great-grandfather was in the Emperor's army, in the Persian wars. He brought the dagger back from the Caucasus. That's what my mother said, anyway. So I went looking for it. Photius came with me."

"Has he known you long, then?"

"No, he showed up just before the monster..."

"Has that never struck you as suspiciously coincidental?" Javor's Greek was not sophisticated enough to understand that question, so Valgus asked what happened.

"Well, we climbed up a mountain, kind of like we're doing now, and we found a cave. And inside we surprised the monster. It grabbed me but my knife killed it."

Valgus looked closely at Javor, and he had the feeling the Legate knew that he was leaving something very important out of the story. "That's where I got the armour and helmet and... some other things." Valgus nodded.

"Treasure, I suppose?"

"Oh, yes, the cave was full of jewels and coins. We took some, Photius and I. But we didn't have time to take much. The cave collapsed and we barely got out of it. Then my people told me to leave the village. They thought I was dangerous."

"You are, Janus. You are a very dangerous man. And a very valuable one."

The Legate's words sent a thrill through Javor. He couldn't help smiling. He replayed those words in his head for some time as the horses' hooves clopped on the soil. The horse in front of them chose that moment to defecate, and Javor's horse stepped in the shit.

Javor made up his mind. "Legate Valgus? One other thing. My name is not Janus. It's Javor."

The Legate smiled. "I knew you wouldn't have a Roman name. Very well, Javor. It's a pleasure to meet the real man."

The clouds were even lower and darker than the day before. Behind the mountains, lightning flickered inside the clouds and thunder rumbled over the rocks.

The mountains swept in a great curve from the southwest to the northeast. Surprisingly gentle, forest-covered slopes suddenly reared straight up as sheer grey rocky cliffs, their tops like jagged, broken grey teeth. Javor could barely tell the difference between the sky and the mountain.

They followed a deer-path into a flat area strewn with boulders. On their right, a rocky slope fell away to a breath-taking view of rivers and hills and the wide plain to the south; on their left, the forest opened into a wide meadow of high grass and prickly weeds until the forest took over again and climbed the steep sides of the mountain, ending at the sudden, sheer grey cliffs.

Javor felt his amulet trembling. Shouts came from the rear of the column, then screams. All eyes turned back, and Meridius charged to the rear, yelling a battle-cry, spear lowered in front of him, his horse's hooves thundering. Javor kicked his horse into action to follow. How do I get this horse to go where I want? But the horse seemed to know.

He could see the last two horses in the column were riderless; beyond them, high yellow grass waved and parted and he could see flashes of red and silver. Meridius charged into the grass, reined in his horse and jumped off in one fluid motion. Yelling, he launched his spear, but it dug into the ground impotently beside the twisting, struggling, squirming body of a legionnaire as he was dragged to the tree line. Meridius drew his sword and ran forward, slashing at the ground beside one of the legionnaires.

Javor's horse reached the clearing and skidded to a stop, and Javor flew forward, falling to the ground flat on his face. He heard himself make a "whoof" sound and his chest felt crushed. He struggled to draw in a breath and managed to stand up. Panting, he drew his dagger and ran toward Meridius just in time to see the downed legionnaire disappear into the trees. All at once, the screaming stopped, and the amulet stopped shaking. The legionnaires, and whatever had dragged them away, had disappeared into the trees. Javor peered into them, but the shadows were thick, impenetrable. No sound came from the dark forest, not the smallest bird's chirp.

The field was suddenly crowded with horses and shouting men. Legionnaires jumped from their mounts and swept the grass with their swords. Three started hacking at the trees. "Hold!" Meridius shouted.

Valgus came up on his beautiful white horse. "Stop. They're gone. There is no use sending live men after the dead. Regroup!" The legionnaires obeyed, but they, and Javor, kept looking into the trees for their fellows. Several had tears on their faces.

They clustered closer together, now, as they continued on the deer-track. Meridius rode up and down the column, keeping the men close together. The legionnaires tried to look in all directions at once, sweat on their brows. Several crossed themselves.

The open field ended and the column moved into the forest; the trees closed around them on both sides. Javor's amulet started to vibrate again. Meridius now had to stay in the middle of the column, almost sitting backward to keep an eye on his men.

But when he looked forward, sharp eyes looking as deeply as possible into the forest, they all heard a choked cry. Javor turned in time to see the rear-most legionnaire fall off his horse.

Meridius tried to turn his horse. The rear legionnaire screamed and they all saw his body being pulled into the forest, but they couldn't see what was taking him. The soldiers just in front of him shouted and drew their swords, but it was too late. Meridius arrived, dismounted and stooped to peer into the forest, then shook his head. He ordered the men back into their saddles and pushed his way slowly to the front of the column.

"Aculeo is gone, now. That's three, unopposed," he reported.

Valgus nodded. "Let's keep moving."

But they had barely started to move when it happened again: a strangled cry, the clash of falling armour, thrashing of a body being pulled into the forest to disappear. "Celsus!" the second-rear-most man called, but it was no use.

Now the men at the rear tried to crowd forward, terrified to be the last man in the column. They drew swords and brandished spears, casting their eyes back and forth as they rode forward as quickly as they could safely.

Photius dismounted and walked to the back of the column, his staff glowing white at the tip. He stood behind the last horse, spread his arms wide and chanted in a loud voice. At his spell's climax, white light flashed from his staff, spreading over the last six men and their mounts and to the trees. But the spell didn't penetrate the cover of the forest. And Javor's amulet did not stop vibrating.

"Thank you," said Valgus as Photius remounted. They continued in double-file.

Javor was just beginning to breathe a little more easily despite the continuous shaking of his amulet when they heard two more screams in quick succession. Javor spun and saw two empty saddles right in the middle of the column: two partners, riding side-by-side, had each been dragged on opposite sides of the forest. Their screams were cut off suddenly.

Valgus opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, the standard-bearer beside him was pulled from his saddle without uttering a sound. The standard clattered to the ground and Valgus vaulted from his own saddle. "Catullus!" He slashed at something no one else could see, and Catullus fell limply to the ground. Valgus jumped to the edge of the trees and would have gone into them, but Photius grabbed his arm and pulled him back. Valgus looked all around, furious, then sheathed his sword and flung Catullus' body over his horse. How strong is he?

In one motion, Valgus picked up the fallen standard, jumped on his own horse and yelled "Ride! Legion, forward!" He kneed his stallion and the animal leaped forward into a full gallop.

Together, the column raced along the path. Javor clung to his horse's mane as tightly as he could, but as mud and water sprayed onto his face he felt himself slipping sideways until a strong arm pulled him upright: Antonio again.

Three times, they heard screams; three times, legionnaires at random points in the column fell to the side. But the column dared not break stride and flew along the path. Horses stumbled, but righted themselves. Men gripped their saddle horns and prayed for salvation. Javor heard nothing but thundering hooves and jangling steel, and the amulet was vibrating so hard it felt like it was on fire.

Up ahead, he could see light as the path came to some kind of clearing, but at that moment, something cold and damp clutched around his neck and yanked him from the saddle. He fell to the ground in a tangle of leather and steel, landing hard on his side. From the side he could see a blur of horses' and men's legs and flashes of steel. The wet grip around his neck tightened, but he couldn't see what it was. He groped for his sword or knife or something.

Then there was a blur as something else landed on the ground. It grunted, yelled, and moved, and Javor realized it was Antonio. He had thrown himself from his horse when he saw Javor topple. He landed on his feet with his short sword drawn and stabbed at something shadowy. The pressure on Javor's neck ceased and the two men heard something rustle into the underbrush.

Javor scrambled to his feet and fumbled for his dagger. "Did you see it?"

"No. Just a shadow. It's gone, now." The legionnaire put his hand behind Javor's shoulders and pushed him to the deer-path. "Let's go before it comes back!" They ran for the clearing at the end of the path. Javor ran as fast as he thought he could with the weight of armour and weapons, but the shorter legionnaire was running faster, so he stretched his stride and willed his feet to move faster.

Is there something behind me? He daren't look but drew past the legionnaire, who spurred himself on and caught up just as they burst into a clearing. The rest of the troop had formed a protective circle of armoured men and horses, face-guards down and spears up. Two horses parted and Javor and Antonio entered the ring, momentarily safe.

There were forty legionnaires left; inside the ring were Valgus and Photius, still on their mounts, Valgus still holding the Legion's standard, as well as seven empty horses. Crouching on the ground were Zdravko and Volos.

Antonio jumped back astride his horse and took a position in the ring. Javor recognized his own mount and pulled himself awkwardly into the saddle, then loosened his sword and looked around.

This was no natural clearing; it was a flattish spot on the mountain side where nothing had lived for a very, very long time. Where the trees stopped, the branches that stretched into the clearing looked sickly. Bare rock, creased and blackened, stretched to the sheer cliffs. There was not a blade of grass nor the greyest piece of lichen or moss—just bare rock, cracked, fading to a scree of pebbles that fell down to a lost river. The troop had paused for breath on a wide, grey rock, divided by deep cracks and strewn with boulders. Above, the sky was even darker. Javor could see heavy black clouds moving and roiling. A dry wind scoured their faces with dust, carrying an odour of ash and something sour. Thunder rumbled so deep Javor felt it more than heard it. It seemed almost to be coming up from the ground.

The troop waited for something to happen. Several of the men crossed themselves and kissed gold crosses that hung from their necks.

At a word from Valgus, the formation started moving slowly across the slope, gradually rounding a shoulder of the mountain. The men at the rear rode with their bodies twisted around, trying to look around them, and Meridius seemed to be looking in all directions at once. But other than the thunder, there was no sound at all.

"Look there!" Photius shouted, pointing with his staff up the mountain, and at the same moment, one of the legionnaires at the back called "Look out!"

Javor looked up the slope and saw a white human form splayed out against the cliff—Danisa!—then whirled back. Two legionnaires were pointing back the way they had come, and others were fitting arrows to longbows.

Down the slope, near the tree line, stood a group of figures that must have been human, once. They were emaciated, as thin as the vampire-witches on the other side of the mountains. What was left of their clothing hung in rags and strips around them, useless for warmth or modesty. What was left of their hair hung down as raggedly, limp, grey, but most of their scalps were grey or red, creased with tears and rents. They shambled forward, low moans coming from their lips, their eyes dead.

"Don't let them near you! I've seen them before. They'll try to eat you!" Javor shouted. The archers aimed their arrows, but waited for orders.

"They may be the dragon's victims," said a soldier.

"Hold," said Meridius. "No one shoots until he gets an order!"

"Don't wait!" Javor screamed. "They're not alive!" But at the same time, Zdravko and Volos started calling "Veca! Veca!"

One of the shambling ruins of a human being came up to the troop, moaning, hands out, palms up in supplication. It touched the leg of a wide-eyed Legionnaire, leaned forward and bared its teeth. A short Roman sword swept down, decapitating the thing. No blood spurted as the body collapsed.

The other ruins ran toward the troop. Valgus shouted "Shoot!" Arrows flew, each striking one of the apparitions. Some fell back from the impact, but did not die; the rest kept on coming. "Spears!" Meridius shouted, and twelve legionnaires lowered their long spears. "Advance!" he called and the twelve moved forward, skewering the walking corpses. They still didn't die; sickeningly, they kept grasping forward, trying to get at the legionnaires. They only stopped moving when their heads were severed from their wasted bodies.

Zdravko and Volos kept calling "Veca! Veca!" They had recognized the human form against the cliff as the young girl, their headman's daughter, kidnapped two nights earlier.

No, thought Javor. It's Danisa. It has to be Danisa.

She didn't answer, and for all that Javor could tell, she was as dead as the walking corpses. She seemed to be standing, but she hadn't moved. Still, her compatriots were alternately calling her and begging Valgus to go get her, or let them do it. But the ring of horses stayed shut. If Veca is there, where is Danisa?

When the last of the undead forms had collapsed, Meridius ordered the troops to regroup. They began to trot back to their comrades when there was a sudden rumble and a sharp crack! All around them, a flash of light and a burned smell. A Legionnaire screamed as he was enveloped in smoke, then he and his horse collapsed onto the rock. Both bodies were blackened and smoking.

"Andronicus!" another legionnaire called, spurring his horse to his fallen comrade. "Hold!" Meridius shouted. "Back in formation!" Reluctantly, the man obeyed, eyes full of tears. He made a large crossing motion in Andronicus' direction. Other soldiers murmured prayers. "This is an accursed place," someone said, "Even more accursed than the rest of this land."

Photius spoke up. "By the cliff, Legate Valgus, is the Sklavenic girl who was taken. She seems to be bound, naked. Doubtless she is bait for a trap. The dragon or someone else wants you to try to take her."

"Of course," Valgus growled, eyes scanning all around. "We cannot—" His words were cut off by several things at once: horses reared and screamed, men shouted and three legionnaires fell from their mounts at once. Javor saw something sliding along the ground and recognized it immediately. "Snake!" He jumped off his horse, drew his dagger and ran for the thing. It was slithering under the horses' hooves, upsetting them, looping around legionnaires and dragging them down.

Javor slashed with his dagger in an underhand grip. Gobs of black blood splattered his arm, and he hacked again until he had divided the long body into two madly twisting halves. legionnaires all around him were hacking away and he realized there was more than one big snake. They were dragging limp legionnaires away to the trees or toward the cliffs, disappearing into great rents that had opened in the rock. But when a sword cut them, they slithered away, impossibly fast, disappearing in the deepening gloom.

And it was getting darker. Even though it was before noon, the light was failing. Thunder grumbled and lightning flashed, and the legionnaires hunkered together in concentric rings, with Zdravko and Volos in the centre, then Valgus, Photius and Javor and two wounded horsemen, surrounded by a ring of mounted men holding their spears pointed outward, and all of them surrounded by a nightmare landscape of black rock, ash, dead legionnaires and horses and the sickening dismembered corpses of the once-humans who had first attacked them.

"We've lost half our men, sir!" Meridius reported. "We're down to twenty-five."

"Valgus, go back home. We don't stand a chance!" Javor begged.

"We cannot. It is my destiny."

"Listen to me, Valgus. I've been in this exact situation before, not three months ago! Your men will all die! I'm the only one with any chance of surviving this!"

It was too late for warnings. An unnatural wind blew dust into their eyes from all directions at once. Photius knew what it meant. "The dragon! Scatter, seek shelter where you can!" Horses screamed as the legionnaires dug their heels into their sides. Javor's horse bucked and he fell heavily to the rock, the second time in one day.

Then the dragon was among them, huge and terrible. In a blast of wind and fury it landed square on a legionnaire, toppling the horse and snapping its neck. The legionnaire, Tullus, hacked at a claw uselessly until the dragon crushed him.

Javor hid against a boulder. He looked for his horse but only saw its hooves as it tumbled down the slope.

Meridius rounded up enough men who were still in their saddles to charge the dragon. Spears bounced off its scales and legionnaires catapulted from their saddles until only Meridius remained. He drew his sword and challenged the beast, which strangely didn't move. It just looked at Meridius, who met its eyes in challenge...

"Don't look at its eyes!" Javor and Photius yelled at the same time. "It will take you into its spell!" Photius continued. Meridius was frozen. Only his horse shied away from the dragon as it extended its long neck, reaching for the centurion.

Valgus charged to Meridius' side, grabbed his horse's bridle and pulled man and mount away from the dragon as it lazily opened its jaws. The two men and two horses scrambled away, just out of reach, but the dragon was only toying with them.

"Archers!" Valgus yelled. "Aim for the eyes!" There were a few archers left and arrows flew at the dragon's head, but not one of the darts found their target. The dragon took one archer in its jaws before the man could even scream. Blood flowed down its jaws. Another volley of arrows came, but the dragon swept its tail and knocked down three horses at once, snapping their legs with a sound like timbers splintering.

The dragon roared in triumph as more arrows and spears bounced off it. Drool hit the rock with a hissing sound.

Valgus brought Meridius to the rock where Javor hid, then pulled him down from his horse, pulled off the centurion's helmet and began slapping him on the cheeks. Meridius seemed to sleep with his eyes open, unresponsive, mouth slack. He shook his head and sputtered. "I—I am sorry, commander. I seemed to go somewhere, a voice was speaking to me..."

"That's fine, soldier, just don't look in its eye again," said Valgus with sorrow in his voice. There was a loud crashing and screaming—the dragon had knocked down more horses and was chewing on one. Men scrambled behind boulders or looked for any other shelter they could find.

Javor saw Zdravko running up the slope toward Veca. The dragon saw it, too, and went after him. Valgus took that moment to put his strategy into motion. "Spears!" he called. "Go for the base of the neck! Photius! Go!"

Photius spread his arms and raised his staff, which was glowing red. "Arach!" he cried. The dragon halted and turned toward him. "Aman arach, nan go tharab," he intoned. The dragon looked puzzled, if anyone could ascribe any expression to such a face. Javor could see the deep scar he had given it.

Photius' staff flashed an angry red, and a beam of light seemed to strike the dragon in the face. It blinked, momentarily blinded. Four legionnaires, each with a spear, charged forward at that moment. The dragon saw them, reared up and brought its horrible claws down on two. But one of the remaining spears drove home to the little hollow at the spot where its neck met its body. The tip of the spear bit into the flesh and stayed there. The dragon roared in anger and pain and reared back. This made the spear fly upward, flinging the spearman up.

What happened next was amazing and horrifying: the Legionnaire let go of his spear and arced through the air; the dragon's long neck reached out gracefully and the monster caught the man in its jaws, slicing him into three bloody sections.

But Valgus' strategy wasn't finished, yet. Two more legionnaires sprang forward, each carrying a long sword, and while the monster chewed on their comrade, they slashed at its exposed belly. Long and sharp as the swords were, however, they only made shallow cuts into the hide.

Still, it was the first success the men had had that day, and they took heart as black blood spurted from the dragon's underside. Its roar changed pitch and it slapped at itself, perhaps to stanch the flow. The two legionnaires ran to relative safety behind a rock.

The dragon flapped its wings, causing storms of dust and pebbles, and lifted itself off the ground. It turned toward Zdravko, who had almost reached the bound girl, and spat. Zdravko screamed and fell as he was covered in burning phlegm.

The dragon flapped until it had gained enough altitude, then swooped down on the legionnaires. Passing near the ground it grabbed one in its jaws and one in its claw, flew up high again as arrows missed it, then dropped them, screaming, to break on the barren ground below.

The dragon dove again, but the men below threw themselves under overhanging boulders or into deep cracks in the rock, and the dragon missed. As it flapped upward, Photius stood up and his voice rang out as his staff flashed red again.

The spells only annoyed the dragon. It fixed its red eyes on Photius and swooped toward him. At the last second, the old wizard jumped into a deep crevasse which reached across the rocky plain into a dry gully.

"We've got to get that dragon back on the ground!" said Valgus. His plan was falling apart, but Javor knew what he had to do. Standing, he stepped away from his sheltering boulder, drew his dagger and held it up high.

"Dragon! Monster! You can see me now! Come and get me!" He knew his words sounded brave, but it was all he could do at that moment not to foul himself.

The dragon noticed him, but it appeared to have learned caution from its last encounter with the dagger. It settled on the ground a full twenty paces from Javor and his knife, its back to the cliff-face, regarding him carefully.

Photius' staff flashed again and another group of legionnaires charged forward. With a swipe of its tail and a slash of its claw, it killed all six without even looking at them.

Javor looked at the dragon, too, careful not to look it in the eye. He noticed, though, a legionnaire climbing the cliff behind it, trying not to make any noise: Antonio. He climbed until he was on a level with the dragon's head. Then four more legionnaires charged, spears and swords out, past Javor, dodging its claws. Two spear-points dug into the neck. The dragon shook one out, but all the legionnaires grabbed onto either the remaining spear or onto other legionnaires and held it in.

The dragon roared terribly, angrier than ever, but it couldn't pull the spear out. Black blood seeped down the shaft and the legionnaires pushed it in harder. Then Antonio leapt, landing on his feet on the dragon's back. He slipped, then drove his short sword into the scales and it caught on something. The dragon roared again and tried in vain to reach its back. It thrashed, pinned by the spear in its neck, tormented by Antonio's sword.

Antonio drew out a knife and started hacking at the dragon's back. Photius's staff blasted another flash at the monster, and this seemed to enrage it even more. Now I've got you. With the dragon's attention diverted, Javor ran forward.

The dragon flapped its wings again, knocking the four legionnaires in front of it down. It shook its neck and back like a wet dog, and Antonio tumbled onto the rocks. The spear in its neck clattered to the ground. The dragon lunged its head forward, snapping toward Photius, but missed, and then faster than a snake it snapped at two legionnaires, killing them instantly. The others scrambled away. Javor couldn't see Antonio.

Valgus charged, a spear in one hand and a short sword in the other. Meridius was right behind him. Valgus planted his feet firmly and launched the spear. It flew straight and dug into the dragon's fresh wound, replacing the previous spear. The dragon slashed a claw and Valgus only survived because Meridius knocked him down.

But the claw caught Meridius in the side, and one talon tore through his steel armour as if it were parchment. The centurion made a choking sound and died, eyes open, before he hit the ground.

Javor dragged Valgus into the gully to join Photius. "This is useless!" he whispered. His knees were shaking. "Valgus! You've only got about seven men left! You and they have to get out of here! I'm the only one who can kill this dragon!"

But Valgus shook his head. "No, Javor. This is my fate. I must face the dragon. Either I will kill it, or it will kill me."

"That's nonsense! You and your men have to get back to the fortress and bring reinforcements. I have the only weapon that can kill this thing!"

Valgus smiled sadly. His face was covered with dirt and other men's blood. "No, Javor, there will be no reinforcements. The fort is empty by now, if my orders have been obeyed."

"What about the fresh troops from Drobeta?"

"There will be no more Roman lives wasted in this damned region. I did not send that messenger yesterday to ask for reinforcements; I sent him to ask for forgiveness for the cohort, that they might be accepted back within the Imperial borders and civilization.

"And I am redeeming myself for my pride and my folly. I have sacrificed myself to the power of Hell, that my men might enjoy the true light of God again."

"But what about the men who you brought here?"

Valgus smiled again. "All volunteers. All knew they had no chance of surviving." He took a spear. "But the strategy is sound, Javor. Get your knife ready. Legion! One last charge! One more time!"

Valgus picked up a spear and jumped out of the gully. On the rock, six men were left, including, incredibly, Antonio; they ran and danced back and forth in front of the dragon, which seemed content to hit them occasionally like a cat playing with a mouse. The men fell, got up again and taunted the dragon.

Javor climbed out of the gully, hoping the dragon would not notice him. Photius delivered another red blast at the dragon, which spat at him. Photius dodged the poison.

Valgus yelled a war cry and charged again, driving the spear again into the dragon's wounded neck. It roared again, but it was ready for the Legate. It neatly plunged a long claw in from the back, bursting through Valgus' front in a spray of torn metal and blood. Valgus' eyes bulged out and blood came out of his mouth, and he was dead.

Javor felt sick. The dragon looked toward him, but then Antonio picked up the spear and pushed it in again. The shaft splintered and cracked all down its length. The dragon swiped its claws at Antonio, but the boxer dove into the gully. The dragon reached for him with its teeth, and Javor knew he had his last chance.

His world narrowed: there was only the huge body of the dragon. All sight and sound faded. He leaped on the dragon's back, driving his great-grandfather's blade between its great black wings. It went in, deep, and Javor slashed backward, severing tendons. He saw the great black wings go limp, but then the blade hit something hard that jarred his hand. The impact made him let go, and as the dragon jerked its head back, the knife tumbled into the gully.

The dragon roared and thrashed hysterically. It crashed to the ground; one leg got stuck in the gully. Below were Antonio and Photius. Antonio stabbed the dragon in the belly with his short sword, which didn't do much. But Photius snagged the dagger as it skittered down the slope, turned and drove it into the dragon's throat. He thrust downward, slicing the dragon open all along its neck to its belly.

Black blood spurted everywhere and the dragon vomited its foul, burning green phlegm. The liquid erupted over half of Photius' body, but the old man didn't scream even as his body crumpled and fell. With his last effort, he pulled the dagger out of the dragon.

Antonio ran to his side and pulled him out of the flow of dragon fluids. He took the knife from Photius' dying hand and tossed it to Javor.

All Javor could see was the dagger arcing toward him, and the dragon. It couldn't lift its wings, but it stretched its neck out, trying to bite Antonio. Holding the dagger firmly in both hands, Javor jumped and slashed down. The dagger sliced through the monster's neck. Its body thrashed on the rocks, blood and other fluids gushing, while its head flew down the mountainside, bouncing off rocks until it vanished.

Javor's blade was coated in smoking black ooze. He wiped some of it off on the edge of a rock and turned to the gully, where Antonio was holding Photius under the arms. His legs were gone.
Chapter 17: Down from the mountain

Antonio hauled Photius up from the gully, slipping on the rocks until Javor could help. As gently as he could, he put down the old man onto the ground. Photius' face was grey, and his lower body was horribly burned. The stumps of his legs ended in a slowly dissolving mass. He smelled of burned meat and oil.

"Well done, Javor," the old man whispered. "I am proud of you, but I am afraid I will have to leave you now."

Javor felt tears on his cheeks and his breath came in sobs. "I'm sorry, Photius. I'm sorry I hesitated."

"No time," said Photius. "You must find—" he choked and blood came out of his mouth. He clenched his eyes and drew up the last of his strength. "In Constantia, in a plain shed on the Euxine, tell Paleologus that I have passed. Old Wisdom will guide you." He pulled a ring off his finger, a ring that Javor had never noticed before. It was a simple gold band with a flat area on top, marked by a strange symbol. "Take this. Guard it well. Show it to my order..." His voice trailed off and his eyes closed and Javor felt a pang as he watched the older man die. Photius coughed and red bubbles burst around his lips. "Take it to my order in Constantinople..." his voice trailed off again.

"How will I find them?" Javor sobbed. He felt Antonio's hand on his shoulder.

"Ask Paleologus. When you ... Chalko ... use name..." his voice fell to the slightest whisper. "... Geser..." He sighed and didn't breathe in again. A tear fell from Javor's face onto Photius'.

The ground trembled.

"We don't have much time," said Javor. Danisa. Where are you?

He heard shouts and saw the four surviving legionnaires running into the cave. "Hey! Come out of there!" He ran up the slope.

"Come on, Janus, everyone knows that a dragon's cave is a huge hoard of treasure!" Antonio protested, running beside Javor.

"The name's Javor. There's no time for looting. You don't know what's in there!" He reached the cave entrance in time to see three legionnaires running back out, terror etched on their faces. They burst out of the cave and scrambled down the slope, knocking stones that rolled before them. Each was holding something gold. "There's more down there!" the last one shouted to Antonio. "They got Alex!"

Javor turned to the girl, the object of their quest. She was spread-eagled naked against the cliff. Huge iron bolts had been driven into the rock, securing thick, rusted iron loops, but she was bound to them only by dirty rope. She stood upright, not sagging or drooping, but her eyes stared straight ahead. She didn't seem to see or hear Javor or anything else.

Antonio helped Javor cut the ropes, and Javor slung her limp, silent body over his shoulder. She felt very light. "Where do you think Danisa is?" Javor asked, hope almost dead.

"She's not here. Come on—let's get out of here!" Antonio shouted. They slipped down the hill, dodging dead legionnaires and horses and snakes, toward the few remaining horses milling around near the entrance to the deer path.

The ground shook again, throwing Javor and Antonio to the rock. Veca did not make a noise; she just sprawled, limp, oblivious.

"What's going on? Is this because of the dragon?" Antonio cried.

"I don't know. Maybe Moist Mother Earth is upset about losing one of her eldest children." Antonio didn't understand. They slipped down the slope to a group of blasted boulders, and Javor got another shock. Cowering behind a rock, shaking but unscratched, was the old man who had guided them up the mountain, Volos.

"Did you see Danisa?" Javor demanded.

"Who?"

"A tall, thin girl with long brown hair! Did you see any other girl around here?"

"N-no, please, please help me," Volos whined. He followed Javor and Antonio to the other legionnaires and seven horses who had survived. The three legionnaires who had escaped the cave were trying to gather them together and climb on, but the horses reared and shied.

They did not want to enter the forest, but the steepness of the slopes prevented them from going in any other direction, so they had stayed, shaking on the battleground. Incredibly, one was Valgus' beautiful white charger, looking very out of place in the midst of ugliness and horror, and another still carried the dead body of Catullus, the standard-bearer.

Antonio pulled the body off the horse, but Javor had no more emotion left to feel anything when Catullus dropped to the ground limp as a sack of grain. Antonio picked up the standard and vaulted onto Valgus' charger, and then pulled the unspeaking Veca up behind him. One of the other legionnaires, a tall fair-haired man named Antaeus, helped Volos into a saddle, and then he and the other survivors mounted up. Javor jumped up onto a horse as well. That left three riderless horses; Antaeus smacked their rumps to send them running down the path.

"What did you see in that cave?" Antonio asked, trying to bring his nervous horse under control.

"Things," Antaeus replied. "I don't know. Something killed Alex. I couldn't see it."

"Monsters!" cried another Legionnaire, a short, dark man with thick eyebrows and a deep scar that divided his nose. "Lots of them! Like that snake that killed Stavros and the others on these rocks!"

"Did you see any sign of Danisa?" Javor asked, but he knew the answer. Danisa, Danisa, what happened to you?

"No, nothing else human but some bones," said one of the legionnaires.

They heard a strange sound and all turned toward the cave. Erupting out of it was a collection of horrors that neither Javor nor any of the others could ever have dreamed. There were things shaped like toads but big as dogs, covered in a dirty grey-green skin; they had bulging eyes and long, curved fangs. There were two things that looked like a bundle of spikes; there was at least one of the great black snakes; and things that had dozens of tentacles. They advanced toward the men, making a collection of sounds that actually hurt the men's ears. The hellish menagerie paused at the dragon's inert body. Then, to add to the horror, the large frog-like things started eating the bodies of the dead Romans, fighting over legs and arms.

Antonio hoisted the standard in his left hand, drew his short sword with this right and shouted "Ride, Legion! Ride!"

The mounted legionnaires took off, almost flying down the track: first the scarred one, then Volos, who wailed as he clung to the horse's neck, then Antaeus and the other Legionnaire. Antonio gestured for Javor to go next, and when he hesitated, Antonio slapped Javor's horse with the flat of his sword. The horse leaped forward, almost throwing Javor off until he wound the mane around his hands and leaned far forward to try to grip the horse's neck. The terrified horse ran faster than Javor had ever moved before, and he was getting bumped and jostled until his arms and buttocks ached.

Javor didn't dare turn around to see if Antonio was following or was engulfed by horrors, but gradually his amulet's humming calmed and quieted. They were out of danger.

But they didn't stop, even when they reached the Sklavenes' destroyed village. The lead Legionnaire led them to the brook that watered it, and they waded upstream so they wouldn't risk being polluted by the death and evil that had visited it.

They dismounted when the village was well out of sight. Men and horses gulped down water side by side, and the legionnaires splashed their faces and necks, trying to wash off mud and gore.

Javor could not stop weeping over Danisa. Where could she be? Did the dragon ... eat her? Somehow, he could not believe that. He had to admit that he did not know her very well, but still, he could not imagine Danisa, of all people, allowing herself to fall into that kind of horror. He held onto a tiny hope that she was well, that she was hiding somewhere, unharmed. He did not know where the idea came from, but he touched the amulet under his tunic and held onto the feeling.

He thought of Photius. Poor old man. I can't think of a worse way to die that to feel your body dissolve. He was suddenly struck by how alone he was: no family, no village, and now, the only companions he had had for months were gone.

Antonio did not let them rest. "We don't know how close or far those... things are." They mounted and rode again, but at a more measured pace now. When night fell, they were still far from the fort. Antonio chose a small, relatively flat clearing and in the faltering light dragged the standard to make a circular furrow in the thin, stony soil. Then he drove the standard into the ground and all four legionnaires fell to their knees and prayed. Volos joined them. Javor felt very much out of place. Tears started again as he thought of Valgus and the faithful Meridius lying dead, their bodies mutilated and consumed by horrors, and especially about Photius, maimed and tormented.

Antonio had wrapped Veca in a cape, and she sat against a stump. She had drunk some water, but otherwise had been completely passive and unspeaking.

She was bait for a trap, and it caught us. That's certain. Fifty-five of us climbed the mountain for her, and only six are coming back. Even now, their return wasn't certain.

Antaeus built a fire, but no one was willing to go very far for firewood, so they spent a cold and hungry night. No one slept, and at the first light they mounted again and rode down the mountainside.

The reached the fort at mid-morning. No one challenged them as they approached the open gate. The cohort was gone; only a few of the local people remained. They shrank back, but stared, afraid, wondering how only six out of over 50 came back.

Antaeus put the girl on the ground and left her with Volos. The locals fussed over her and gave her some food and an old tunic, but she still did not say anything. Will anyone ever reach her mind again?

Antonio led Javor to Valgus' old quarters while the other legionnaires looked for food and fresh clothes. The late Legate's office was mostly as he left it: spare, neat, organized.

Antonio wasted no time; he took a small wooden object and thrust it into Javor's hands. It was two flat wooden squares, joined at one edge with a hinge so they opened like a folded piece of stiff cloth. Javor had never seen anything like it.

"Keep that with you, and show it to any Roman guards—it's proof that you're a Roman citizen."

"But I'm not a Roman!"

Antonio smiled. "You are now. At least, when you need to be." He slapped Javor on the shoulder.

The other legionnaires had loaded the horses with what seemed to be every remaining provision in the fort. The remaining locals were leaving through the gate, Volos and Veca with them. "Where are we going?" Javor asked.

"Drobeta," Antonio answered, jumping onto Valgus' horse. "From there, I and the other legionnaires will rejoin the Legion—or we'll be executed for desertion." He shrugged. "But before we reach there, you're going on your own. You'd best take a boat down the river for Constantia, and from there to Constantinople as your teacher told you."

"Alone?"

"Yes. Don't worry. You're a Roman, now, and once we're within the limes, you'll be safe enough."

"What's a limmess?"

"The frontier of the Empire! Don't you barbarians know anything?"

They rode south for the Danuvius, the Iron Gates, Trajan's Bridge and the Roman Empire.

# # #

End of Part 2

Part 3: The Mission

Chapter 18: Old wisdom

A half moon had just risen. Low grey clouds, just shadows against the purpling evening sky, flew ahead of a chill wind from across the Euxine sea.

Javor shivered and drew his ragged cloak closer around his throat. He tried not to make noise as he hurried. He thought he could see his destination in the failing light: a rickety shed at the end of an even more rickety dock, teetering on long poles over the water, separate from all the other buildings in the harbour. In the shadows it looked like a great water-bug perching near the shore, waiting for... something.

He knocked on the door, which was only a cracked and weathered plank. It rattled under his knuckles and opened into blackness. He heard a faint repetitive creaking and a laboured breathing over the gentle sounds of the water below his feet. A musty odour came out. Javor scowled and stepped in hesitantly.

Inside, he could see only dim shapes in the faint light from the open door. There was no fire, yet the air was warm and stuffy. The repetitive creaking came from the far corner. Javor gradually made out a figure squatting on the floor, arms wrapped around his knees, rocking back and forth.

"Hello?" said Javor. "Are—are you... umm, Paleologus?"

The figure stopped rocking and raised his head. Javor could now see that he was wearing a hood. A blanket was wrapped around his legs. "Who are you?" demanded a raspy, aged voice.

"My name is... Janus," Javor answered. He didn't know what prompted him to use the name that Photius had given him at the Roman fort, but it seemed somehow safer in this dilapidated city filled with strange looking and heavily armed people.

"Janus," repeated the croaking, old voice, and the figure resumed rocking. "Janus," it rasped again. "So, Photius sent you?"

Javor was shocked to hear the old magus' name.

"How did you know?"

"From the ring on your finger. What do you want?"

"Photius said you might have answers."

A strange croaking and wheezing came from the figure. Javor realized it was laughter. "Answers. No. Only questions. There are no answers. There never were, never will be," the figure rasped. He stopped rocking and lifted his head. Candles flared to sudden life, the light chasing shadows into the corners of the shed. Javor started. I should be used to that old trick by now. Photius used it often enough.

"He is dead, then?" Javor nodded, then gasped as the candlelight illuminated the figure's face: it was a woman, an old, old woman. Her white hair hung long and limp. Her thin face was all long vertical lines: long, deep shadows dipping below high cheekbones, lines leading from each side of her long nose down to the corners of her mouth, vertical lines like a row of spikes along her upper lip, lines leading down from the corners of her mouth to her chin. There were more deep lines on her neck leading under whatever clothing she was wearing. Yet more lines criss-crossed her forehead. Her eyebrows were mere darker shadows. Her heavy eyelids drooped to almost vertical at the sides.

But her eyes were lit by a piercing intelligence that flared in the shadows. They searched Javor's eyes for something, some truth, that Javor could not say. Finally, her eyes dropped away and she looked sadly at the dirty floor.

"You knew him well?" Javor asked as the silence thickened like smoke.

The woman nodded. "We were lovers once. Many years ago." She started rocking again. "What did he tell you about me?"

"He told me to look for Paleologus, or rather, 'old wisdom,' in Constantia. He said you would be in a place like this, in a wooden shed over the water. No one here knew that name, but finding this... house wasn't all that hard. It stands further out over the sea than any other place." He shivered as the wind found a way in through cracks in the walls.

"Paleologus," the old woman laughed sadly. "Yes, that would be his idea of a joke. 'Old wisdom' indeed."

"Then what is your name?"

Still looking at the floor, she answered "Once, I had the nerve to call myself 'Sophia.' The true wisdom. Oh, what a foolish girl I was. But I was strong then, and beautiful, and Photius loved me...Oh, he made many bad choices. He chose the wrong side."

"What side?"

She sighed and looked at him. "The gods are at war, as never before. Sky once loved Earth and together they brought forth life and many beautiful and horrible things, but they were all alive. Now, Sky has turned away from Earth, and seeks to suppress her... and all the great civilizations have turned away from her, too—Rome, Persia, all now worship Sky and call Earth evil. They despoil her soils, pollute her waters..."

This made no sense to Javor. He lost his patience. He put his knife and amulet into Sophia's hands. "What do these mean?"

Sophia's eyes grew wide. She held the dagger and medallion under the candlelight, which flared brighter. "Where did you get these?"

"They were my great-grandfather's," Javor answered, shielding his eyes from the candles which burned even brighter now as Sophia turned the knife and amulet over and over, examining them closely. "He was a soldier in the Emperor's army. He brought them back from the Caucasus, where he defeated a giant." Sophia shook her head and whispered in a language that Javor did not understand. "What do they mean?"

Bang! A gust blew the flimsy door open and the shack filled with moaning wind. The candles flickered and died, no longer stoked by Sophia's will.

"They are coming," she whispered.

"What? Who's coming?" Javor pushed the door closed.

Sophia pressed the knife and amulet into Javor's hands. "Take these, Janus or whatever your name is. Keep them with you, but watch over them. They alone can protect you. You must run, you must go to Constantinople, but show these to no one else."

"I know, I know, they protect me. But how? And from what? What is chasing me, and why?"

"Find our old Order at the Abbey of St. Mary of Chalkoprateia. From there, you must seek the four hundred. Only the four hundred can end this war." The wind got stronger and Javor could hear strange noises in it.

"What are the four hundred?"

"There is no time," Sophia said. "They are coming!" Sophia wasn't looking at him, but seemed to be looking through the wall. "To Constantinople! You must go now!"

"You said these things keep me safe! The amulet keeps me invisible from them. Tell me what's going on—who are 'they' and what do they want?"

She still didn't look at him. "The amulet only keeps you invisible from any supernatural vision. They cannot see you from a distance, as they can see me. But if I can see you naturally, so can they. You must stay away from them. And they know that you would come here. You must flee now so you do not lead them to the Order!"

Is she mad? He sheathed the knife and hung the amulet back around his neck, under his tunic. "All right, then, come with me."

Sophia was still staring through the wall. "No. My time has come. I can delay them long enough for you to escape. Take a boat anywhere, and get to Constantinople as quickly as you can. Find the four hundred!"

Four hundred what? The wind was shrieking around the corners of the shed. "No ship is going to sail in this weather!" He had to yell over the wind.

"This is not weather! This is them. They are nearly here!"

"Who is nearly here?"

"The Archons! Now go!"

The wind shrieked like a hysterical woman and the door banged open again. Debris flew about the shed and dust stung Javor's eyes. The roof rattled and a board tore loose, flying spinning over the sea. The easterly wind had shifted to the west. "They have followed you! They knew you were coming! They knew you would come to Sophia!"

With a tearing and popping sound, the whole roof tore away, splashing into the harbour. In the last of the twilight, Javor could see dark clouds in the west swirling closer, closer.

"The Gnostics call them the Archons, but they are wrong. The Gnostics are wrong. Sky has turned on Earth. Photius saw it, but he chose the wrong side." Sophia sat with arms spread, gazing at the approaching clouds. "Sky has turned on Earth. Earth is flogging Sky. Photius chose wrong. Oh Photius!" she shrieked above the wind. "Why did you leave me, Photius! Why did you choose?"

The shed was disintegrating, walls falling board by board into the water. None of the other houses or sheds nearby seemed to be affected. Javor tried to pull Sophia away, but she shook him off, surprisingly strong. As the last of the shed fell away, Javor thought he could see human-like shapes in the clouds. Time to go. He sprang onto the dock and ran to the city. He turned onto a stone pier and ran until another wooden dock reached out to the sea. Two sailors had just loosened the last rope that tied their sailboat to the dock.

Javor ran with all his might down the dock and leapt, landing heavily on the boat's deck. He fell to his knees and lurched to the rail as the sailors yelled and cursed.

"What do you think you're doing?" one yelled, picking up a club.

Javor stood unsteadily and reached under his cloak for his purse. The sailor brandished the club and yelled, but Javor said "Wait!" in his best Greek. "Where are you going?"

"Thracia," said the sailor. Others were gathering behind him, looking threatening.

"Good!" The name sounded vaguely familiar. "Take me there. I'll pay you." He held out a silver coin.

The sailor's eyes widened, and then a sickening smile creased his face.

"Well, so you want passage to Thracia, do you?" Javor nodded. "And who are you, then?" He spoke with a strange, harsh accent, not at all like Photius or Valgus.

"My name is... Meridius." He felt strange, taking the name of the brave centurion, but he felt he needed anonymity.

"I'm Thais," the sailor said, taking the coin. "Welcome aboard."

I'd better not sleep tonight, Javor thought.

Chapter 19: Constantinople

Nothing in Javor's experience could have prepared him for the splendour and crushing force of Constantinople, the greatest city in the world.

Passing through the Gate of St. Romanus as Antonio had advised, he found himself in a crowd larger than he ever imagined: people, donkeys, carts and wagons, crossing in all directions in front of him, pushing him from behind. The noise was overwhelming: voices, animals, creaking, crashing. Songs and chants boomed out of a market to his left as vendors called attention to vegetables and fruit and fish and pottery. On the other side, a troop of soldiers clanked and stomped down a broad avenue.

The wide streets were paved with smooth stones. The buildings reached high overhead. Colourful flags and pennants fluttered from balconies and balustrades, eyes gazed brightly from mosaics and statues of men and women in long robes.

He saw impossibly thin women in shimmering, multicoloured clothes on gilded litters carried by muscular, nearly naked men with shining, dark skin; tall chieftains with gleaming armour; young boys and men running from street to street. The variety was astonishing: men and women wore long gowns that reached their ankles, or short tunics and trousers. Some wore sandals, others had high boots caked with mud, and others tiny, delicate slippers or heavy wooden shoes clunking down the stone-paved roads. Their voices washed over Javor like surf, crashing over and over, deafening and drowning him.

Girls in rotting clothing, eyes bigger than hens' eggs, pulled on his tunic, on his boots, on his pack, begging for coins. Alarmed, he took his purse in his hand and tried to escape their clutching faces and pleading hands. They caught at him, sensing weakness, and Javor felt an unaccountable fear. He ran into the square, leaving one pathetic girl sprawling in the dust.

Safe! He looked over his shoulder as he ran until a huge black horse reared up in front of him, nearly upsetting the chariot it pulled. The driver smacked the reins and his master, a man dressed in a robe so white it seemed to glow, yelled "Watch where you're running, you yokel!" Javor dodged, nearly panicking in case the beggars caught up to him.

He found himself beside a market stall. Behind a low table stacked with vegetables and buzzing flies stood a young girl with dark hair that spilled out from under a scarf and an impossibly beautiful face that was pulled up in laughter. To one side, a man with a dark beard was arguing with a customer about lettuce. "Are you all right?" she asked in a breathless giggle.

Javor's face felt hot. "I'm fine," he mumbled, turned and walked away with her laughter burning his ears. He stayed close to the side of the broad avenue to avoid the animals and carriages that rattled along it.

The sun heated the stones beneath Javor's feet. He realized what bothered him most: the smells. Rotting vegetables and other garbage reeked in great piles in alleys and shadowy spaces between buildings. Manure of horses and cattle and donkeys and dogs and cats and chickens and ducks and geese and other animals Javor didn't recognize. Stale water in dark green pools in corners and in broken pieces of stone. The smell! Javor wondered that people could ever live in such a reek.

Four Winds Inn, he thought. Antonio's hiding place. How could he find it among all the grand avenues and narrow, twisting streets?

Ask someone, stupid. Javor looked around. He approached two soldiers in their red capes and polished armour. He thought of Antonio and of Legate Valgus. "Pardon me," he said in his best Greek, which brought looks of confusion mixed with disgust to the soldiers' faces. "I'm looking for the Inn of the Four Winds in the Vlanga section. Can you tell me how to get there?"

The soldiers looked at each other and chuckled. "Sure thing, country boy," said one. He pointed down a narrow street. "Turn left and go all the way until you reach the Forum of Arcadius—it's a big square. Turn left again on the Mese—that's a big highway, the broadest, grandest road that such as you ever saw!" He barked a disparaging laugh and slapped Javor on the back so hard he staggered—which surprised Javor, as he was almost a head taller than the soldier. "Not far from there you'll find the Forum of the Ox, which you'll know because there is a big cattle market there. Take the next major avenue on your right, and you're in the Vlanga. But as for your inn, sorry, lad, I can't help you. Hey, Zotikos, have you heard of the—what did you call it?"

"The Inn of the Four Winds."

"Inn of the Four Winds, Zotikos?"

Zotikos smiled, showing brown, crooked teeth. "There's an Inn of the Four Whores by the Ox Forum," he sneered.

The first soldier laughed hard again. "Oh, yah, you would know, wouldn't you?"

"I would know," Zotikos agreed, grinning at Javor. "You want to know how to find it, country boy?"

"Uhh, no, thanks." Face burning, Javor walked in the direction the soldiers had told him with as much dignity as he could muster while the soldiers laughed behind him.

Is it ever hot! Sweat beaded on his forehead and his legs felt like they were burning. He pushed past crowds and horses, and followed the lead of the crowds when they made way for some dignitary in a beautifully decorated wagon or chariot, or carried in a sedan chair by sweating, muscular slaves.

There are hardly any trees. A few showed their crowns from behind walls of wealthy villas. Flowers grew in boxes under windows and beside doors. Constantinople did not want for colour.

It's like they want to control everything. There was almost nothing in the city that was not man-made—even the flowers and trees were carefully planted. And from what he had seen on his approach to the city walls, every bit of ground all around the city was planted and cultivated. Nothing grew wild, except on the steepest slopes. They have tamed Moist Mother Earth.

He stopped for water at a fountain, another new marvel to him, then rested in the shade of a building. The heat and the stink were merciless.

Javor took nearly an hour to reach the Forum of Arcadius, an imposing square thronged with people and horses and donkeys and more people. In the centre was a spire, a huge column topped by an immense statue of a man wearing a cape and holding a long spear. Must be an Emperor. The column was covered by figures of fighting men that spiralled upward toward the Emperor at the top, as if to tell a story. Javor could see soldiers and warhorses, chariots and other things he didn't recognize. He couldn't read the lettering, but he could see it told of the Emperor's victories.

He looked for the Mese. Only one street could have met the description: the broadest and grandest avenue that Javor could ever imagine. Hundreds of people crowded along it, nobles and merchants, rich and poor, servants and slaves, in such a breadth of styles and dress and complexion that Javor felt dizzy.

A short distance down the avenue was another, smaller market. Javor stepped under an awning to escape the sun.

"Here, son, try this," a voice rumbled in strongly accented Greek. He hadn't realized he had closed his eyes, and when he opened them, he was looking at the most extraordinary face he had ever seen. A man as tall as Javor himself smiled at him. He wore a high, multi-coloured turban, but the most extraordinary thing about him was his skin—such a dark brown colour, it was almost black. He had black eyes, too, and a very broad but flat nose. His parted lips were full, and his teeth gleamed. He held out a small cup. "You look hot. This will help."

Cautiously, Javor took the cup and sipped. "It's hot!"

"Hot drinks cool you down," said the black man.

"That doesn't make sense!" But Javor took another sip, slurping. The drink was strange, strong and bitter. "Go on, drink it!" said the black man. "It will make you feel much bettah."

Javor blew on it, then gulped it down. It tasted bitter, strong, yet strangely... invigorating. He coughed. "What is it?"

"It's called kaffee. It has many good effects on a man's health." The turbaned man grinned broadly.

"Well, it's quite bitter, but thank you. It does make me feel better. How much do I owe you for that?"

"Nothing, my boy, nothing! You looked like you needed a drink. Just tell your friends about kaffee. I am Anbasa Wedem from Axum, the only kaffee importer in Constantinople, but you know, most Romans do not seem to like to try new things."

"I don't have any friends here," Javor answered. "I've only just arrived in the city."

"I should have known!" the importer exclaimed. "You do not look like a Roman or a Greek, with your yellow hair and—my goodness, you have blue eyes like a bird! You and I, we are opposites—you are as light as the sun, and I am as dark as the earth!" He laughed, a deep rumble that seemed to come right out of the ground. "Just enjoy the kaffee, and tell others you meet how good it is!"

"I don't think it's good. It's very bitter."

Anbasa Wedem frowned. Javor could not understand the expression on his face. "Well, maybe you should try it with some sugar!"

"No, thank you. I have had enough. And I do feel better. Somehow ... less tired. Can you tell me how to get to the Vlanga?"

Anbasa Wedem pointed east; Javor thanked him again and pushed through bustling people and animals and all the stalls and great statues, earning curses and scowls as he went. The road, paved with stones packed close together almost like bricks, was three times as wide as the streets Javor had taken to get to the Forum. On each side were rows of colonnaded buildings, under whose shadows were shops and stalls selling food, clothes and other items that Javor couldn't begin to guess at.

He pressed on. He smelled the Forum of the Ox before he saw it. There must have been hundreds of animals in the great ox and donkey market of Constantinople. Men shouted and argued and bought and sold animals. Servants and slaves struggled to push or pull stubborn asses and oxen from sellers to buyers.

The Mese continued on the other side, just as broad. The great colonnaded buildings on both sides were just as imposing, but the side avenues that opened off it seemed tiny in comparison.

He took the first right, plunging into deep shadows as the tall buildings hid the sun. Now, the city was not as grand. Buildings were lower and plainer. Garbage piles rotted in little alleys or odd corners. There were still people going past, but fewer rich nobles and merchants and more slaves.

He stopped a man who appeared to be roughly his own age, but smaller, darker with a scruffy beard. "Inn of the Four Winds?" he asked, but the other man just shrugged and walked away quickly. Javor asked an old woman carrying a basket. She responded with something he could not understand, so he repeated "Inn of the Four Winds" in the most careful Greek he could manage. Again, she babbled something, then shook her head and shuffled down the street, muttering and waving her free hand.

How can I find a single inn in such a huge city?

Wait. Am I in the right area? He turned to another passer-by, a fat man with a bald head. "Excuse me, is this the Vlanga district?"

The man looked alarmed. "Vlanga, yes, Vlanga," he muttered, turning sideways and shuffling away quickly. Javor was perplexed. He hitched his pack higher on his shoulders and strode on down the street.

These Romans are either afraid or totally crazy. The street sloped down, and Javor thought he could detect, almost masked in the general stench of the city, an occasional whiff of the sea. As he walked downhill, he caught glimpses, between the buildings, of a harbour: shining water dotted with boats. I'll soon be out of the city again. It must be around here somewhere.

He paused again and stood on one foot, shaking the other. He was so thirsty, his throat hurt. What was it about walking through a hot, dusty city that exhausted him so?

A man and a woman in long robes were walking up the street toward him. "Excuse me," he said as politely as he could muster, "Can you tell me where the Inn of the Four Winds is?"

They looked at him with a mixture of shock, contempt and fear. Without pausing in his stride, the man said "It's right behind you!" They turned their eyes from him and hurried past.

Javor turned around. The building before him was a dilapidated contrivance of shabby wood that would have been laughed at in his village. The door was made of splintered, gray wood and didn't fill up the doorway, and the only window was a mean, shrunken opening in the wall with two battered shutters hanging outside. He could hear an occasional murmur and sullen dull clanking of dishes, but his eyes couldn't penetrate the gloom inside.

He pushed open the door and ducked under the lintel. Inside, he could just make out a scattering of rickety stools and tables, over which a few men slumped, holding clay cups. Along the far wall was a counter, and behind it on shelves stood an assortment of dusty bottles. A fat man stood behind the counter, glaring at Javor.

Once again, he asked "Inn of the Four Winds?"

"Yah," barked the man at the counter. "You found it. Whaddaya want? "

Javor walked around a man who seemed to be growing out of a stool and merging into a low, round table. "I'm looking for Rutius."

"You found 'im, too," the fat man growled. As Javor's eyes adjusted to the dim light, he noticed Rutius' short-cropped hair was reddish. His eyes seemed sunken into his fat face, drooping at the outer corners, and dark semi-circles sagged under them. He wore a stained grey robe that he probably thought was white. "You going to tell me what you want? I ain't got all day."

"I was told you could give me a good meal and a decent place to stay... for a few days," he stammered.

Rutius nodded and poured a cup of wine. "Sure, kid. It's a follies a night. Forty nummi."

Javor could almost hear Antonio's voice: Don't take his first price. It'll be ten times too high. He feigned anger. "What! Forty? Are you crazy?"

Rutius looked up at Javor, who towered over him, with shock that quickly turned into anger. "Look, country boy–"

"I'm sick of people calling me 'country boy,'" Javor growled. The slumped patrons straightened and looked at him.

In one fluid motion, faster than Javor thought such a fat man could move, Rutius stepped back and pulled a long club from under the counter.

"No one talks to me like that in my inn!" he barked, and swung the club at Javor's head. Javor heard it whistle past his ear as it flew across the room, smashing into the wall and splintering the rotten wood. He leaned across the counter and grabbed Rutius' right wrist, then leaned forward until their noses were almost touching. "My good friend, Antonio d'Osta, told me I could trust you," he snarled. "What do you think I should tell him now?"

Fear and respect flashed in Rutius' eyes. "How do you know Antonio d'Osta?" he asked quietly.

"We fought together in Dacia. And I know about you and him at Adrianople." Antonio hadn't actually told him anything about Adrianople; to Javor, it was just a Greek-sounding place name. But he pushed ahead. "He also told me I should kick your ass."

Rutius swallowed, then smiled fearfully. "Oh, of course, I didn't know to give you the Legionnaire's discount. Sure. For you, the best room for... 10 nummi."

"How much?"

"Five nummi."

"Including breakfast."

"Oh, yes, yes, of course. Always the finest breakfast for our friends in the service."

"I want to clean up, too."

"I'll have the boy set up a washbasin. Do you have any bags?"

Javor let go of Rutius and swung his pack off his shoulders. "And I'm hungry and thirsty right now, so before I go to my room, I'd like a meal and a cup of wine. Included in the price."

"Now just a..."

"Remember, when I find your donkey, I'll kick it. Hard. Like Antonio said."

"He said that?" Rutius appeared genuinely mystified.

Javor just nodded. "Hard." Rutius swallowed again. Javor reached under his tunic to one of the purses he had secreted there and fished out a large, flat coin. It had taken Antonio most of a day to explain the concept of money, coins and denominations to Javor. "Here's four days' worth," he said, and found a stool to sit at, away from the other patrons, who had lost interest in the exchange.

"Timon!" Rutius bellowed, and a very thin young boy, who stood no higher than Javor's stomach, ran into the room. "Get the back room ready..."

"Not the back room, the best room," Javor growled. He didn't know anything about the back room, but he felt this risk was the right one.

"Right. That's what I said — the best room. Get it ready for this fine gentleman here, a Legionnaire and friend to our dear Antonio. And send Barbara down here pronto!" Timon scrambled away, shrieking for Barbara.

Javor found a table and sat with his back to the wall, facing out the rotting window. Cobwebs hung in the corners, and Javor wondered if they weren't beginning to form on the other patrons, too.

Soon, Barbara—presumably Rutius' wife, as fat and short as him with black hair pulled severely back from her scowling face, brought out a bowl of broth and a small loaf of crusty bread. Rutius poured a large cup of strange-smelling wine, then retreated behind his bar.

I can't believe I got away with that, Javor thought. He wondered again about Antonio's history with Rutius, and just what had happened at Adrianople, and where Adrianople was, anyway. He wondered about Barbara and Timon—surely he couldn't be her child? She seemed far too old.

This food is terrible. The soup was watery and bland, yet tasted of strange spices. The bread was half-stale, heavy and chewy. And the wine—he had never tasted anything like it. There was a strong scent and flavour that reminded him of the forests of home. His first gulp made him shudder.

One of the other patrons chuckled. "Whatssa matta? Don't like retsina?"

Javor choked down another mouthful—he was very thirsty—and shook his head. "No, I can't say I do." He called Rutius over. "Hey, can I have some wine that doesn't taste like piss?" Why am I talking like this?

Rutius brought another cup and bottle and poured a cup of red wine, and this one tasted good—better than anything Javor had ever had at home, better than the legionnaires had in their fort. A few sips made the rest of the meal taste better, and when he was done, Rutius brought the bottle and another cup, and sat across the table.

"Now, son, I'm a little concerned that we got started on the wrong foot," he said quietly and earnestly. "I didn't know you were a friend of Antonio's. He was a very good friend to me, and I'm indebted to him. But I need to know a few things: how do you know him, is he still alive, and if so, where is he now? Just tell me, and you'll be safer here than in any place in Constantinople."

Rutius seemed sincere, but Javor admitted to himself that he really didn't know much about people. Well, where's the harm in telling him the truth?

"Last time I saw Antonio was about two weeks ago, in the town of Drobeta on the Danube."

"I know it," Rutius nodded.

"He was fine. I met him at the fort in the mountains north of there—I never learned its name—and we were in a few scrapes together." I'd best not tell him about the dragon. "He brought me to Drobeta and told me to come looking for you when I came to Constantinople."

Rutius smiled wryly. "Oh, he would. He sends me all the trouble he drags up."

"Anyway, he was in good shape when I last saw him. He was going to report to the Legion in Drobeta."

"Drobeta? Why? Wasn't he attached to Valgus's cohort in the barbarian lands?"

Javor hesitated. "Valgus is dead. So are many in the cohort."

Rutius didn't react for a long time. Eventually, he nodded and pushed the stool back. "These are evil times. Did Antonio tell you anything else?"

"Other than kicking your donkey if you didn't give me a good price for a room, and some general advice about hiding my money and not trying to out-bargain Greeks, no."

Rutius laughed, slapping the table. "Out-bargain Greeks! Ho! Oh, yes, that was Antonio. If ever I doubted that you knew Antonio, now I know it's true!" He laughed until he started to cough, then drank the rest of Javor's wine. "Antonio d'Osta. Well, well." He gulped down another cup of wine. As he refilled both cups, he said, "We were very close, but it was a long time ago. I was in the service, too, but after my term was up, I settled down. But Antonio, he likes adventure. Couldn't get enough of the wild lands and the wild women."

Javor sipped his wine carefully, wary of drinking too much. He didn't trust this Rutius, despite Antonio's recommendation.

"Me, I like settling down with one good woman," Rutius chortled, leering at Barbara, who was fussing behind the bar. "No matter how many women are after me, I say it's quality over quantity, eh, Barbara?"

"Oh, yes, so many women are falling over themselves for a fat redhead like you," Barbara sneered, but there was laughter in her eyes.

"Ah, spice! That's what I live for!" Rutius laughed, winking at Javor. Barbara went back to the kitchen, nose in the air but hips swaying. "So Antonio is still in good health? Well, that's good. Terrible shame about Valgus. He was a good man. He was my commanding officer, second in command of the cohort when I served. I heard he had been promoted, and he deserved it. Did he die well?"

"He... he died fighting. He died in command of his army." How can I call that "dying well?"

"Who was he fighting that could get past a Legate's bodyguard?" Rutius asked.

Javor realized that he would have to add details to his story to satisfy people like Rutius. "I—I think you call them Avars. Barbarians with furry hats."

"Avars! Oh, no. They're the worst." Rutius shook his head. "Worse than the Huns. Evil, evil people. I encountered them—well, my Legion did, in Moesia. It was a terrible battle." He sighed and drained another cup of wine. Barbara came back into the dining room and looked at Rutius with her hands on her hips. Timon returned, and Barbara scowled and pointed at the few other patrons. Timon fetched a large vessel of ale and started refilling cups and taking coins.

"The Avars were savage, wild, evil, killing villagers and burning fields. The Emperor sent our cohort to punish them and drive them back to where they came from.

"We found them beyond the Danuvius, feasting on God knows what. We charged them without mercy, but they fought back like wildcats —"

"As Antonio told you when the fighting was over and he came back to eat!" Barbara interrupted, lightly smacking her husband's head. "Don't listen to him, boy. He spent his time in the legions as a cook."

Rutius looked embarrassed. "It was dangerous. The Avars could have overrun the Legion and wiped out every Roman for a hundred miles.

"But the Legion prevailed and destroyed their camp. You should have seen the survivors running away! When they broke and fled, we were relieved. It was touch and go there. But that's where professionalism and training pay off." He downed another cup of wine.

Are all Romans blabbermouths? Javor wondered. Photius, Valgus, now this man. He was tired and hot, and he knew that he would pass out if he drank another cup of wine. He did not want to be at the mercy of a man like Rutius, no matter how intimidated he was by the name of Antonio D'Osta.

"I'd like to go up to the room, now," he said. Rutius nodded and stood up a little unsteadily, calling for Timon. The boy struggled to carry Javor's pack up a flight of dingy stairs to an equally dingy room that was barely big enough for a straw bed and a three-legged table for a water jug, a bowl and a towel. A chipped shutter sagged on one hinge.

"This is the best room?" Javor said, looking out the window. He saw a grimy, dim courtyard with a dried-out looking olive tree.

Timon dropped Javor's heavy pack in a corner. "Nah. This is my room. I like legionnaires. I moved to the 'best' guest room. This one doesn't smell bad, and there's not much street noise."

"And you're giving me this because you like legionnaires?"

Timon shrugged. "Antonio D'Osta was like my uncle. You sure he's okay?"

"Yes. He has a couple of new scars and fewer teeth, but otherwise he was fine."

Timon left without another word. Javor shut the door—a flimsy, warped piece of grey wood that provided no security. Javor propped his pack against it, then washed as well as he could. A little refreshed, he pulled a slightly cleaner tunic out of his pack and fell back on the straw bed.

He didn't trust Rutius nor this place, but he needed rest. He felt excited, scared, tired and very, very alone.

He missed his old home, his village at the feet of the mountains, the quiet fields and the noisy people. He missed his parents, his friends. He even missed Photius.

What happened to you, Danisa? Where did you go? How will I ever find you?

The back of his throat constricted and tears poured down his face. He cried as quietly as he could until he fell asleep.
Chapter 20: Finding the order

Javor took four days to find the Church of St. Mary Chalkoprateia. Four days of wandering the biggest city in the world, dodging wagons and ill-tempered horses, sweating in the sun and breathing in dust and stink.

On the fourth morning, the smell from bakeries brought back the memory of his mother. Ketia's loaves: small, rounded, delicate—like her. She was her bread. His vision blurred until he shook his head and took a deep breath.

He used the smallest coin he had to buy a sweet cake made with honey and wondered why the baker looked so happy about the transaction, yet seemed to want to hide the fact.

Stepping out of the bakery, he caught the eye of a man unlike any he had seen: the size of a young child, but with a long, thick beard that reached his waist, and a deeply lined face. He wore a ragged greenish cloak, and the hems of bright red trousers peeked from behind its edges. The dwarf shrugged and disappeared into the crowd.

An hour later, he found the church. St. Mary in the copper market was a large building: not grand by Constantinople standards, made of large multicoloured bricks, in the typical cross-shape typical of churches in the city. He asked a woman in a long gown with a hood and cloth that covered most of her face if it was indeed the Church of St. Mary Chalkoprateia; the nun smiled as if it pained her, told him yes, bowed and hurried down the street.

The building exuded a sense of ancient power and dignity. But something about it didn't seem like it would be a place for Photius.

Something made him turn around. For a moment, he thought he glimpsed the small, bearded man disappearing around the corner of a building across the wide, cobbled street, but he couldn't be sure. That other building was plain, squat and square. Large patches of plaster had fallen off its bricks. Javor's hand went to the amulet hanging under his tunic.

Something about that old building felt... important. Javor stepped across the street, dodging manure. A small wooden door opened to a very dim corridor. He took a careful step ahead and jumped when the floor creaked under his feet. He took another few steps in and the shadows behind him deepened. "Hey!" came a gruff voice. "Who goes there?"

Without knowing why, Javor ran forward. "Hey, you! Wait!" said the voice. Javor ran faster and turned right at a branching corridor, then hesitated where the corridor branched again.

The guard's footsteps thundered closer. Javor stepped into the left branch and felt the amulet tingle, so he turned and ran down the corridor on his right.

The amulet guided him. With every turn he made at its prompting, he felt more confident, while the sounds of sandals slapping on the wooden floor, weapons and armour jangling, grew softer.

Soon, he had turned so many corners that he no longer had any idea which way he was headed or how to get out. How big is this place? The amulet did not warn him of danger. Eventually he saw light spilling around a corner.

He heard voices, too, speaking a very formal kind of Greek that he had trouble understanding.

He peeked around the corner into a wide, splendid chamber with a high ceiling, lit by torches in brackets on the walls. The walls were covered in colourful pictures showing heroic men with swords, gleaming in bronze armour and scarlet capes.

He could see a guard standing at alert, holding a spear and a shield, beside the entrance to the dark corridor he was hiding in. At the far end of the hall was a high oaken door. More guards stood on either side of it. At the other end of the hall, high windows made with coloured, transparent material let the daylight in. It was the first time that Javor had ever seen glass.

In the middle of the room was a broad table covered with papers and parchments that kept rolling up at the edges. Around the table stood a group of men in long, rich clothing, heavy bracelets around their wrists. At the end of the table sat a man in a gold-covered chair; he had long grey hair, a long grey beard and a thick silver chain around his shoulders. His black robe was trimmed with silver. He held one hand under his chin and Javor could see jewelled rings on his fingers. At the other end of the table was a smaller, plainer chair, on which a serene woman sat. She had short, fair hair, which she didn't cover with a scarf like all the Roman women that Javor had seen so far. She wore white robes and a long scarf of yellow and red over her shoulders. She did not say anything, but watched the speakers intently.

A young man with long black hair and a thick moustache was gesticulating as he argued about something, while a bald man in a deep blue robe argued back, leaning over the table to try to keep the parchments from rolling up again. Two young men, with short-cropped dark hair and dark eyes, wearing matching grey tunics, held more rolls of paper; they could have been brothers, Javor thought. And to one side was a small man wearing unusual clothing for Constantinople: a plain white shirt with an open collar, tight black trousers like an Avar's, and high black boots. At his left side a long, thin sword in an ornate scabbard hung from a wide leather belt over one shoulder. He had dark skin, almost like Anbasa Wedem, short, curly black hair and a thin moustache. He watched the arguing men with a disdainful smirk.

"Tell him to shut up, will you, Austinus!" pleaded the bald man, smoothing out the parchments. "His ruinous scheme is madness!"

"We have to do something, Philip," the man with the moustache countered. "Bayan is uniting the northern barbarians and Slavs, and the Emperor's attention is focused on defending the eastern frontier against Persia."

"Let the legions deal with military matters! They defeated the Slavs at Sirmium..."

"Bayan's actions that concern me are well beyond the Danuvius—"

"Then they are well beyond the concern of Rome."

"Need I remind you that events beyond its borders destroyed the Empire in the West? There is some design behind the Avars' movements. Look here, Austinus," he pointed at one of the parchments on the table. "Look, where are they moving to? Strategically, it makes no sense to go westward, into the mountains! What could they hope to accomplish? Obviously, there is another plan. The Khagan Bayan is being directed by another leader or force..."

"Don't go on about your fairy tales again, Spiridon!" cried bald Philip, giving up on flattening a parchment, which obligingly rolled up and fell on the floor. Philip put his hands on the small of his back, stretching and grimacing as he stepped closer to Austinus, the man in the chair. "We have wasted so much time gathering intelligence in the North, with nothing to show for it! There is nothing there but barbarians scratching out an existence on the mountainsides and in the forests."

"How many stories of dragons have come back from the North, Philip?" Spiridon demanded. "How many, when the dragon was at one time found only in the far East?"

"Fairy stories! Half-mad dirt farmers claiming that every forest fire started by a careless shepherd was in fact the work of an evil..."

Dragons! That's a sign. Javor squared his shoulders and strode out into the hall. The men around the table froze, mouths open and eyes wide. The guard at the corridor jumped back and dropped his shield. He lowered his spear and tried to look threatening. The other guards yelled and ran forward, spears ready. Javor ignored them. He stopped a few paces from the table, and the spearmen stopped just short of driving their points into his flesh.

Everyone else started to talk at once: "Who is this! What do you think you're doing? Domestikos, should I kill him now? Just give the word and I'll run him through!" But the man in charge said nothing, until

"Well? What do you want?"

That wasn't what Javor had imagined the leader of Photius' order would ask, but he went ahead with the answer he had prepared. "I am Javor of the Sklavenes, from the North, and I am a dragon-slayer!" He immediately felt foolish, especially when the thin, small man laughed loudly.

"That's quite a claim, young man," Austinus said quietly. "But you haven't answered my question. Why did you come here?"

"Yes," shouted the thin man. "Why aren't you out killing more dragons? And throw in a monster or two while you're at it! Hah!"

"I did kill a monster, before I killed the dragon," Javor said to the thin man. "Actually, several monsters. Not to mention I don't know how many Avars."

"Impressive," Austinus replied. "But I hate to repeat myself. Please tell me what you want here."

This is not going the way I wanted it to, Javor thought. "I came here for... for answers. I want to know where the dragon came from, where the monster came from that killed my parents, and why they keep following me."

"If something is following you, then it only stands to reason that it is nearby now, doesn't it?" the thin man sneered. "What is it, another dragon?"

"Umm, well, yes, actually..."

Another laugh. "Really? Well, it must be an awfully small dragon. I can't see it! What about you, Nicolas—do you see a dragon?" he said to one of the guards. "Or maybe it was a kitten that he ran from! Where is it? Here, puss, puss!"

"Why did you come here?" Austinus repeated.

"I am looking for the order of mystical knowledge that sent Photius to my home."

"Photius? And who is Photius?" Austinus asked.

"Isn't he one of you? He told me to seek you, to find his order at St. Mary Chalkoprataeia!"

"Photius is a fairly common name in Constaninople," said the woman in white.

Javor reached into a pouch on his belt and pulled out the ring that Photius had given him. Then, it had seemed plain, just a dull gold metal circle; but now, he saw markings on its face. He handed the ring to Austinus, who seemed to recognize it. "He also mentioned the name 'Geser.'"

The thin man laughed again, like a barking dog. "That old fool! The nerve, using the name 'Geser.'"

"So you did know him! This is the right place!" Javor felt he could breathe again.

"Quiet, Malleus," said the woman in white, in a soft voice. She glared at the thin man. "Very well, we know Photius. What do you know of him?"

"He showed up in my village four months ago, telling stories that I didn't believe... until they came true. The next day, a monster came to the village and killed my parents, and many others, too."

Malleus laughed again, but a glance from Austinus silenced him. "That sounds fantastic, boy. What happened to the monster?"

Javor hesitated. "I killed it." He carefully drew his great-grandfather's dagger. "With this. It used to belong to my great-grandfather, who was a Legionnaire at one time. Photius said this knife was magical."

Austinus stood up, eyes fixed on the blade. He nodded at the guards, who lowered their spears and stepped back.

"Oh, come now, Austinus. You cannot possibly believe this story!" said Malleus.

"I will not tell you again, Malleus: be quiet. Well, Javor, you have explained how you found us. Now, what happened to Photius?"

Javor put the dagger back in its sheath. "He called the monster that killed my parents Ghastog, and led me to a cave where it lived. When we found Ghastog, I was able to kill it with this dagger. We were leaving the cave when a dragon attacked us, but Photius scared it off. My people didn't want me to stay with them anymore because they were afraid that I would attract more monsters. So Photius took me to Constantinople."

"I can see that you are here. But where is Photius?"

Javor took a deep breath. "On the way, we found a fort north of the Danuvius. We met a Roman centurion named Valgus who was beset by a dragon. A different dragon, bigger than the one I saw. We helped him kill it—I used this same dagger. It cuts through dragon hide, even though the best Roman spears and swords can't! But Photius died from the dragon's spit."

Austinus nodded. "I feared as much. And what of the first dragon, the one that is following you?"

"I saw it three times as we followed old roads south, but I haven't seen it since I crossed the frontier."

"And then you came here."

"Yes. It took me a long time to find you. I had a hard time to find the church—" Malleus barked another laugh at that— "but I did find you, now."

"And what do you want?"

"I want to join you. I want to find out what in this world is real and what are stories to frighten children. I didn't believe the old stories that my mother told me, about dragons and monsters and fairies, but now I see that some of them, at least, are true.

"And I want to know why Ghastog killed my parents. And what is so special about my great-grandfather's knife. Why can it kill monsters and dragons, and why did it come to me?"

Austinus said nothing then, just looked Javor in the eyes. But Philip, the bald man, back to fussing over the parchments that Javor could now see were maps, protested. "We do not allow untutored barbarians to come in and join us at will. We are an ancient and, most important, secret order."

"He already knows about us," the woman in white pointed out.

"Then I'll kill him," said Malleus, stepping forward.

Javor's dagger was in his hands before he thought of it. He shifted his weight to feel the amulet brush comfortingly against his chest.

Malleus held a thin sword in one hand and moved lightly around Javor. "Don't embarrass yourself, boy," he said, smirking. "Put your blade down and lift your chin, and I'll make this quick. And just a little painful." In a blur, he danced one way and then another, feinted twice and then struck toward Javor's arm. The thin sword rang sweetly as it glanced off Javor's dagger, and then Malleus sprang back, out of reach.

"Ho ho! Well, he doesn't want to take the easy way, does he?" said Malleus.

Malleus swung again and his sword hit Javor's blade. Faster than Javor could see, he lunged, but faster than he himself could think, Javor dodged and the blade passed between his arm and his side.

Malleus' sword moved faster every time he lunged or thrust, and somehow Javor moved faster in response to meet Malleus's blade with his own. The thin man danced forward and tried a killing blow, but Javor somehow parried.

Javor realized that Malleus was showing off. He jumped, waved his arms, smiled a gruesome smile at Javor or at the domestikos, spun on one foot and made flourishes with his sword. Javor couldn't hope to strike back: the man was just too fast, too tricky, too subtle. It was all he could do to block and parry.

It was as if his opponent could read his mind—every time Javor moved, Malleus was right in front of him.

Javor jumped up and slashed, but Malleus dodged easily, and the dagger hit the polished marble floor, leaving a deep gouge.

Javor panted, sweat blurred his vision, his knees started to shake, he lunged wildly. He knew he was getting sloppy, cursed himself for being a fool every time Malleus evaded a lunge.

But at the same time, Malleus was also getting visibly tired. No longer did he dance back and forth; the flourishes disappeared from his attacks. But he was still unbelievably fast, his sword thrusts and slashes blurs, his eyes penetrating.

They crossed the floor back and forth, their breathing ragged, both pushing to their limits, neither able to hit the other. Malleus was too fast, too experienced, too good; and Javor was just barely good enough, barely fast enough, to dodge.

The thin man jumped up on the map table, leaped over Javor's head and slashed. Javor dropped and kicked the table, sending papers scattering over the floor, but Malleus was already coming from behind. Javor heaved the table at him, but the man was in mid-air, slashing again.

Javor jumped forward, knocking one of the scholars sprawling. A candelabrum tipped over and papers caught fire. Men scrambled to put it out as Javor aimed his dagger at Malleus's throat. Malleus squirmed away, kicking Javor in the thigh. Javor spun—

"Stop!" echoed over and over off the stone walls. Javor and Malleus froze in mid-stroke. Scholars stamped out flames and looked mournfully at burned paper. "We have seen enough," said the woman in white. "Malleus, there is clearly something special about this boy. Put your sword away."

Without taking his eyes off Javor, Malleus sheathed his sword and then took up an alert position beside Austinus.

"Javor, please lower your blade," Austinus asked gently. "I would dearly like to see it more closely. Its style, the markings on the handle and the blade—they are very curious. Please."

He came close to Javor, holding out his hand. "May I see it, Javor?" Javor hesitated. He held out the dagger toward Austinus, carefully, but held onto it.

Austinus ran his fingertips over the inscriptions that curved along the blade. "Where did your great-grandfather get this dagger, my son?" Austinus asked quietly, but Javor heard a tremor deep in his voice, something the older man was trying to hide.

"My mother said he brought it back with him from the Persian wars. She said he killed a giant in the Caucasus Mountains and came back with this knife." He didn't know why, but he decided not to tell them about the amulet.

"This blade is very ancient. The writing on it is strange, but bears traces of similarity to ancient writing from the far East. These marks, here—"

"Runes?" asked one of the young men in tunics.

"No, not runes. They are ideograms, like those in far Cathay, but different. It will take much study." He looked at Javor again with his piercing dark eyes. "Where did you learn to fight, Javor?

"Photius taught me some..." Austinus nodded.

"Yes, you have learned some of our basic techniques. You will have to learn more."

"Magister Domestikos!" Philip sputtered. "You cannot mean to initiate him! Tell me, boy, can you read?"

Javor nodded. "A little. Photius showed me letters and taught me to speak Greek."

"Badly," Malleus sneered.

"In four months, you learned this much Greek from one man?" Austinus asked. "Very well. Nikos," he said to one of the young men. "Take our guest to some quarters with the novices. And give him something to eat. It must be close to lunch-time. Philip, you will see to it that Javor is enrolled in basic education: reading, writing, better Greek, and of course, religion. And Malleus, you are to take an especial interest in his safety." The thin man stiffened and his mouth opened to protest. "I mean it, Malleus: I will hold you responsible if he suffers any injury to body or spirit."

The young man in the blue tunic held out his arm, indicating the dark corridor that Javor had entered by. He took a torch and led Javor, accompanied by one of the guards. As he walked toward a meal and finer quarters than the Inn of the Four Winds, Javor heard Austinus say "Find out who was guarding the back door, and have him flogged!"
Chapter 21: The Abbey

Nikos led Javor to the kitchen, where he had his first good meal since arriving in Constantinople: fresh vegetables, cheese and wine that actually tasted good. Then, Nikos took Javor to the novices' quarters: long rows of cells, each equipped with a sleeping mat on the floor. There was also a little table and a curious sloped shelf. "You will put your Bible there, so you can read prayers while kneeling," Nikos explained.

He gave Javor a jug and cup for water, new trousers and a long, grey robe. "Get rid of your rough-spun tunic, Javor. You will dress as a member of the Order of St. Mary Chalkoprateaia."

Indoctrination began before the next dawn. Second-year novices, thin young men with shaved heads, shouted the new monks awake. Javor followed the others to wash at long troughs, careful to hide his amulet. They trooped out to a courtyard for chores: collecting eggs, sweeping out the stable, milking cows, feeding pigs, weeding the garden. Then they filed into a large hall for a meagre bowl of thin porridge, as bad as the Inn of the Four Winds'.

Then the monks went to the chapel for a prayer service. Javor, however, needed basic instruction before taking of oaths of fidelity to the Christian Church, obedience to the Abbot Austinus and the Emperor Maurice, celibacy and poverty. That duty fell to a short, rotund priest with a snub nose. "I'm Father Peter," he said. He thought his sarcastic smile made him seem friendlier to the young men of the abbey.

"You want me to call you 'father'?"

"That is the proper form of address, yes."

It was still hard for Javor to say: "My father... is dead."

The priest put has hand on Javor's shoulder. "I am sorry for your loss, my boy. You can take comfort in the family of the Church."

"But you are not my father!"

"I am your spiritual father."

Javor surrendered that argument. So much was new, alien to him. "Why do you promise poverty?"

"'It would be easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the Kingdom of Heaven,'" the priest quoted.

"What's a camel?" wondered Javor. "And what is 'celibacy'?"

"Thou must not touch a woman," said Father Peter, with a distinct look of distaste.

"Why not?"

"Because thou must remain pure!" the priest answered with a mixture of shock and disgust.

"Girls are impure?"

"If you touch them, yes!"

Making love with Danisa was a sin? What about with Elli—we did that to the priestess's command. Was I sinning when I thought I was doing good?

"And being rich is a sin?"

"Just swear to poverty and celibacy and stop asking so many questions!"

I'll swear, but I'm not telling them about the gold coins I have. Javor repeated after Father Peter, with his hand on another thing he had never seen before: a book. "It is the Word of the Lord," said Father Peter. "Tomorrow, we will begin your instruction, and soon you will be baptized and receive Communion."

Between chores and prayers, Javor met some of the novices. Most were two or three years older than Javor, but some were 15 like him, mostly thin and small. Javor thought they looked strange with their hair cropped so short—just fuzz over their skulls.

He forgot most names as quickly as he heard them: Agapetos, Ioannes, Didius, Iulius, Laelius, Vibius. One name stayed with him: Flaccus, a sickly-looking boy with a bulbous nose and oversized ears. Their home cities sounded exotic: Sirmium, Paphlagonia, Lemnos, Thessalonika, Tarsus. Almost none of them had come from Constantinople itself.

The second morning, an older monk arrived with more novelties: a pair of scissors and a razor. "Time to cut those long, blonde locks of yours, boy," he said. Javor shook his head. The monk came closer; Javor stood as tall as he could and glared down at the monk, whose eyes were at the level of Javor's throat.

"No."

The monk gulped. "It's the Rule."

"Maybe later." The monk backed away. Javor didn't see him again for a long time.

That evening, Nikos beckoned Javor without a word and led him down a corridor without looking back.

Javor followed, annoyed at the young man's presumption that he would follow. Why do I keep thinking of him as the "young man"? He's older than I am!

Nikos led him up a spiral staircase, and went up and up, showing no fatigue or worry on his smooth, perfect face. Javor was soon out of breath. When they at last reached the top, Javor stepped onto a balcony high above the abbey. Standing near the railing was Austinus in a dark cloak, his silver chain glittering around his neck. Behind him, the setting sun lit the city on fire. Constantinople was impossibly huge, with rows of buildings fading into the twilight.

"Good evening, my son," the older man said. "I hope you are settling into our humble abbey?"

"Thank you, sir. It does seem like a lot of work," Javor answered.

Austinus chuckled. "I hope you are not too tired!"

"Oh, no sir," Javor said quickly. "It's less work than I had in my village."

"Good, good." Austinus gazed out over the city, to the darker horizon in the east. "Javor, I hope that you realize that the method of the Abbey of St. Mary is designed to set young souls like yours on the true path to God. We do not simply work our young initiates for our own sake."

"I appreciate the education, sir." Javor was surprised at his own courtesy, and painfully aware of the inadequacy of his Greek, compared with Austinus'.

Austinus put on hand on Javor's shoulder and looked out over the city to the west. The last rays of the sun licked the city walls and the walls of the great cathedrals and palaces. "It's important that you learn as much as possible, as quickly as you can, about the Word of God, about the Gospel as defined by the Church. But—and I do not say this to many—as soon as you are capable, I intend to initiate you into a deeper knowledge.

"The Gospels approved by the Council of Nicea (don't worry, you'll learn all about that in due course) are fine for the masses. But there is a deeper truth beneath that, a truth that few people are ready to accept, a truth that our very civilization needs to be kept secret, known only to a select few—an elite, if you will."

Another lecture. What is it with these Greeks?

"Learn the Gospel. And remember that it is true. But we need you to know another, deeper truth."

"Why do you need me to know this?"

"You bear a large piece of that deep truth, Javor: your great-grandfather's ancient dagger. And you have faced dragons, beasts that many people believe never existed."

"Then you do believe me!"

"Of course." Austinus had a habit of closing his eyes when he said something he felt especially important. "Javor, these are very dangerous times. Civilization and the human race are in grave peril, in peril of dying out forever.

"Look about you: you see the City of Constantinople, the glory of Rome, the Eternal Empire. We are beset by a rising tide that could drown us at any moment. A century and a half ago, half of the Empire of Rome was destroyed, smashed, drowned in a wave of barbarity. In the western Empire, civilization has crumbled, learning has been replaced by darkness. Fields lie fallow, food is not harvested, the human population wanes.

"The East is scarcely better. Barbarians raid across the borders to steal food and to test our defences so that one day they may destroy us. Persia, too, struggles against internal enemies, as does far-off Cathay. The Avars, whose raids I understand your people have suffered," Javor nodded, "were themselves pushed out of the eastern lands they once ruled by a force even more fierce than themselves.

"There is more than barbarian ferocity behind this. New plagues sweep across the world, pestilences history has never seen. When the Black Death struck the capital, it killed over two hundred thousand people, including the Emperor Justinian! Earthquakes bring down cities. You can see signs of the damage here in Constantinople. Droughts erase entire rivers. The seas are rising. Whole villages on the Euxine Sea have drowned."

Austinus walked along the balcony, and Javor realized that it circled a narrow tower. As he followed Austinus, he got a tour of the whole city: broad avenues stretching to the west; mighty walls; the Golden Horn crowded with ships, glistening in the last light of the sun, guarded by a huge chain that stretched from shore to shore; then the broad Sea of Marmara. By the time they had made their way completely around the tower, the sunset had vanished, leaving a velvety black sky dusted with stars—but not as many stars as Javor remembered seeing in the night sky of his home.

"One year, the sun did not shine," Austinus said. "There was no spring, no summer. The sun rose, but weak and dim. Its beams did not nourish the grain or other crops. Famine spread across the Empire, and in the other civilizations, even as far away as—according to our sources—Britannia, in the ultimate west. I believe the whole world was affected. Our wisest men ranged far abroad to gather intelligence. They told us that Hell opened a new portal in the far east of the world. From that gate pours all manner of evil: rivers of flame and new species of demons and monsters, spirits that spread across the world and take up residence where they can threaten human civilization. They corrupt petty kings and barbarian chieftains and incite them against their fellow men. There are new and evil dragons..."

"Wait. Aren't all dragons evil?"

Austinus smiled indulgently. "Dragons are the oldest, wisest and most powerful beings on earth. You need more education before you can grasp all this, and it's getting late. Go to bed. We will talk more in the future, I promise." At that, the door to the stairway opened, and Nikos beckoned Javor to follow.

"Thank you, domestikos," he said, head swimming with new information. He followed Nikos back to the novices' quarters and lay down on the thin mat in his cell. But he didn't sleep for a long time: he kept picturing Austinus against the dying fires of the sun, hearing his voice talking about Hell trying to wipe out the human race.

Why does Hell care?

Javor settled into a new pattern: waking before dawn, doing chores, eating an awful breakfast. Then it was time for prayers. Javor had no idea how to pray, but tried to imitate the other novices. He was curious to see the inside of a chapel for the first time, curious about the long rows of wooden benches ("They're called 'pews,'" said another novice), and about the large crucifix at the front. His Greek wasn't yet good enough to understand the priest's words, but he managed to pick up some of the ideas. They worship a man who died, then rose from the dead. Strange. His punishment erased our sins? Stranger. But, somehow, comforting.

Back to work after that: menial labour all morning, grooming horses and feeding animals and sweeping and cleaning, interrupted by several calls to prayer either on the spot or requiring trooping back into the chapel. Midday meal—a measly snack of stale bread—was followed by more prayers and time for "contemplation." All that Javor could think about was getting outside again, about the fascinating city beyond the abbey's walls, about the green fields and the mysterious roads he had wandered, about blue skies, and about the monsters that pursued him.

The second half of the afternoon was devoted to instruction. The teachers, middle-aged monks whose tonsures fascinated and revolted Javor, were surprised, if not pleased, by the speed with which he learned his letters and numbers. In the first few weeks, Javor learned how to read fluently, how to write Greek letters, how to do basic arithmetic. He learned about the life of Jesus and began to believe.

But he wondered why the teachers resented his questions. After his third query about the nature of God—"So, Moist Mother Earth is actually Mary, Mother of God?"—Father Albertus smacked Javor on the head. "No, St. Mary was the Blessed Virgin, not your savage pagan earth goddess. All those gods you worshipped in your ignorance are false! Only God, Yahweh, is true. Now stop asking questions and learn your Gospel!"

Through some reasoning process that Javor could not understand, the monks decided that Javor could serve best in the kitchen. The chief cook was an obese, angry man named Verros. His robe was stained and his sleeves were always dipping into the soup. He screamed at everyone in the kitchen, humiliated the younger monks and hit the novices with a ladle every chance he got. He threw a knife at Javor on his first day in the kitchen; luckily, it missed him and sank with a terrifying thunk into a cutting board.

Javor literally kept his head down, sweeping the floor and washing pots.

He learned the life of Jesus and of Constantine, the Emperor who had converted the Empire to Christianity when God had led him with the sign of the Cross to victory over rivals for the imperial throne. He learned of the works of Justinian and the churches, walls and monuments he had built.

And in side comments, he learned about the enemies that beset the Roman Empire on all sides: barbarians who had swept from the east to crush the Western Empire, plunging a region called Europe into a dark age—a region that he soon realized included his home.

The king of the novices was Salonius, called Lepidus by the other novices: tall for a Roman, but not as tall as Javor; handsome, with thick curly hair and large eyes that girls found captivating; wide shoulders and muscular arms that he liked to show off by stripping down to just his trousers at any excuse. He showed off his straight, white teeth by smiling often and laughing at the slightest jokes. At the end of the evening meals, when the rules were relaxed enough to allow the novices and monks to talk, his table was always the liveliest, with the most cheerful conversation in the dining hall.

All the novices vied to join his entourage, and Lepidus always made a great show of befriending newcomers. When he first met Javor in the dining hall, Lepidus shook his hand with both of his and practically shouted "Hey, Javor! Settling in okay?" as if he could do something about it.

"Yes, fine," Javor said, bemused by the attention. Other novices stared enviously, waiting to see how Lepidus would decide to treat him.

Lepidus gave Javor the benefit of the doubt at first. He beckoned Javor to sit at his table. "So, most of the new novices start in the spring. What brings you here?"

Javor had thought about what to say. "An old friend of mine was a member and told me I should join the Order."

"Oh, really? Who was that? Someone we know?"

"Photius. He... he passed away a few weeks ago."

"Photius? Never heard of him. Sorry to hear that he died, though. Was he a close friend?" Lepidus asked, his face a perfect facsimile of concern.

"Yes." Javor felt his throat choking. He face felt hot. "We travelled together for a time." He blinked rapidly. Don't cry, Javor!

Lepidus brought out his white, perfect smile again. "So, Javor, where are you from?"

"From the north. Beyond Dacia."

Lepidus and the other novices gaped at Javor. "You crossed Dacia?" Lepidus asked. "Alone?"

"No, Photius was with me, until, well, almost at the Danuvius River."

There was silence almost through the entire dining hall, until someone said quietly, "Man, Dacia is haunted."

Javor looked from one incredulous face to the next. "Haunted? Well, yes, I guess it was. We met some pretty strange things..."

"Like what?" someone asked.

"Well, one night we were attacked by blood-suckers that Photius called strigoi, who had sucked the life out of a whole village. The people, they were mindless, barely alive, existing only as sources of blood for three horrible, naked women." As he described the encounter with the vampires, he was surprised at his ability to tell a story. He warmed to the task, adding emphasis and embellishment, now speaking loudly, then shrinking almost to a whisper.

"I thrust my sword into the closest one, but it had no effect. She laughed as I pulled the blade out, leaving a horrible wound in her chest, but no blood came out!"

He told his audience about their narrow escape in the freezing river. "We also saw a gryphon."

"Oh, come on!" said a thin, dark boy. "No one believes in monsters like that anymore!"

"Once, I didn't believe in them, either," Javor retorted, glaring at the novice who had interrupted him. "But I've seen them with my own eyes."

"What did the gryphon look like?" someone else asked.

"Well, it was as big as a large dog," Javor said, and the image of the beast leapt into his mind, vivid as if it were standing right in front of him. "It had big, feathery wings and a feathery head like an eagle, with a sharp beak, but it had four legs like a big cat, and claws like a chicken, only bigger."

"Did it attack you?" someone else asked.

Javor hesitated, recalling the attack on Bilavod. "No, strangely enough, it helped me." His audience may not have believed him, but they were all waiting for his next word. "We—Photius and I—were staying in a village that was being raided by Avars. Or at least, we thought they were Avars. I'm not sure. Anyway, we were inside the holody—that's like a stockade—and they were coming over the walls, setting fire to the place, killing villagers. Well, I thought we were done for. But then the gryphon swooped down and scattered the raiders left and right. It landed right in front of me and looked at me. It reached out one claw toward me and screeched, then flew away.

"Well, you should have seen the raiders run away after that!" he crowed, slapping the table in front of him. His face felt hot.

The novices stared at him, many with open mouths, for several silent heartbeats. Then Lepidus started to laugh, softly at first, and the other novices joined him.

"A gryphon! Vampires! That's a good one, Javor," Lepidus laughed. "You're a great story-teller! I would never have thought a country boy like you could tell tall tales!"

"But—"

"Go on, country boy, that's enough for one day!" said Father Peter, sliding up from behind, his sarcastic smile glued to his face as usual. "Go on back to your cell, before you stray from entertaining the boys into the sin of false witness. Good story, though."

The other novices walked away, laughing. "A gryphon!" one laughed. "Vampires! Probably just a girl that wouldn't let him kiss her?" "What girl would want to kiss a barbarian like him!"

Javor couldn't believe what had just happened. His ears burned, his face felt hot, but at the same time indignation threatened to bubble up like a pot overboiling.

"Hey, lazybones!" Verros screamed. "Get over here and start washing up!"

Time continued in the abbey like it had no beginning and no end: prayers, chores, more prayers, instructions. Father Peter spent time with Javor every day, instructing him in the basics of Christianity. Such a strange religion: they talk about forgiveness, but everyone is so unforgiving.

He liked parts of the Sunday Mass, especially the singing. He discovered that he had a pleasing voice. Father Peter made a point of praising it.

Some details mystified Javor. "There is a city called Rome that is not the capital of the Roman Empire?"

"It was the capital, but Constantinople is the New Rome," Father Peter answered.

"Why isn't Rome the capital of the Roman Empire?"

"Because the Emperor Constantine moved his capital to the city of Byzantium, here on the Bosporus, and called it Nova Roma—New Rome. Old Rome was the capital of the Western Empire. Constantinople, as it is now called, is the capital of the Eastern Empire, and truly the pre-eminent capital."

"But Rome is in a different country?"

"It is in Italy, and is presently a part of the exarchate of Ravenna, and thus a province of the Empire."

"But it used to be the capital? Where Rome began?"

"Yes."

"Why isn't it the capital anymore?"

"I told you, Javor: the Emperor Constantine, the first Emperor to see the True Light of Salvation, decided to make a new capital city for a new kind of Empire! Then, Rome was sacked and burned by barbarians from the east."

"Barbarians. People like me."

Father Peter hesitated. "Well, no, not exactly. It was the Goths, and later the Vandals. You are a Slav."

"But I'm a barbarian, because I don't speak Greek like you do."

"Well, yes."

"Are the Romans—the ones in Italy—are they barbarians, too, because they don't speak Greek?"

"Heavens, no!"

Father Peter liked to use his hands when talking. During lessons, he was always touching Javor, taking Javor's hands in his own, slapping Javor on the shoulder or the knee, chucking his shoulder, slapping his face gently. As the physical contact increased, Javor tried to stay farther from Father Peter.

Within a few weeks, Javor could not keep one thought from recurring every time he went to the chapel or heard a prayer: This makes no sense.
Chapter 22: Novice

Stupid rules.

No talking during prayers. Nor during meditation. And a minimum of talking allowed during chores, like cleaning the kitchen or sweeping the stables. Anything more than "I've finished sweeping, sir. What duty next?" or "Where is the bucket?" would earn a shushing from the hoplitarches, in charge of the household.

No eating between meals. No going outside the abbey without permission. No loitering in corners. No napping during the day, especially when there were chores to do—getting caught napping resulted in a sharp snap of a switch across the butt or, worse, the backs of the hands.

Javor consciously broke one rule every day: he kept his amulet under his novice's robe, and his dagger, too, strapped right next to his skin. It's a good thing this robe is loose.

Father Peter followed through on his promise. One morning, a Saturday, two monks woke Javor in his cell especially early and gave him a long white robe to wear. They led him to the front entrance of the great Church of St. Mary, where Father Peter, dressed in white robes, Father Albertus and some monks that Javor didn't know waited—and to his surprise, the Comes and domestikos, Austinus.

"Welcome, Javor. It is time for you to join the community of the Church, the Body of Christ," said Father Peter.

Javor had no idea what he meant. "You will receive three of the holy sacraments that will bring you into the Christian community: baptism, first communion and Chrismation." He lifted his hands until his arms were fully extended to the sides. "For Our Lord said, 'He who is baptized will be saved, but he who does not believe will be condemned. Unless one is born of Water and the Spirit, he cannot enter the Kingdom of God.'"

He turned to the other men beside him. "Who stands for this person who wishes to enter the Body of Christ?"

Austinus stepped forward. "I will stand for him."

"Do you believe in the Word of our Lord, Jesus Christ, and renounce the Devil?" Father Peter asked.

"Yes, I do."

"Do you accept for this child Him who is the light of the world? Do you unite yourself to Christ?"

"I do."

Father Peter turned toward Javor and, with sweeping motions of his right hand, made a sign of a cross. He took Javor's and Austinus' hands in his own and, chanting a prayer, led them into the church.

A little grey light filtered in through the high windows, and candles all along the walls cast a flickering, hopeful yellow light. Father Peter led them to small chapel at the side of the church. On the eastern wall, Christ in a white loincloth stepped into a river, his halo a golden disk behind his head.

Sunk into the middle of the marble floor was a pool, filled with water. "Step into the basin, Javor," Father Peter said. Javor hesitated; the air in the church was chilly, and all he was wearing was a thin linen robe. Austinus and Father Albertus took him by the arms.

Javor gasped—the water is cold! Austinus and Albertus pushed him down. "Go right under," Austinus instructed. Javor gulped, took a breath, closed his eyes and submerged, coming up again with a gasp.

"The servant of God, Javor, is baptized into the Name of the Father, amen," said Father Peter.

Austinus and Albertus pushed Javor under again, and as he came up sputtering, Father Peter said, "And of the Son, amen." When they pushed him down a third time, Javor realized he should have expected it after his head went in, but he gasped water into his lungs anyway and came up choking and coughing while Father Peter intoned "and of the Holy Spirit, amen." Austinus and Albertus lifted Javor out of the basin. He stood before Father Peter again, shivering and covered only in the robe, which was now almost transparent and clinging to his skin.

"Javor, you have received the full forgiveness of the Lord," Father Peter said, making a sweeping sign of the cross again. He frowned, looking just below Javor's chin—directly at eye level for him. "What is this?"

The amulet showed through the wet linen and was starting to tingle. Before Javor could react, Father Peter pulled the amulet out by its thin silver chain. "What is this pagan symbol? Austinus, how could you allow him to wear this icon of the Devil to his baptism?"

"It's an heirloom from my great-grandfather, who got it from the Emperor!" Javor protested. Stretching the truth.

"Not pagan, just savage," said Austinus, calmly. Javor was surprised at Austinus' demeanor. He's never seen the amulet before. "There is nothing satanic about it. Let him wear it next to a cross."

Father Peter looked lower. "And a knife!" The dagger, as always, was strapped to Javor's side, under the robe. "No one brings a weapon to a baptism!" Father Peter glared at Austinus, then at Javor. "Very irregular. However, it is not good to interrupt the rites," he said unhappily. "We now move on to the Chrismation." He poured a few drops of oil from a small bottle onto his fingertips. "With the myron, I anoint you with the seal of the gift of the Holy Spirit." He lifted his hand and drew a small cross in oil on Javor's forehead. Very gently, the priest marked a tiny cross on Javor's eyelid, repeating "The seal of the gift of the Holy Spirit." In a blink, he did the same on the other eye. He repeated the seal on each nostril, on Javor's mouth and on his earlobes, each time saying "The seal of the gift of the Holy Spirit." He did the same on Javor's hands, his chest, and with a grimace and a little grunt, got down on his knees to anoint Javor's feet. Finished, he struggled to his feet again. "Despite your pagan—I'm sorry, your savage—amulet, you are now a laïkos, a full member of the people of God."

Father Peter led them into the main part of the church and spent close to an hour praying in a voice too low for Javor to understand. The morning sunlight streamed through the high windows of the church by the time he finished. Not even the blessings of the plantings or of the harvest at home took that long.

He was still shivering as Father Peter took something out of a tall golden cup and lifted it over his head. "Take, eat, This is my Body..." He ate whatever it was. He said more prayers, then lifted another gold cup overhead, said "Drink, this is my blood," and sipped. Javor was horrified.

Father Peter carried the chalice down the steps, dipped a small golden spoon with a very long handle into it and pulled out something small and dripping red. "The Body of Christ," said Father Peter, and he held the spoon to Javor's mouth.

"Wait—you want me to eat the body of Christ?"

"Those were His words," Father Peter answered, pushing the spoon closer.

Javor pulled back. "Is it really his body and blood?"

"It's bread and wine, Javor," Austinus muttered.

"Transubstantiated into the Body and Blood of our Lord through the miracle of the Eucharist," Father Peter insisted. "Weren't you listening during Catechism?"

"It's bread and wine," Austinus repeated. "Just eat it, Javor."

Javor closed his eyes and opened his mouth. He heard the spoon clink on his teeth, tasted metal, then sweet and acidy wine with something crumbled in it. He swallowed.

"Amen," said Austinus.

Javor had trouble with the difference between the Church's teachings and the priest's behavior. "Shouldn't we accept the fact that other people don't have the same beliefs as the Church?" he asked one day.

"No, never!" Father Peter thundered. "We cannot tolerate the presence of pagans or witches!"

Javor gradually learned the hierarchies and the difference between the stated and the real order of power within the Abbey.

The overt hierarchy was easy to learn: at the top of the Order was the Comes, Austinus, in his black and silver robes and silver chain; next was Philip, the chief scholar, with a smaller silver chain and robes that were red and black; beneath him, a ladder of lesser officials and dignitaries, each with their symbols of rank. There was the main priest, who led most of the masses, Father Albertus, and the next most important, Father Peter. There was the Head Novice, a very serious-looking, tall young man named Sergius, whose hair showed bright red no matter how short he cropped it. He directed the novices in their chores and prayers.

Verros was in charge of the kitchen staff, a group of eight who chopped, stewed, built fires, slopped and cleaned. Javor learned that he was at that very bottom of that hierarchy.

But there was a different, unspoken order as well. While Father Albertus was acknowledged as the leader in the chapel, he was noticeably diffident toward a certain monk, a quiet and mysterious man who wore a grey robe as plain as a novice's, and who always kept his hood on. He seemed to be very thin under his robe. He had a clean-shaven, thin face and long, thin hands. He was called just "Theodor" by the priests, although the novices all called him "Brother." Even Austinus spoke to him very respectfully.

Among the novices, there were also two hierarchies. While Sergius was Head Novice, the other novices were much more likely to listen to the affable Lepidus. He was always first in line for every meal, had the lightest chores and the driest, brightest cell in the barracks. Other novices were always giving him pieces of their bread or helping him with the few chores he did. When Lepidus spoke, the novices listened; if he interrupted, the speaker paused; when he told a joke, all the novices laughed. No one ever interrupted Lepidus.

Lepidus' best friend at the Abbey appeared to be Mamercus, also called Quadratus: a hulking brute, as tall as Javor but much heavier. His neck was twice as thick as Javor's, his shaved head had ripples bulging at the back above the neck and another heavy ridge supporting the bushiest eyebrows that Javor had ever seen. His jaw was heavy and loose and had few teeth. His arms looked like the heavy ropes Javor had seen on the boat from Constantia. His calves were a thick as Javor's thighs. And apart from his head and face, which were trimmed and shaved according to the Rule, every bit of his skin was covered by thick, coarse black hair. Despite his hairiness and general air of animalistic menace, he could not have been more than a year older than Javor.

Quadratus rarely spoke, only growled through hymns during Mass, but obeyed Lepidus implicitly. He glared at anyone else who spoke to him, but laughed at every joke Lepidus told, even when it was at his own expense. Javor once saw another novice gently tease Quadratus; without a second's hesitation or any warning, Quadratus punched him full force in the chest. The smaller boy flew back, fell on his rump and banged his head on a chair. Two others helped him up, not daring to look at Quadratus, and led the victim away. Quadratus went back to hanging on Lepidus' every word, seeming to have already forgotten his tormentor.

The hierarchy continued below Quadratus in a series of unstated deferences, honours and obeisances that Javor gradually learned to respect. One day, he learned that he was at the bottom.

After starting the morning cooking fires, prayers and helping to prepare the porridge, Javor took his little bowl to the main dining hall to sit with the other novices. As he approached, two moved over to block an empty space.

"Down at the end of the table, slav!" one whined, a skinny, pimply youth named Timotheos. "Yah!" said the novice beside him, a stout boy named Zotikos.

"What's wrong? I always sit here," Javor protested, attempting to wedge himself between the two.

"Not any more," Timotheos sneered. "You're a dirty slav. You can sit at the far end so we don't have to smell your stink!"

Javor couldn't understand. "I smell better than you do, Timotheos. When was the last time you washed yourself?"

"None of your business, slav!" Zotikos practically spat out the last word. "We don't have to sit beside barbarians here in our city!"

"Your city? You're from Smyrna, you told me yourself!"

"At least I'm Greek, not some dirty slav!"

"You keep calling me that, and I don't know what you're talking about!" Javor's face felt hot. "My people are called the Sklavenes! What is a 'slav'?"

"Sklavenes, barbarians, you're all the same," said another novice, Fusus, sitting across the table. "Listen, Timotheos—even the name sounds like a barking dog." He looked directly at Javor. "Bar! Bar! Bar!" He laughed.

"Sklavenes, slaves of the Avars, barbarians," Timotheos sneered again. "Get away from me. I don't want to catch your bugs!"

Javor almost felt like he wanted to cry, but another part of him wanted to smash Timotheos' head into the table. Biting back his fury, he went to the far end of the table, and gulped at his food, fighting back tears.

The closest novice was Flaccus, the sickly looking one with ears that seemed to bend over at the tops. He leaned closer. "Don't pay attention to Timotheos. He's an idiot. He always looks for ways to make everyone feel bad, especially if they're not Greek enough for him. He made fun of me for weeks because I preferred speaking Latin to Greek."

Javor shrugged, gulping down his food. It tasted even worse than usual. "I'd like to break him in two."

"Now, now, remember," said Flaccus soothingly. "Love thy enemy."

"Huh?"

"The Word of our Lord. 'Love thy enemy as thyself.'"

"Maybe I'll forgive him later, but I don't think that I can love him."

Flaccus smiled. "That's okay. I don't love him, either.

Danisa kissed him, then pulled out of his arms. She took the dagger from the sheath at his side and calmly walked away. Javor tried to warn her about the dragon, but words would not come from his mouth. She walked directly to the dragon's open claws. They closed around her slim body. The dragon flapped its immense black wings and carried her away.

Javor strained and finally pushed out a yell. "Danisa!" He sat upright and all he saw was the stone wall of his cell.

"Shut up, you sissy!" someone groaned.

"Stupid barbarian can't sleep in civilization," someone else said.

A dream. Just a dream. Javor fell back onto his straw bed, but could not sleep.

"Why are there no women in the Abbey?" Javor asked Father Peter during lessons.

"Women have their own devotional orders, called convents."

"But why are they separate? Women and men lived together in my home."

"It would not be proper where there are large groups of men and women in one place," answered an exasperated Father Peter. "It is true that such... arrangements are found among the uncivilized, lesser peoples of the world, but where we have the Word of our Lord to guide us, we follow civilized modes of behaviour."

"Then how are Roman babies born?"

Father Peter's face became bright red. "Family life is the basis of Roman civilization, and has been since before the time of our Lord, Jesus Christ!" he screamed. "Nothing can replace the family. But in an abbey like this one, we are a family of the spirit, not of the flesh, and we must safeguard ourselves against temptations of the flesh, which would be perditious outside the sanctimony of marriage!"

"Why not have married people in the abbey, then?"

"Because the life of contemplation must be free of the distractions and obligations of family life. Now, let us consider the importance of the prophecies of Isaiah concerning the coming of the Saviour."

Why do these Christians get so uncomfortable talking about sex?

Eventually, Javor made some friends, dwellers like him at the bottom of the social ladder. Flaccus, one of the very few novices who were actually from Constantinople, was always willing to talk, when they were allowed to. Ammon, a tall boy with large, watery eyes and bushy brown hair who reminded Javor of bulrushes, was teased and humiliated for coming from a poor family from Athens. Sandulf was a fair-haired Gothic boy who could not account for ending up in Constantinople. They would gather outside the kitchen door in the chilly evenings to commiserate over how they hated Lepidus and his gang, or the strictness of Father Albertus, or how heavy their chores were. Javor said little, trying to hone his understanding of the nuances of the novices' slang, listening for the foreign words that crept into their Greek, and disappointed that he never heard a trace of his own tongue.

Javor yearned for a break from the routine. Every day is the same. Wake up before dawn, help make breakfast—a mean gruel that made him long for his poor mother's kasha. Clean the kitchen. Sweep the stables. Pray. Meditate. Pray some more. Listen to the teachers blab about Christ and the saints and the prophets without falling asleep. Learn to repeat what they just said. Clean some more. With the coming of cooler weather and days of rain, thin, tasteless soup replaced bread for lunch, followed by more sweeping and more praying.

"Which is more important, Christ's divine nature or His human nature? Javor!"

"What?" Father Peter had caught him off guard. Late fall sunlight streamed into the stone-walled room, whose only decoration was a large crucifix painted on the peeling yellow walls. Javor's attention had wandered as it usually did during the religious instruction, but Father Peter seemed to love pouncing on his students with abstract questions. "Uhh, His ... divine nature?"

"Wrong!" Father Peter shouted. Javor could not interpret the look on the priest's face. Is he angry or amused? "Both are essential. The two natures of Christ, Divine and human, are united. He is fully Divine and fully human at the same time. "

Javor's heart was pounding and his mind was spinning. "How can He be completely two things?"

Father Peter leaned close and screamed into Javor's ear: "He is Divine and He is a man! Do not question this or you will be a damned heretic!"

Father Peter turned and paced across the room as he expounded on more of the Christian religion. Three gods in one God, Christ as ruler of the universe, orders and classes of angels and archangels proceeding ... Javor watched the last leaves blow past the window. He wondered how the harvest had gone at home. Will they have enough food for winter?

Father Peter was looking at him again, and Javor realized that all the other novices were reciting a prayer. He clasped his hands, looked down and tried to join them, keeping his voice low to hide the fact that he didn't know the words.

One suppertime as he was steeling himself to eat the thin soup he had watched Verros stir and cough over, he saw another novice, named Tomas, sit across from him and put a small cloth bag on the table. He carefully untied a string that held it closed, and sprinkled a pinch of some kind of powder onto his bread.

"What's that?" Javor asked.

"Oh, it's just a little spice," Tomas answered, sprinkling a little more into his soup. "I just have a little. It reminds me of home."

"Where's home?"

"Syria." Tomas took a bite of his bread.

"Can I try it?"

Tomas hesitated, and glanced around the table at the other novices, who were watching him and Javor intently. Strange, thought Javor.

"Sure," Tomas replied with sudden enthusiasm. He picked up the bag and tilted it over Javor's bread. "But since this is the first time you're having it, you won't really taste it unless you get a lot. But I can't do this again—spices are very expensive, especially this time of year!" He tapped the side of the bag until a healthy sprinkle covered one side of the bread. "Okay, take a big bite." He was grinning widely.

Javor looked at Tomas, at the bread, at the other novices who were all looking at him, smiling and nodding. "Go ahead, Javor, you'll love it!" said one.

Javor picked up the bread and took a big bite, almost all of the spice. It didn't have much of a taste at first, but then he felt a heat on his tongue that quickly became unbearable. My mouth is on fire! He reached for a cup of water and gulped it all down, but it didn't help.

"Agh! What is this?" He grabbed someone else's water and drank it down, too, but that didn't help, either. Tears streamed down his cheeks and his face felt hot.

Tomas and all the other novices were laughing, laughing hard.
Chapter 23: Deeper knowledge

"Which is more important, Brother, Christ's divine nature or his human nature?" Lepidus asked to impress the teacher with his rhetorical ability. The question surprised Javor—his ears were still sore from Father Peter's screaming lecture on the same topic.

A squinting older monk named Jacobbeas, who looked as if he was about to topple over at any moment, led the class.

"Both are essential," Brother Jacobbeas answered in a nasal whine. He passed a shaking hand over thin white tonsured hair and sneezed loudly. "The two natures of Christ, Divine and human, are united. According to the Fourth Ecumenical Council, held in Chalcedon—I visited there once, when I was a young monk, just out of the novitiate. It's a pleasant place, wonderful for ecumenical councils, you know. The air and the landscape combine..." Javor lost the thread of Brother Jacobbeas' response. Lepidus loved to ask that kind of question, one that prompted endless debate down twisting logical corridors of ever narrower questions. Javor sighed. Was Christ completely human or completely divine? "Yes." What difference does it make?

"But Brother Jacobbeas, aren't the Words of Our Lord more important than just how divine He is?" asked Fuscus, also trying to impress the Brother.

Brother Jacobbeas explained the Church's orthodox view. Javor looked out the window at the last leaves falling from the trees. He had heard this all so many times before: the heresies of Monophysitism and Nestorianism, of Arianism and others, the divine nature of Christ, the singularity of the Church. Hypostasis versus hypostases. He had to memorize the lessons, for every so often Father Peter would come in and ask snap questions about the great debates of the major councils. I never thought I would prefer working at cutting straw to listening to someone talk.

Austinus, the Comes or head of the Order, wanted to hear more about Javor's journey to Constantinople. He summoned Javor to his council chamber where Javor had first discovered them; it now looked comfortable, with fire burning in braziers and bowls of food set on tables. Even the guards looked relaxed.

"You have learned quickly, Javor," Austinus began in their first meeting. "I am impressed with the speed with which you are learning to read and write, as well as in history and mathematics."

"Thank you, Father."

"I am no priest, not in the same sense as Father Peter. So, while I am happy that you are learning the Orthodox Christian faith, remember that I told you that there is a deeper and higher knowledge, but it is a knowledge that is only available to a select few who are able to accept it." What does that mean?

"Before I go on, I must warn you: everything that I am about to say is in the strictest confidence. Even the fact that we are having this conversation is to remain only between you and me. And by no means ever mention this room to anyone, either outside the Abbey or within it. Its existence is secret, known only to a few—and those few do not include Father Peter or Father Albertus, almost all the monks and certainly any of the novices. Do you understand?" Javor nodded.

"The faith that you are learning, the faith so earnestly embraced by the people of the Empire, is fine for the simple people. But some require a deeper knowledge, for the official scriptures of the Hebrews and the Christians contain a great many mysteries and contradictions. A select few are able to perceive those contradictions and shortcomings, and of those, even fewer can take in the higher knowledge—in Greek, gnosis. Obviously, Javor, you are one of those select few."

Javor helped himself to a small cake and topped it with honey. "Because of what I have seen already, and which is not mentioned in any of your Bible?"

Austinus nodded. "Partly. But also, Javor, you have a mind that is open and critical. The Church, as exemplified by Father Peter, extols the virtues of blind, uncritical faith in the Word as given them by their parish priest. However, there is a need for that critical, open, questioning search for the true light of knowledge. You have that kind of mind, Javor, and although many make fun of your humble, barbarian origins in the wilds far beyond the frontiers of civilization—yes, I have heard the sniggers of the ignorant who live even within these walls—you are sophisticated enough to understand that there is a deeper truth that answers the mysteries and contradictions of the official faith, and the need for circumspection about its very existence."

These Romans just love to hear their own voices. "I'm sorry, what's 'circumspection'?"

Austinus chuckled. "I only mean, Javor, that this conversation must remain between thee and me."

"Ah."

"Indeed. Father Peter is a true believer, and we need him in the Abbey. We, who seek the higher gnosis, all must present ourselves as Orthodox Christians. We come from many different faiths, different traditions: I was indeed raised as a Christian; Malleus comes from Egypt and followed the Coptic tradition; Mother Tiana comes from far Scythia, and was a priestess to a goddess of that tradition; Philip was a Jew from Palestine." The place names were vague to Javor—he had only heard them once or twice in masses and lessons. "But we put on the appearance of Christians in order to function in Rome. So we need a number of Father Peters to distract the attention of the very powerful Church fathers in Constantinople who seek to destroy the Gnostics."

"What? Why do they want to do that?"

"Politics," Austinus shrugged. "The official Faith has been a powerful instrument of social control since Constantine's time, and indeed, long before that, when the Pontiff of earlier religions was also a powerful politician in the ancient Roman Republic."

"Rome was a republic?"

"A long, long time ago. A natural phase of a state's development, before it had become as large as it is now and republican organization would be unworkable. But I digress. The point here is, as seekers and keepers of truth that is deeper and more complex than the masses can understand, we must also be secretive."

"Okay. But what is that truth?"

"All in good time, Javor. You must learn the basics, first. And to preserve our secret, you must appear just as another novice. You must learn the Christian faith, and you must display it, too. And you must remember, repeat what I have told you to absolutely no one, not even here within the Abbey, for only a very few, a select few, are privy to this knowledge—or even to the concept that there is a deeper knowledge."

Javor did not sleep well that night, wondering about Austinus' words. Knowledge that is secret from Father Peter. Whom could he trust? Not Father Peter, that was plain. What about Nikos? He was Austinus' messenger—surely he was part of the inner circle? No, he wasn't in the room with us. He may not know anything.

Even in the Abbey, he was alone.

Javor's physical and military training began the next day when Malleus called him away from kitchen chores.

"You fight hard, but you have no technique or disciple," he sneered. "It's time for you to learn to fight like a Roman Equite!"

He took Javor to a large open chamber in a secret part of the Abbey. Weapons hung on every wall: swords, spears, shields, cudgels and other equipment that Javor didn't recognize, as well as various types of wooden and metal frames. On the floor were other apparati that he couldn't begin to guess at. And in the midst of it all were Malleus and Philip, wearing tight trousers, thin, tight shirts and thick socks. Strips of cloth were wound around their hands to form pads over their knuckles.

"I know how to fight," said Javor. He was glad to be excused from cleaning the stable, but he didn't want to duel with Malleus again, or with Philip.

"Really?" Philip asked. He stepped up to Javor and punched him hard in the arm, then jumped away.

"Ow!" Javor was more shocked than hurt.

Why didn't you warn me about that, you stupid amulet? But the amulet was still.

"Go ahead, hit him back," Malleus ordered. Javor shook his head, so Philip pranced closer again, feinted, hit his other arm and danced away again.

"See, barbarian boy? You can't fight back against a trained Initiate. Brother Philip is an Adept," Malleus said. "If you're lucky, over time you may learn a little of what he knows. But now, you're completely vulnerable to any Equite or Legionnaire worth his salt. So let's begin your training."

"Training" was a new word for Javor, but he soon learned that it meant gruelling movement. For the next hour, Javor did things he had never imagined before: push-ups and sit-ups, chin-ups and squats. Malleus threw a piece of iron at Javor, who caught it but nearly dropped it immediately because it was so heavy. "Put it down and pick it up again," Malleus ordered. Javor hesitated—it seemed a pointless order. "Do it!" Malleus screamed.

By the end of the hour, Javor was sweatier than he could ever remember being. Every muscle ached. Malleus wasn't satisfied, though. "You're soft, boy. We have to harden you." He sent Javor to wash up in the Abbey's bath, which wasn't nearly as luxurious as the one that Valgus had maintained in the fort.

Javor's physical training continued three times a week. He exercised and increased his strength under the critical eye of Brother Philip and the screaming voice of Malleus. They brought out wooden swords to train him in advanced fencing, and eventually substituted them for steel. On and on it went, and Javor didn't notice the progress he was making. Eventually, he came to enjoy the sessions, the physicality of it, the movements and the success he was having. And the frustration on Malleus' face when he couldn't land a blow on Javor's body.

Javor learned the concept of the seven-day week quickly, regimented as they were by regular High Masses. At least two evenings a week, Nikos would fetch him for different kinds of lessons. He would sit shivering in a dark room at the top of a tower in the Abbey with Austinus, Philip and occasionally Malleus, learning about what they called "deeper mysteries" that were not part of mass.

They started with books that Father Peter had never mentioned: the gospels of Philip, another apostle; and a gospel of Thomas; and one whose author shocked him—Mary Magdalene.

With the clear starry nights as a backdrop, Philip would talk about the Creator as not the benevolent father figure of the Orthodox or Monophysite Christians, but as something less, called a Demiurge. At times this being seemed more like the Christians' devil, filled with hatred and jealousy and many other human flaws. Yet, said Philip, all evidence indicated the Demiurge was the being that created the world.

What evidence? Javor did not want to offend his hosts, but he was losing patience with the opposing mystical arguments from Father Peter and the Church and the secret Gnostics.

Philip talked about an overarching Supreme God from whom came the Pleroma, the Light that filled the Universe. He explained that the Pleroma "emanated," creating Aeons, which Javor took to be some kind of gods or spirit beings with names like nous, logos, phronêsis and dunamis.

"No, not gods, Javor," Austinus explained patiently. "They are whole worlds, ruled by principles of intellect, the Word—that's logos—prudence, and power.

"And the most important is wisdom, or Sophia, that which emanated, ultimately—"

"Sophia! I know her!" Javor exclaimed.

Austinus smiled. "Yes, many feel they have encountered wisdom in others..."

"No, no, I actually met Sophia, in Constantia. Photius knew her..." his voice trailed off; he hadn't mentioned his visit to Constantia. "He, uh, called her 'Paleologus.'"

Photius. He could picture the old man, horribly wounded on the mountainside.

"Constantia? What were you doing in Constantia? And when?" Philip demanded. Austinus was looking at him closely, too, his face grim.

"Photius told me to find 'Paleologia,' in Constantia, who would direct me to the Order. I didn't know she was a woman, though."

"Paleologus," Philip nodded. "'Old wisdom.' Who could that have been?"

"You remember what Photius was like?" Malleus said. "That old scoundrel had a love affair with a barbarian woman, Sandra, who had the audacity to call herself 'Sophia.'"

"Oh, yes." Philip nodded. "What happened to her?"

"She vanished years ago," said Austinus. "Shame, really: she was very wise, very sensitive."

"How did you get to Constantia, Javor?" Philip asked.

Javor took a deep breath. "After Photius died, the soldiers helped me to reach Drobeta, and I took a boat down the Danuvius to Constantia." He told them how he found Sophia in a little wooden shack hanging on rotting piles over the harbour, how she had examined his dagger and told him it could protect him. He did not mention his amulet. "And she said that Photius had chosen the wrong side," he recalled. "She said 'Sky has turned on Earth,' and that the gods were fighting a war."

"Did she really still believe in gods?" Philip asked Austinus, who shrugged. "What else did she tell you?" he said to Javor.

Javor closed his eyes and shuddered as he recalled the night on the harbour. "She said that my great-grandfather's dagger was the only thing that could protect me." Reluctantly, he told them about the wind that tore the shack apart, about how Sophia sent him away. "She told me to run to Constantinople, to stay away from—from 'them.' I don't know who she meant. She said she would delay them until I could escape, but she wouldn't come with me." He slumped. "I think they killed her."

Austinus was leaning close. "Think carefully, son. Did she give 'them' a name at any point?"

Javor thought hard. "'Archons,'" he said. "She called them 'Archons.'"

Austinus gasped and sat up straight. Philip jumped to his feet.

"What is an Archon?"

"Powers or spirits, emanations of the Demiurge," Austinus said—which did not explain anything to Javor. "The Christians mistakenly think they're angels or demons."

"If Javor is correct, dark forces are moving aggressively," Philip said. "Did Sandra's chthonic allies turn on her?"

"Archons are not necessarily chthonic, Philip," Austinus answered. "But I fear that a powerful ally of ours has been destroyed."

Javor was weeping. "I'm sorry," he sniffed, trying to dry his eyes. It was futile. He felt crushed by guilt. "I led them to her."

"What do you mean, son?"

"They were following me!" he sobbed, hiding his face in shame. "From Ghastog's cave, they followed me, and I led them to her, to Sophia."

Austinus put his arm over Javor's shoulder. "Now, son, don't blame yourself. Sandra—Sophia—was a powerful mystic who dealt with, even tempted these forces all her life. She lived a long time, longer even than Photius. You couldn't have known what would happen."

"I should have known! I should have known I would lead those... things... wherever I went." He jumped up. "Maybe they've followed me here! I've put you all in danger!"

Austinus tried to make soothing motions. "Do not worry, Javor. We are safe, here. We are protected by the proximity and the blessing of the Church, which is a powerful solar aeon." He gave Javor another cup of wine. Javor felt a little calmer.

Austinus murmured to Philip. "Bring Spiridon here. He was right. We need to confer and we need to send out agents to gather intelligence in the North." Philip nodded grimly and disappeared out the door. "Nikos, take care of Javor. Give him what he needs and make sure he finds his bed."

Javor barely noticed Nikos taking him back to his cell through his tears.
Chapter 24: Initiation

After breakfast, Javor's chore was to shovel the manure out of the stable . It was a job he was used to, but still hated. It was smelly and dirty, and often as not, a cow or a pig would give him more to shovel just as he thought he was finished.

But this morning, the load seemed lighter than usual. "What's the matter, cows? Don't feel like shitting today?" He swept a little stray dirt out the back door and stood straight to enjoy the feeling of late autumn sunlight on his face.

First, he felt the weight, then the wetness covering his head, shoulders, arms, the liquid immediately soaking his clothes and his hair. Then he smelled it and heard the laughter from the loft above him. "Right on him! Perfect!" It was Fuscus and Timotheos. Horrified, Javor opened his eyes to see his arms and body covered in animal shit. He dodged and looked up, catching a glimpse of Fuscus and Timotheos leaving the loft door.

All around, novices and monks pointed and laughed. Javor tried to shake off some of the manure, and the others laughed harder.

"That is not a Christian thing to do! You up there!" Brother Theodor marched across the yard. He had an oddly high-pitched voice. "Brother Javor, are you all right?"

"I will be if I can get this shit off of me." He pulled off his robes and stood in just trousers in the cool autumn air.

"Go and get cleaned up. I will deal with these ... pranksters," said Brother Theodor.

Javor walked across the yard to the novices' quarters, the smell of cow dung thick in his nostrils. But worse was the shame.

The novices and monks were surprised the next day when Brother Theodor called Javor aside.

During the midday meal, Brother Theodor walked in his smooth, calm way down the rows of tables directly to Javor. The murmured conversation allowed in the Abbey ceased. Brother Theodor was almost never seen, especially in the refectorium.

He stopped behind Javor and placed a small, elegant hand on his shoulder. "See me in the Abbott's chamber after the meal," he said in his smooth, musical voice.

Theodor left, and all the novices stared at Javor. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"No one has ever been called up by Brother Theodor," Flaccus said.

Javor finished his lunch quickly—something he almost never did—and as he left the hall, he passed Timotheos and Fuscus sitting together. Fuscus looked right at him and laughed aloud. On a sudden impulse, Javor leaned forward and slammed their heads together. Fuscus fell off his bench, howling.

It was very satisfying.

He found Brother Theodor alone in the Abbott's office, sitting on a comfortable couch. "What did you want?"

"That's not a courteous way to start a conversation with an elder and superior," said Brother Theodor. He gestured at a couch opposite him. "Please, sit."

Javor looked at Brother Theodor, who as always, still had his hood over his head. Something about his face was so familiar. Well of course, I've seen him here. I've been here for months.

But still. It's like I've seen that face on someone else ... no. That's crazy. This place is making me crazy.

"Javor, how do you feel here?" Brother Theodor asked.

The voice, too. Where else have I heard it?

"Fine, I guess." What is he getting at? No one at the Abbey ever says what they really mean.

"Do you feel that you fit in here?"

Javor thought about that for a long time. "No. Why? Do you want me to leave?"

"No, no, of course not!" Brother Theodor protested. "Far from it! This is an Abbey of God, and open to all men!" He smoothed his habit and chose his words carefully. "Do you feel you have friends here?"

"Sure. Flaccus and Ammon and Sandulf are my friends."

"That's all? What about the other novices? Or the monks? The priests?"

"No, no other friends. Lepidus doesn't like me, which means that none of his friends like me, either. I really hate Fuscus. He's mean."

"Javor, Our Lord commands us not to hate."

He has such green eyes. Like Danisa, almost.

"Sorry. But he is mean, and I do not like him. But I will try to love him. Is that all?"

Brother Theodor paused again. "Javor, do you ever feel that you are different from others? Not just because you're from a different country. But back home—did you feel different from the other boys?"

"Yes! Yes I did!" What is he getting at here?

"Do you find it hard to understand what other people really mean when they talk to you? Do you find it confusing when their faces don't always match their words?"

"How do you know?"

"I've been watching you."

"Why?"

Brother Theodor reached forward and touched Javor's knee. "Javor, there is something different about you. I cannot say exactly what that is, and I am certain that sometimes it may feel like a curse. I notice that you do not understand Greek humour very well—your own sense of humour is much more straightforward. And you have trouble making friends and participating in group conversations.

"But at the same time, I sense that you have a great many gifts. Your intelligence, for instance. You learned to read faster than I have ever seen anyone. That makes others jealous of you. Jealousy is a sin, yes, but it is something that happens even here in the Abbey.

"I know you have been through a lot in the past year: losing your parents, travelling a long way, losing Photius, your friend ... I want you to know that if you ever feel the need to talk to someone, even if there are things you feel you cannot tell your confessor, you can come to me. I can't promise I can solve every problem, but it does help to talk about it.

"That's all. You may go now."

Javor left, more puzzled than when he went in. But strangely, comforted as well.

Every few days, usually in the afternoons, Brother Theodor would send Javor a note asking him to come to the Abbott's study. He always found the mysteriously familiar monk alone, comfortable on the couch, very much at home. Theodor would ask him how he was doing at the Abbey, how he was fitting in, whether he had made any new friends. Javor would usually just say he was doing fine, felt well, did not have any new friends but was happy with the friends he already had.

One day, Brother Theodor surprised him. "You know, Javor, you do not read people very well."

Javor had no idea what he meant. "You know, often what people say is not the same as what they really mean."

"I know. It's stupid. Why don't they just say what they mean?"

Theodor smiled strangely, and Javor wondered what that meant. "Well, sometimes they're making a joke—that's called sarcasm or irony. And sometimes, it's a way of telling you whether you are part of their group of friends. And other times, they may be afraid of saying something directly, for fear of hurting your feelings."

Javor thought about that. "Or maybe, they are afraid of hurting their own feelings," he said.

That surprised Brother Theodor. "I have never thought of that before. But it's true—sometimes people say things that disguise what they are afraid to admit, even to themselves.

"And sometimes, people are just out and out lying."

On the night of the winter solstice, Javor went to bed especially depressed. Has it really been half a year since everything went wrong? Since I lost everybody?

He felt like his had just closed his eyes when Nikos shook him awake. His face yellowed by the flickering candlelight, Nikos said "Tonight is the Winter Solstice."

"I know," said Javor. "The longest night."

"Dress in your cleanest robe and bring your dagger," Nikos said, as if that explained why he had woken Javor in the middle of the night.

Carrying his dagger in its sheath, Javor followed Nikos through the twisting corridors. He had done this several times already, but realized he still could not retrace the steps alone. "What time is it?" he whispered as they approached Austinus' tower and council room.

"It's almost sunrise," Nikos murmured. He held out his hand. "You must give me your dagger now. Don't worry," he added, taking the dagger from Javor's hand. "I'll give it back after. You just can't take a weapon into the council room. Not yet."

He pushed the tall door open. Inside, the room was still dark except for a few scattered candles. The high windows in the eastern wall were grey. Austinus' table was in the centre of the room, bare, and Javor realized it was actually an altar. Behind it, a long curtain shrouded half the room.

Austinus stood behind the table, dressed in his fine black and silver robes. In front of it was Mother Tiana. She wore a simple white gown, and a pearl hung in front of her forehead from a gold chain around her head. On the right side stood Philip in a plain white robe, holding a large jar. On the opposite side of the room in a simple, unadorned black robe was Malleus.

Nikos shut the door behind Javor, staying outside. Philip said, "Lie down, son, on your stomach and close your eyes." Javor complied. Another ritual. The floor was cold.

Tiana stepped close and said, "Rise, aspirant, into the salvation of Sophia, the true wisdom of Gnosis." As he rose, Tiana reached down and pulled the robe up over his head. Now it's really cold! He was nude in front of robed Gnostics.

Nikos gave Tiana a candle. She held it over Javor's head (standing on tip-toe and stretching as high as she could) and moved the candle in a circle in front of Javor. "As he is ready to come into the world of true knowledge, I anoint this aspirant in light," she intoned. Nikos took the candle from her, and Philip came forward with the jar. He lifted it above Javor's head and intoned "As he is ready to enter the world of true knowledge—"

Cold! Javor gasped as freezing water poured over his head.

"—I anoint this aspirant in salt and water," Philip concluded.

Dripping and shivering, Javor could taste salt in the water that dripped from his upper lip. Nikos brought him a long, plain white cloak. "As this aspirant is bathed in water and light, I enrobe him in the colour of pure knowledge," he said as he wrapped the cloak around Javor's shoulders.

Austinus came around the table, took Javor's hands in his own, and led him to the curtain. Tiana and Philip each pulled the curtain apart just as the sun rose and light streamed into the chamber. Blinking, Javor let Tiana lead him to the altar. Sitting on it were a large golden goblet filled with dark red wine, and a golden plate holding three small, round, white cakes. These aren't like the communion bread.

Austinus and Philip stood on either side of Javor, while Tiana began a soft prayer. With the golden morning sunlight on her white robe and fair hair, she seemed almost to be glowing. This must be what an angel looks like. No, an Aeon. Murmuring a prayer in a language Javor had never heard before, she picked up the goblet, raised it high toward the sun and sipped. She raised it again, then held it to Austinus' lips for him to drink. Finally, she lifted it a third time and held the goblet to Javor's mouth.

"Drink the blood of the earth, brought to life by the Eternal Light of the Pleroma," she said. Javor sipped. This is the best wine I've ever had! Tiana broke a cake in half and put a piece in her mouth. She broke a second and put half of it in Austinus' mouth, then broke the third and gave half to Javor. "The fruit of the earth, brought to life by the Eternal Light of the Pleroma," she repeated. It was more like bread than cake, Javor realized: dry, chewy, and a little salty. When he swallowed, Tiana and Austinus bowed to the sunlight; Javor followed suit.

Her prayer done, Tiana took Javor to an ornate chair. He sat facing the high window under the sunlight, hot and bright. "The glory of the Pleroma, imperfectly reflected in the sun," Tiana said. "Yet brighter than the eye of man can behold." She began to sing, and Austinus, Philip and Malleus joined her in singing praise, their voices rising in joy. Their song ended with the word "rapture!"

There was a long pause during which the four Gnostics looked at each other, then at Javor. He started to get uncomfortably hot.

"You have now been sealed five times in the light of the water, that death may not have power over you," Tiana said. "You are qualified to experience the True Glory that is higher than any glory. You have been stripped of the garments of ignorance and put on a shining cloak of knowledge. You may now partake of the mystery of knowledge and become a light in light."

"Welcome, Javor," said Austinus. "You are now an Initiate to the Secret Knowledge. Guard it well." He pointed back to the main part of the chamber, so Javor stood and followed the Comes back to the table in the centre of the room. Someone closed the curtain while Nikos opened the main door and stepped back inside. Someone else must have opened a window, for a cool draft was refreshing Javor. Other young men, initiates all, brought chairs, small tables and trays of food. Austinus served Javor water, wine, fruit and cheese, while the others helped themselves. More young men bustled in and out of the chamber, carrying food, books, scrolls and other items for Austinus and Tiana. Nikos gave Javor back his dagger and then faded away. Two monks stacked up scrolls and heavy books on the table.

When they were done with breakfast, Austinus sat in his beautiful chair and said "Now that you have been admitted to the secret mysteries, we may talk more freely. Please, will you show us your dagger again?"

Javor drew it from its sheath; it glittered in the sunlight. Everyone in the room gathered closer and peered at the blade.

"Yes, these markings are very curious," Austinus said. "I recognized some of them the first time I saw it, when you came here and had your duel with Malleus. I have done much study since, reading in some of our oldest sources, and I think I have found more information." He pointed carefully along the blade. "These markings are ideograms, a type of writing from Cathay in the far east. This script dates back thousands of years, and comes from people who moved from a country that is at the top of the highest mountains in the world.

"I recognized these characters initially," he pointed to a series of boxes and squiggles near the handle of the knife. "And after consulting some ancient texts, I think that they are the name of the maker of the blade. And these here are an invocation for good fortune to the... I think it means the rightful bearer of the blade." He reached for a scroll, opened it, peered at it with a furrowed brow, discarded it and picked up another, then dropped it and picked up a third to study it just as carefully. "Yes, it seems that the blade is intended to be used only by a member of a select group." He put down the scroll and picked up a codex, brushed dust off the cover and opened it up. He carefully turned crumbling pages until his eyes lit up as he found what he was looking for. "Ah, yes, that character is a warning of ill fortune to he who attempts to wield the dagger without... something. Hmm. I don't know what that something is, exactly." He put down the text and sorted through more scrolls.

Tiana pointed to another character on the blade, then to something similar on a scroll. "It means something like 'friend' or 'companion," she said. Then she carefully turned the blade over. "What about these markings on the other side?"

Everyone, even Malleus, drew closer to look at the markings that curved along the blade. Philip, Tiana and Austinus spread scrolls on the table, searching for some kind of translation.

"This one means 'blade,'" said Philip.

"And this one means 'earth," said Austinus.

"This one here, halfway down the length of the blade, signifies 'protection,'" said Tiana. "And this one here means 'bone.' Or perhaps 'bones.' The writer of these characters is saying the blade is made of the 'bones of the earth.'"

"So he went to all this trouble to say it comes from ore mined deep in the earth?" Philip wondered.

"Maybe he was just being poetic," suggested Malleus, the first time he had spoken that morning. "Steel comes from iron, which is mined underground. We liken ore to veins in the earth. Perhaps these ancient people thought it was more like bones."

"Perhaps," said Tiana, staring intently at the blade.

They spent hours looking at the dagger, turning it over again and again. Philip made drawings of the blade, the handle and the writing on it. Austinus and Tiana read scrolls and books. Javor tried to remember everything that Photius had said about the knife. He had mostly spoken about the amulet, but Javor wanted to stay quiet about that. Austinus had seen it, but seemed to have dismissed it as a bit of pagan costume.

Finally, the group was tired. "Well, as far as we can tell, the writings seem to be an attempt to cast a spell," said Philip, summing up what they had decided. "The dagger is meant to be carried and used only by certain people. In the hands of the select few, it is an unbeatable weapon that cannot be destroyed in combat. It was made from the bones of the earth, whatever those are. And... well, that's all we know."

Austinus stood and sighed. "Yes, that's as much as we are going to determine today. I suggest we all rest. Let's rejoin the brotherhood of the Abbey for the midday meal and then get back to our regular chores for the rest of the day. Apparently, we have more research to do. I suggest we reconvene in three days.

"Javor, you are an Initiate now, and not a Novice. We have to keep the Initiation secret from your fellow novices, but you do deserve better quarters. Remind me in a month or so to have you granted the Orthodox rites, promote you and get you better living quarters than a cell. But don't tell anyone about it, just yet." And with that, he dismissed Javor again.

Javor returned to his cell and lay quietly the rest of the day, trying to think about what had happened and what it might mean.

The next evening, Philip took Javor to another room in the Initiate-only part of the Abbey. It was the first time he had ever seen a library, and he marvelled at the shelves along three walls, bearing countless scrolls and codices, or books.

Philips pulled one codex down and put it on a table in the middle of the room.

"This is a very special, secret testament, and you must never even breathe a word of its existence outside this room," he said with his hand protectively over the cover. "There are only two copies of this in the whole world, and no one else even knows this one exists. There are officers of the churches of Rome and of Constantinople who are searching for these kinds of texts to destroy them. If they were to find it with you, they would burn you at the stake as a heretic, and probably everyone else in this Abbey to protect against the slightest chance that anyone would know of it."

As soon as he put his hands on the cover, Javor felt his amulet tremble."What is it?" Javor whispered.

Philip opened the cover. Inside, in a beautiful and simple script, was written "The Sophia of Jesus Christ."

"Sophia of Jesus?" Javor asked, not daring to turn the page.

"Wisdom. This is the truest account of the words of the Savior, Jesus, the Christ, the embodiment of the Logos," breathed Philip, fearful and reverent.

Philip turned the page. The top was shadowed in the poor light of the tower room, but Javor's eye fell on one passage: "the Savior appeared—not in his previous form, but in the invisible spirit. And his likeness resembles a great angel of light. But his resemblance I must not describe. No mortal flesh could endure it, but only pure, perfect flesh."

Javor's throat felt dry. "Is this true?" he asked, his head swimming and his heart pounding.

"This is the truest of all the gospels, and the most secret." Philip let Javor read a few pages, then gently closed the book and sent Javor to bed.

Austinus' words about a "deeper knowledge," and his Gnostic initiation changed Javor's view of his Christian education. At first, he tried hard to memorize every detail of the Creation, Abraham, the Exodus, the Passion. The unquestioning faith of Fathers Peter and Albertus now was impossible for Javor.

Maybe I can think of the Bible as a way to explain the universe to children. The concept of the Pleroma emanating aeons that were still fully part of itself was hard to understand, but by simplifying it to a Father and a Son, the Church made religion easy to grasp. Still—why no Great Mother? There is a Mother of Jesus, but who made the Father?

The Christians look up to heaven, as if it's in the sky. But they call the earth hell.

Christmas came with cold weather, and church services got longer, more splendid and more sombre; Javor wondered how the congregations could seem so depressing while professing the birth of the Saviour. He learned not to question the contradictions in the story—questions usually earned him derision and scorn, or at least a passing reference to "the mystery of Faith."

He did not get involved in the arguments about how Jesus Christ was divine and fully human. Maybe the answer is that the human mind cannot comprehend God. But no one ever said anything like that.

These Romans are ready to fight and riot over the littlest things when it comes to religion.

Receiving instruction in two different, overlapping religions at the same time often got confusing. Javor once asked Father Peter "Which Gospel says Mary Magdalene married Jesus?" Father Peter's face go so red, Javor thought it would pop.

"Where did you ever hear such a heretical idea?" he screamed. Foam flew from his lips. "I ought to have you flogged for uttering such blasphemy!" Terrified at the priest's anger, Javor ran from the room.

"Examinations will come soon, Javor," Brother Theodor said one day. "How do you feel about that?"

"What's coming?" Javor was still expanding his Greek vocabulary.

"Examinations," Brother Theodor repeated gently. "Where your instructors will measure how much, and how well you have learned your lessons in Catechism, history, rhetoric and so on."

The whole concept was new to Javor. "How will they do that?"

"By asking questions about the things they have taught you. Do you feel ready?"

Javor thought about that quietly for a few minutes. "I think I should try to keep feelings out of it," he said, finally. "I'll rely on memory and logic."

Brother Theodor was speechless.
Chapter 25: The barbarian princess

Winter in Constantinople was mostly rainy and dull. Winds blew wet and miserable through bare trees, chasing drops off rooftops. Javor did not miss the killing snows of his home, but he found it almost impossible to feel warm.

The monks and priests had given up on assigning menial tasks to Javor. Everyone could tell he was favoured by the Comes. He had his regular duties helping to clean up in the kitchen, but he was usually excused from work in the stables along with the other first-years to make time for his lessons in Gnostic knowledge.

Of course, no one else knew he was learning about gnosis. And he liked to help his friends when he could. He even was willing to help Flaccus shovel manure from the stable.

"Are you going to be a priest?" Flaccus asked one brighter day that brought a promise of spring. The air was almost warm and the sky was clearing.

Javor was shocked. "Why would you think that?"

"Well, you're doing a lot of extra classes." Flaccus flung another pitchfork of manure onto the pile.

Javor thought fast. "I'm training for a—a mission." Will he believe that? Why didn't I ask Austinus about this? He wheeled a barrow to Flaccus. "I've just been talking to the Comes about my people in the North. What it will take to convert them to Christianity. The True Faith," he added.

Flaccus dug his pitchfork into the smelly pile and grunted. "Don't you need to be a priest to be a missionary?"

"No, not at all," Javor said quickly.

Flaccus grunted again and shovelled more manure into the barrow. "You've got a pretty sweet deal, here."

"What do you mean?"

"You do about half the work of any of the rest of us." Flaccus's tone was flat, neutral; anyone but Javor would know he was bitter. "No after-school chores. No stable chores. Just a little help in the kitchen—that's all they ask of you."

Javor thought hard. "Well, the missionary training is pretty tough. I have to learn... another whole language."

Flaccus leaned on his manure shovel. "Oh really? I thought you already spoke Slavic."

"I'm not 'Slavic,' Flaccus," Javor protested. "I told you: my people are the 'Sklaveni.'"

"Okay, okay," Flaccus waved.

They were interrupted by Brother Sergius. "Fall out in the main courtyard. We're going to see a Triumph."

"What's a Triumph?" Javor asked, but Sergius ignored him.

"Whose Triumph is it?" Flaccus asked, putting his pitchfork in its place and brushing off his cassock.

"General Priscus has returned victorious from a campaign against the Slavs," Sergius said, and Flaccus turned to Javor and raised a single eyebrow. "We are all going to the Mese to watch the parade."

Within the hour, the entire Abbey, priests, monks, novices and the few initiates like Javor were trooping down the hill toward the Mese. Because the big thoroughfare would be dominated by rich people, Father Albertus decided they should all walk through the side-streets toward the Tetrapylon, the great four-sided gate where the Mese intersected Embolos Avenue.

They were paralleled as they walked by the Sisters of the Convent of St. Mary. Dressed all in white robes and kerchiefs, the Sisters did their best to snub the Brothers.

The closer they got to the Mese, the heavier the crowds got. Before they were halfway to their destination, the Brothers and the Sisters were separated by throngs of other Byzantines, all hurrying to get a look at the triumphant army on its return.

Javor was soon separated from the rest of the monks. He looked up and down the broad avenue, lined with spectators and scattered Praetorian Guards, but he couldn't see anyone else from the Abbey. But he forgot about looking for them when the Triumph came into view.

For the first time, Javor saw the true might and majesty, the basis of the power of the Roman Empire: its Legions. Looking at the Equites on horseback, capes fluttering in the April breeze, at the ranks upon ranks of proud Legionnaires, stepping high with straight legs, Javor felt there was nothing on earth that could stand against them. The men looked—indomitable. Where did I learn that word? Their faces were proud, stern, terrible. They looked straight ahead, to the future, confident in their power to continue the Empire forever.

Then came hundreds, thousands of prisoners: men, women and children tied and chained at the necks and legs; some were cramped into rough yet sturdy wooden cages on wagons pulled by oxen. The cages were not high enough for the men to stand up straight, and many prisoners bore terrible wounds. They wore only dirty rags. The women stood staring wide-eyed, hands like claws around the wooden bars. The children were dirty and slumped; their eyes looked dead. "They say General Priscus brings more than seventeen thousand prisoners back from the war against Bayan, Khagan of the Avars," said someone beside Javor.

Avars! The word ran through Javor like a blade. He remembered the fur-hatted horsemen on the hillside on his birthday—not even a year ago, but it seemed like a different world. He remembered their cruelty, remembered old Oresh falling under their mace, remembered Elli's screams as Krajan and his men took her and Grat for multiple rape. The dirty, broken men in the cages didn't look like they were capable of cruelty anymore. "The Empire defeated the Avars?"

"In battle after battle, Priscus defeated and routed them!" gushed the man beside Javor. He was thin and had light-brown skin and lots of curly black hair. White teeth flashed under a prominent nose. "He killed sixty thousand of the barbarians!"

"Just Avars? Some of those prisoners look like Sklavenes."

"Huh? You mean Slavs? Probably. They're servants of the Avars."

"No, they're not. I'm Sklavenic—a 'Slav.'" Javor did not know why he felt angry.

"Oh—sorry. I thought you were Sarmatian."

Javor's anger deflated. He had never heard of Sarmatians. He turned his attention back to the parade. After what seemed like hours, the train of prisoners passed. Behind them was another troop of soldiers in splendid uniforms and gleaming armour, and behind them, a great wagon pulled by a team of enormous horses. On the wagon was a huge cage made of polished bronze, and inside the cage, sitting on a small but splendid chair of wood and bronze, sat a thin, young woman dressed in long, colourful robes. Her long brown hair hung down in waves behind her, tied with a golden ribbon. She had an oval face and a long nose, but the most striking thing about her were her big, green eyes. In her thin face, they looked even bigger, and sad beyond anything Javor had ever seen.

Javor gasped. The thin man beside him looked at him quizzically.

Javor could not take his eyes off the girl in the cage. Even though her clothes were resplendent, shimmering under the afternoon sun in more colours than Javor could ever name, he recognized her. It was Danisa.

She had the same half-starved appeal, the same look of wonder and terror in her eyes as Elli on the night he had brought her back from being kidnapped by the Avars. Behind Danisa, in another, plain wooden cage on another, plain wagon, was a small group of other women, wearing plain, rough-looking robes and dark scarves.

"Why is that girl in the cage?" he asked.

"Her?" The dark-haired man squinted. "She's the barbarian princess, Ingund. The most valuable hostage. The daughter of some Slavic king who's a vassal of Bayan. Pretty enough, if you like that type. Kind of thin, though. She'll probably be married to some Roman or Greek nobleman.The ladies behind her are her noble ladies. Or what passes for nobles among the barbarians."

Javor could not believe his eyes. It was Danisa. His Danisa. "Ingund? How do you know she's named 'Ingund'?"

The dark man shrugged. "I don't know. It's the word around town."

"If she's going to be married, why does she look so sad? And why is she in a cage?"

The dark man sputtered for a moment. "Well, it's not her choice. She's a princess! Her marriage is part of the peace treaty between Rome and whatever God-forsaken country she comes from!"

Javor watched the girl as her wagon slowly rolled past. She was trembling, and the crowds along the street were taunting her, hurling insults. Javor wondered if she could understand the language, but even if she couldn't, she must have understood the tone, the intent to jeer and humiliate the enemy's princess. But she ignored the crowd, looking down at her feet. The ladies behind her were all crying.

"Danisa! Danisa!" he called, as loudly as he could, when her cage-wagon passed him. But she didn't hear him.

"What's wrong?" the dark-haired man asked. "Do you know her?"

Javor shook his head, fighting back tears. Something told him to keep his knowledge to himself. What would people think? He watched Danisa until her cage was out of sight.

The final display of the parade came into view: the triumphant general, Priscus, in shining silver armour decorated with gold tassels and bracelets. His helmet was plated with a gold eagle on the front, and was topped with a huge plume of pure white horse-hair. A white and gold cape fluttered from his shoulders in the morning breeze. He rode in a gilded chariot, driven by a tall black slave and pulled by two huge white horses, and he waved and smiled at the crowds who cheered as he went by.

"That's Priscus!" shouted the dark-haired man.

"He's so handsome!" exclaimed an older woman behind him.

Priscus seemed to be a typical Roman to Javor: short, with dark curls escaping from under the helmet ; a broad face with a heavy nose and mouth. He looks a lot like Antonio. But I'll bet he has all his teeth.

They watched the parade go by until it had disappeared down the Mese, presumably to be greeted by the Emperor. The crowd was excited. Men congratulated each other on the power of the Legions and the intelligence and prowess of the general as if they had personally and single-handedly defeated the Avar Khagan.

Danisa. What are you doing in Constantinople? Why do people call you Ingund? Javor found the other monks on his way back to the Abbey. He kept thinking about Danisa in the pond, the way the wet cloth clung to her skin, the way the sunlight flickered in her green eyes, the shape of her mouth and her long chin. He thought of how they had made love that night when they both had too much to drink. But more than anything else, he thought of her green eyes. Her big, bright green eyes that seemed to know everything.

You said you were the daughter of the hetman. I guess that makes you a princess. But how did you get back home? Or did you? Are you really a captive?

Was anything you said true?

At the Abbey, he went immediately to find Austinus. "Domestikos? Did you see the parade?"

"Parade? The Triumph? Well, I saw some of it from the high window as it went along the Mese. Why do you ask?"

"Did you see the girl in the cage? The princess?"

"Ingund? Yes, I saw her. Pretty little thing, but terribly thin. Poor girl."

"What will happen to her?"

"Why, she will be married to the son of a senator or proconsul or one of the Emperor's high officials. Why do you ask?"

"Well, she didn't look very happy. Not like a bride going to her wedding."

"She is more than just a bride on her way to a wedding, Javor. She is a princess, a representative of her nation. Her happiness is not at issue."

"Well, it doesn't seem very fair."

"Fair? Her marriage may stabilize relations between her nation, whatever it is, and Rome. Is it fair that young Gothic or Slavic men should die at the Legions' swords? Is it fair that Gothic and Slavic towns should be razed and children orphaned and enslaved?"

Javor was shocked. He had never dreamed of the way that international politics worked. Princesses marry foreign princes to guarantee a peace treaty. He stared at the floor while that idea settled in his brain. "So, is she a prisoner?"

"Oh, without question. She is no more free than her countrymen who are even now being sold on the slave block. But she will be far more comfortable. Her only duty will be to produce sons for her husband."

Austinus sat down on a wooden bench. "Tell me, Javor, among your people, does a young girl choose her husband?"

"Well, not on her own. The boy—the man—is supposed to be the one who chooses the wife and pursues her. He's supposed to ask her father permission to marry her. But if a girl likes a boy, she has ways to let him know. And then the parents get involved. Sometimes too much. I know one boy who liked a girl, but his mother didn't like her mother and wouldn't let him marry her. But usually, the girl likes the boy she marries. And she at least knows him."

"Ah, yes. That is the difficulty for the girl. I imagine it is the source of her greatest discomfort: the fear of what she might find when she meets her husband-to-be for the first time."

Javor thought about Danisa in her multi-coloured robes and in her wooden cage, about her sad, sad face and big green eyes. So much like Elli, yet so different. "Where will she live?" he asked, and noticed that the sun was getting low. Verros would be screaming at the novices in the kitchen to get the evening meal ready.

"I do not know. In some well-defended palace in the Caenopolis section, I expect. Comfortable, prestigious as befits the intended bride of a senator's son, but easy to defend so that she does not escape."

"When will the wedding happen?"

Austinus shrugged again. "Probably not for some months. There will be a lot of preparations and celebrations along the way of a royal wedding."

I wonder if I could break her out of there? No, that's crazy. Impossible! How would I get her out of the city? And it would cause another war!

He realized then that he had fallen in love with Danisa long before that day by the pond. And he also realized that he really had no way of knowing how she felt about him.
Chapter 26: Examining the dagger

The next morning, Nikos fetched Javor immediately after breakfast, asked him to bring his dagger and led him to a square outbuilding beside the main Abbey building. I always have my dagger. And my amulet.

The inside of the square building was brightly lit by large windows almost the full size of the northern wall. Shields and armour hung on wooden racks, spears tied together like sheaves of wheat stood near the walls, swords hung from pegs on the walls, helmets lined up like severed heads on shelves with other metal, wooden and leather gear that Javor couldn't identify. At one end, a forge threw off a little heat.

In the midst of the armour, weapons, frames, tables and benches were the Comes Austinus with Philip, Malleus and another man Javor had never seen before. He was tall and thin and completely bald; the corners of his eyes and his mouth drooped slightly so that he looked continuously sad.

"Ah, good morning, Javor!" Austinus said. Behind him, the bald man looked at Javor with a slightly guilty expression. "So good of you to come so early. As you know, I have been looking into your mysterious dagger—or trying to. I have not managed to get very far." He turned to the bald man. "So, I have called on my good friend, here, an expert on metals and metal-working and a fellow Gnostic, although not a member, per se, of our Order. Javor, this is Pello Hephastios. Pello, Javor, the young man from the North I was telling you about."

Pello nodded and smiled sadly. "Hello, Javor. A pleasure to meet you."

"And you," Javor replied, remembering his manners. "What is this place?"

"This is the Order's armory," said Malleus. "Not many people are allowed in here."

"Only the Initiates," said Austinus. "But everyone here knows we have an Armory. While it doesn't seem to be in keeping with the Lord's message of peace, it is necessary to keep one for our own defence in case of an emergency, or if the Emperor calls upon us to do our duty for defence of the Empire. Malleus is our Chief Armourer." Malleus bowed ironically.

"Now, my boy, would you let me see your dagger again?" Austinus asked. Reluctantly, Javor drew it out and put it in the Comes' hand. Austinus watched it catch the early sun's light, then passed it to Pello.

"Well, Javor, you have a certainly fascinating dagger," Pello said.

"Fascinating in what way?" Javor asked. He didn't like this strange man handling his great-grandfather's dagger. His amulet started to tingle.

"Well, there's the script along both sides, that's obvious." Pello had a deep yet scratchy voice that made him seem even older than his bald head already did. "But the metal itself is also baffling. It's not steel nor iron nor any other material that I have ever seen before."

That surprised Javor. "Really? It looks like steel."

Pello held the blade out, careful not to point it toward Javor. "At first glance. But even an ordinary blacksmith could see the difference. It's an old blade and you tell me it's been in a number of battles. I even saw that gouge that you put in the stone floor of the Council Chamber." Javor's remembered his duel with Malleus that first day in the Abbey. "Yet the edge is sharper than anything I have ever seen. And look at the surface of the blade—not a scratch or mark of any kind. Tell me, Javor, do you spend much time cleaning and sharpening it?"

"Um, no," Javor stammered, embarrassed. "Actually, other than wiping blood off it, I've never done anything to it."

Pello nodded. "I didn't think so." He picked up a block of sharpening stone and, to Javor's alarm, scraped it along the face of the dagger. He looked close and then showed it to Austinus, Javor and Malleus. "See? Harder than flint, which makes it harder than any steel I've ever seen." He then scraped the stone along the edge, back and forth several times, straight along to intentionally dull it instead of sharpen it. Then he cleanly sliced a sheet of paper that lay on a table.

Pello gave the dagger to Javor and brought him to a Legionnaire's steel breastplate that was strapped to a wooden frame. "Javor, try to pierce that breastplate."

Javor drew deep breaths to summon as much strength as he could. He raised the dagger over this head in both hands, jumped and swung the dagger down with a yell. There was a metallic shriek and the armour split in two halves that clattered to the floor.

"Good God," said Philip quietly.

"What is it made of?" Austinus wondered.

They tried again with another piece of armour, which Javor found even easier to pierce. Then he swung it against a Legionnaire's sword, shattering it. Javor didn't even feel like he had hit that hard. He walked around the armoury, stabbing at greaves and shields, slicing and piercing them at will until an alarmed Malleus made him stop.

"Unbelievable," said Pello, looking carefully at the blade again. It still shone in the morning light. "Not a scratch, not a mark. The edge is still perfect."

By then, it was almost noon. Austinus called for a break and told Javor to put the dagger away. Older monks brought lunch: cold chicken and fresh bread, washed down with sour wine. I sure would like to drink more of that wine from the initiation ceremony.

The older men talked about legendary magic swords and knives. There were apparently many stories from Persia about adepts with magical swords. Austinus reminded them of ancient Greek legends of heros like Perseus who had magical swords of bronze. Philip recited a tale of a Sarmatian prince who pulled a sword out from being embedded in a mountain and became invincible. And Pello told a story he had heard about a warrior who found a sword made by giants, and cut the head off a monster that was impervious to other weapons. "But then the sword dissolved into mist," he concluded.

"That sounds like my sword!" Javor exclaimed, drawing looks of surprise and doubt. "I told you that Photius and I took weapons and some treasure from Ghastog's cave." The men nodded. "Later, my village was attacked by a dragon—the dragon that attacked us as we came out of the cave, the dragon that Photius warded off with his glowing staff."

"You didn't tell us that the dragon attacked your village," said Philip.

Javor's face felt like it was burning. "I'm sorry. It's hard. The day after I returned from Ghastog's cave with Photius, the dragon attacked. I had a sword from the cave, and when the dragon was right over me, I swung it with all my might. I drew blood, but the blade dissolved into smoke. Only the handle was left."

The four men looked at him intently, but Javor couldn't guess what they were thinking. "Why didn't you tell us this before?" Philip asked after a long pause.

"Because the hetman, all the villagers, said I had to leave. They thought I was bringing danger to them. They said..." He fought tears down. "...they said that monsters were attacking because of me, that they'd be safer if I was gone. So they gave Photius and me some food and clothes, and sent me out." He sniffed.

"And you said the dragon followed you?" Austinus asked. Javor nodded. He didn't trust his voice not to break.

Austinus poured him more wine and called for the monks to take away the dishes and leftovers. Javor was glad for the distraction. He took a deep breath and let it out, slowly. He hadn't realized how deeply his exile had affected him. Nor how much he missed his mother and father.

Malleus brought out a long, heavy-looking shield. "There is a legend this was made by Archimedes himself centuries ago, but I doubt that," he said, setting it up in another wooden frame. "It is the strongest shield we have. It's backed with oak and plated with the strongest, best steel I have ever seen. The secret of its forging escapes the best smiths in the city (no offence, Pello), and no one has ever been able to pierce it." Javor could see, however, that many people had tried, as the dull grey surface, decorated with a plain round boss in the centre and swirls of iron around the edges, was dented and scratched in many places. "Now, Javor, I want you to try piercing that."

"Malleus, are you sure? Such an ancient shield must be very valuable!"

"It's fine, boy. No one actually uses it—it's far too heavy to be much use in a real battle. Take your best swing at it."

Javor looked at the shield again, searching for a weak spot. I won't be able to do anything to this. He cocked his arm back and swung hard from the right side. The blade clattered on the shield, making it ring, but bounced off. Javor planted his feet firmly on the floor and stabbed. The blade rang and skittered along the shield's face, but didn't penetrate. He moved his feet a little farther apart and took the dagger in both hands, raised it over his head, took a deep breath, and then with all his might, brought the dagger down.

The edge bit into the shield and sliced lower, then stopped with a jarring shudder. Javor had to let go. The blade was deeply embedded in the side of the shield. He tried to pull it out, but his hands slipped off. He tried again, wiggling the handle, but it wouldn't budge. He tried twisting, pushing, levering it up and down, but the dagger wouldn't move.

The men gathered around. "Unbelievable!" Malleus marvelled. He tried to remove it, too, but had no more success than Javor. Pello and Philip both tried in their turn, then Javor and Malleus tried together.

They spent hours struggling to remove the dagger from the shield. Some of them would hold the shield and others the dagger's handle, and pull in opposite directions; they laid the shield on the floor and stood on the dagger's handle; Javor held the dagger while Pello hit the shield with a hammer. Then, despite Javor's fretting, he hammered on the dagger.

Nothing worked.

The sun was getting low when Austinus called a halt. They were all sweaty and exhausted, covered in dust and oil. Malleus locked the dagger-embedded shield in a large cabinet and Austinus told them to wash up for dinner. "We'll try again tomorrow," he promised.

Javor went to bed feeling very uneasy, almost naked and defenceless. He lay awake for a long time, but sleep would not come.

When he saw dawn's grey outside the eastern windows, he pulled on a robe, a scarf and thick socks against the chill. Careful not to wake the others, he crept back to the armoury. Inside, he could barely see the gear and was afraid of stepping on something, but the big windows let in a lot of the watery grey light. He could see the iron shield on the frame, his dagger still embedded in its side. A shrouded man stood beside it.

"Domestikos?" he said.

Austinus turned. "Javor! Well, you certainly know how to move quietly."

"What are you doing here so early?"

"The same thing as you: looking at your dagger." A candle flared to life on its own. So he can do the same tricks as Photius. "Look closely: even at this, there is no mark, no scratch on the blade." Javor looked: he was right. The blade shone in the candle's yellow light, the only mark on it the strange foreign characters. They both looked at the blade while the light outside slowly grew stronger.

Javor took the handle in both hands and tugged, pushed, levered up and down and side to side. He leaned on in with all his weight, then squatted under it and pushed up with all his might. He put the heels of both hands at the butt of the handle, bent his knees and pushed up, then sprang up and nearly jumped down on it. He repeated that over and over until he was covered in sweat and his grip started to slip.

The dagger didn't move.

"Enough, Javor," Austinus said. "Go bathe and have breakfast. And come again this afternoon to the Council Chamber. We must plan our strategy."

"Strategy for what?"

"Go."
Chapter 27: The Hippodrome

Javor felt on edge without his dagger under his clothes. Even the amulet was upset, trembling on and off all day long. The other novices and monks noticed Javor was out of sorts. "Weirder than ever," he heard behind him, repeatedly.

Flaccus surprised Javor and the rest of their little gang. After breakfast and clean-up chores were finished, he led them to the side gate behind the stables, checking around corners for watchful monks. When the way was clear, they slipped out the gate, wincing as it squeaked, and ran as silently as they could down the narrow alley. They barely dared to breathe until the Abbey was out of sight. They were on a relatively wide street with just a few people. A very short, bald man in a green cloak stood on the corner.

"Where are we going, Flaccus?" Sandulf asked.

"To the Hippodrome!" Flaccus announced.

"What's a hippodrome?" Javor asked.

"Where the horses race!" answered Sandulf.

"The Emperor has proclaimed races to celebrate Priscus' victory over the barbarians," Flaccus explained.

"That was two months ago!" Javor protested. He did not feel like celebrating anything, but the others were anxious to get out of the Abbey again.

"We're going to watch the horse races!" Ammon shouted, a wide grin splitting his long face.

Flaccus led them through narrow streets and alleys to a broad avenue crowded with horses, carriages, chariots and pedestrians, all streaming southward into the slanting sunlight. The buildings here were bigger, grander and more beautiful than any Javor had yet seen in the capital of the Roman Empire: huge colonnades, gilded and painted statues, frescoes and mosaics along the walls. The road had been swept clean. Javor could see workers sweeping up after the horses, scrubbing the cobblestones.

Ahead, a huge wall rose at the end of the street. He realized he was at the Milion, the square white stone that marked the beginning of the first mile of the Roman Empire. And behind it, the biggest building that he had ever seen: grey stone walls that rose higher and higher over his head, as big, he thought, as a mountain.

"That's the stadium of the hippodrome," said Flaccus. "It was built by the Emperor Constantine the Great, and it's said that a hundred thousand can find a seat inside."

Javor was speechless. In front of the building were four enormous horses made of shining gold. Behind them was a huge wood and iron gate, guarded by legionnaires in gleaming armour, brilliant red capes and peacock-erect helmets. Between them, the crowd lined up patiently outside the great Hippodrome of Constantine.

Javor had never imagined anything so enormous. Passing through the gate, he was atop a wall more than twice his own height, a wall that stretched out so far that before it curved back, it was only a blur. Its face was covered with bronze, some of it turning green, but all worked into images of monsters and gods, battles and animals, goddesses and demons.

Rising above the wall were rows of benches, tier upon tier so high they made him dizzy until the topmost was lost in the sky. The benches were filling with men of all ages and sizes, from children to seniors, dressed in fine robes and tattered rags. Many had green ribbons tied around their arms, or triangular green scarves around their necks. In another section, he could see a great field of blue.

"Wait—why are there no women here?" he asked.

"Women don't come to games!" Ammon said, shocked that Javor would even ask.

The noise level was nearly deafening: thousands of men talking, shouting, calling one another, insulting their rivals. One section of spectators, all with blue ribbons on their shoulders, were chanting something Javor couldn't quite understand, but clearly insulting another group in another section who wore green scarves. The greens were shouting something back.

The area enclosed by the stadium was an expanse of sand. In the centre, so distant that he could barely see any details, rose a white twisting column. Two other tall columns tapered to points. "Those are obelisks that the Emperor brought from other lands he conquered—back in the old days," Flaccus explained.

At each end of the sandy area stood a gargantuan statue of a bearded man. The shin on the nearer statue was as tall as Javor himself. Muscular and heroic, he carried a club and looked confidently out over the crowded stadium. "That's Herakles," said Flaccus. The name sounded faintly familiar to Javor from some of Photius' stories. The sudden memory of the old warrior brought surprising tears to Javor's eyes.

He blinked, taking in other colossal statues: one showed a woman holding a life-size horse and rider in her hand; across the sand was an immense eagle, wings spread; there were several circular holes drilled in the wings. He wanted to ask about them, but Flaccus was already busy showing off his knowledge of the Hippodrome. "See that twisting column? That's the Serpentine Column. Constantine the Great had it brought from Delphi. And that's Romulus and Remus with their wolf-mother, and there's the Obelisk of Thutmosis—he was Pharaoh of Egypt until the Emperor Constantine the Great conquered Egypt—"

"I thought Egypt was conquered by Augustus Caesar," Sandulf protested.

"Oh, so now you're an expert on the Hippodrome, Sandulf," Flaccus said cuttingly.

"No, but..."

"And do you see that statue of the charioteer and his team of horses?" Flaccus went on. "Over there, almost in the exact middle: that's Porphyrios, the greatest chariot-racer ever. It's said that he never lost a race, and retired undefeated."

For the first time, Javor began to appreciate the sheer wealth of the Roman Empire, concentrated in its capital city. Gilded statues, blinding in the sunlight; tapestries fluttering in the breeze, showing triumphs of the Legions; the thousands upon thousands of men all around him, dressed in their finest clothes and jewelry, sitting in relative comfort in a building bigger by more than twenty-fold than the entire village he had known most of his life, all for the purpose of... sport.

Games. Diversions. Nothing to do with producing food for the inhabitants of the big city, or to protect them against raiders.

He sat down on a wooden bench, which was bolted to concrete steps that ran right around the length of the stadium, allowing each row to see above the heads of the row in front of them. Great idea, Javor thought.

Flaccus continued to guide his friends around the Hippodrome from his seat. "And over there," he pointed to the far left side of the stadium, which was covered by a vast purple awning, "is the Kathisma, where the Imperial Family sits to watch the races or games or whatever's going on. It's connected by a special passage directly to the Imperial Palace, which is right behind the wall, there. Maybe the Emperor himself will come to watch the races today!"

Javor couldn't clearly see the far end of the stadium, and even the Emperor's lodge, the Kathisma, was a blur. Closer in, the Blues and the Greens were still chanting insults at each other; men carried trays, calling out that they were selling food or little flasks of wine or beer.

"Can we get something to drink, Flaccus?" he asked.

"Too expensive, here. We'll all have something after the races. Be patient, Javor!"

Trumpets near the Kathisma brayed across the stadium and the crowd cheered, raising the noise level to something nearly unbearable—Javor had never experienced so much noise in his life.

"It's the Emperor Maurice and Empress Leontia!" Flaccus gushed.

"How can you tell from so far away?" asked Ammon.

"No one else can wear purple!"

Ammon, Javor and Sandulf squinted into the distance to see figures walk to seats at the edge of the wall that circled the hippodrome. A man in long purple robes with something golden on his head—Javor couldn't tell what it was from that distance—waved at the crowd, which cheered in response.

Another blare from the trumpets, and along the wall a wide gate swung open. A procession of mounted soldiers marched toward the Emperor. The cataphracts were all dressed in golden armour that shone bright in the sunlight. The horse-tail plumed helmets rippled in the breeze almost as one, and their bright red capes flowed behind them like a blood-stained river. Each one carried a spear, held rigidly upright, and their tips glinted as the horses marched past the Emperor's lodge. Even the horses were armoured, wearing blankets covered in polished steel scales that reflected the sunlight blindingly into the audience's eyes.

The company strutted the length of the Hippodrome toward the Emperor's lodge, and paused. Behind them came a company of foot soldiers, not as imposing but just as grand as the cataphracts, bearing long, decorated shields and long spears, marching in perfect formation and time with the trumpets. With a final stomp, they halted behind the horses.

The leader of the cavalry saluted the Emperor and shouted out a speech in Latin. "He's praising the Emperor and his wisdom, and thanking him for the opportunity to win glory for Rome in battles against the barbarians," Flaccus explained, showing off his command of Latin as well as Greek. "They've just returned from a successful campaign in Moesia, where they slaughtered barbarians." Javor involuntarily shuddered at the thought of villages like his own being overrun by those beautiful, gleaming and proud soldiers.

The company paraded around the stadium, showing the whole crowd the gleaming strength of their armour, the shining ferocity of their weapons. The crowd cheered.

Finally, it was time for the races. The trumpets blared again and from another gate came four chariots pulled by teams of four horses. The cheering and chanting of the crowd rose past deafening. Javor thought the noise would drive him insane. Behind each chariot was a team of men in matching tunics: blue, red, white, green. The horses' headdresses and other decorations matched the men.

The chariot drivers were resplendent in long, flowing robes of many colours—the colour of their teams, red, blue, green or white. They all wore fantastically decorated helmets and gaudy wristbands; one had several heavy gold necklaces. The teams strutted slowly past the Emperor, saluting with their right arms raised shoulder-high, straight out. The trumpets played a final braying note, and the chariots lined up on the sandy track. The drivers removed their decorative helmets and replaced them with smaller, more practical ones; their men bustled about, removing the horses' decorations.

A man announced the names of the racers, with long descriptions of their history, where they were born, the families they came from, the races they had won in the past and the names of their horses, but Javor heard almost none of it over all the cheering, chanting and booing. The people with blue scarves or kerchiefs cheered for the blue team, the green-wearing crowds for the green team and so on, and each booed the other teams as loudly as they could. The drivers played to the crowd, raising their arms and bowing, or making what even Javor understood as very rude gestures to various sections of the stadium.

"Ten on the red!" someone in the row below Javor said. What does that mean? But before he could ask Flaccus, the trumpets blew another note and the drivers gripped their reins firmly. Their men scrambled out of the way and the horses scraped their hooves on the sand, tossing their heads. The chariots moved forward and back as the announcer shouted "Ready! On the line! Teams in check! Annnnd... GO!"

The crowds screamed like insane demons as the horses leaped forward, jerking their drivers forward and back; some of the chariots even came off the ground a little, and then they were thundering along the sandy track along the wall. Dust rose behind them, and Javor was certain they would all collide with the wall. But after what he thought was the last possible second, they turned and continued around the inside edge of the stadium. The green chariot pulled ahead of the others, the red close behind.

"Twenty on the green!" screamed someone in the stands. "You got it! And ten on the white to place!" someone else answered. Spectators screamed incoherently as the chariots reached the far end of the stadium and turned precariously again. People stood up to see better, forcing Javor and his friends to copy them. The blue chariot didn't make it: one wheel rose off the ground as the horses pulled it around the corner. It tipped on its side, pulling the horses down into a pile of tangled legs and reins. A loud groan came from sections all around the stadium and Javor saw a man weeping.

The three remaining teams made it around the final curve and were all straining to reach the point where they had started. The green chariot was in front, but only barely, the red almost directly beside it, and the white chariot was edging closer. The crowd seemed to be one screaming beast, thousands of voices converging into a single roar. The horses put on one final burst of effort, dust rising high all around them as they passed the finish line. A man on the side of the track furiously waved a red flag and the crowd's scream changed. Some spectators jumped up and down, others slumped on their benches. In front of Javor, the man who had said "twenty on the green" handed coins to the man next to him, shaking his head.

Then Javor noticed people all around him exchanging coins. "What's going on?" he asked Flaccus.

"They bet on the races," said Flaccus, and then had to spend five minutes explaining the idea of betting to Javor.

Another group of chariots and teams came out to the stadium, again wearing red, white, blue or green. Again, the spectators wagered, cheered, chanted and booed, screamed as the horses thundered past, shouted in triumph, groaned as they lost, traded purses. Javor saw that the sizes of the wagers increased with each race.

Then he noticed a section of the stadium that was fenced off from the rest by waist-high wooden walls; posts at the corners of the fence held up an awning that blocked Javor's view of part of the race. Under the awning, a small group of very wealthy-looking men and women in long, beautiful robes, all decorated in colourful, thick patterns, sat on thick cushions. Slaves brought them wine in golden cups and delicacies to eat on polished trays. Unlike the crowds around them, they didn't seem to get very excited at the races; they watched attentively, clapped their hands delicately when a team they favoured won, shook their heads when their favourite lost, politely exchanged purses when they won or lost bets, as if the money didn't matter. They would sit back on their cushions, sip wine, point at something on the track or in the stands, call to their slaves for more to eat or drink. They smiled and chatted, sipped and nibbled, waved their fingers, laughed delicately. Against all the noise of the stadium, Javor couldn't hear a sound coming from under the awning. They didn't raise their voices or their hands, but seemed to conduct their lives with as little effort or passion as they could.

"Flaccus? I thought you said women did not come to the races," Javor asked.

Flaccus shrugged. "Those are some rich people. Maybe some senators and their concubines."

Concubines? Javor figured out what the word meant, himself. Tbese Romans really over-complicate sex.

The behaviour of the rich people fascinated Javor more than the races. He watched as two men in long white robes, trimmed with wide patterns in blue, red and yellow, and partly covered by another garment he would later learn was called a chlamys, debated the races with amused detachment, while young women fed them cakes.

The women never spoke to the men, but occasionally among themselves. They wore richly-patterned robes and transparent scarves over their heads, and glittering gold jewels around their wrists and hanging from their ears. They laughed almost silently, holding their hands delicately in front of their mouths, they tilted their heads, they took dainty sips of wine. Javor realized that the women never ate anything, and said as much to Flaccus.

"Oh, no, women never eat in public for fear of getting food on their clothes or fingers," Flaccus answered. "Especially that kind of woman."

One of the women appeared much younger than the others, much younger than the man she attended. She's the prettiest, too. Beautiful. "Stop staring at her!" Flaccus warned.

The crowds became more and more excited, rising to their feet at the end of every race. They screamed at the race judges when their favourites lost. The group chants grew louder and angrier as the wagers grew. Winners did little dances as they accepted purses, losers tore their hair and clothing. A group dressed in green started to fight a group in blue. Soldiers waded into the fray and brought heavy clubs down on heads until the fighting stopped, then dragged limp bodies away as the crowds screamed louder than ever.

Javor noticed movement at the Emperor's lodge at the far end of the stadium: the Emperor had stood. Soldiers in shining uniforms stood up smartly, picked up their spears, and marched in a formation surrounding the Emperor as he walked the steps, then disappeared into a door in the side of the stadium.

"The Emperor has a special walk-way to the Imperial Palace that only he can use," Flaccus explained.

The rich men and their concubines took the Emperor's departure as their cue. As another group of chariots gathered on the sand below, slaves picked up the rich people's cushions and put wine jugs into wooden crates. A group of soldiers gathered round them—not as glorious as the Emperor's guard, but big and menacing with clubs in their hands and swords hanging from their belts. They formed a ring around their patrons and as they walked down the steps toward the gate, the soldiers roughly pushed spectators who hadn't the sense to get out of the way. A number got kicked, and once a soldier raised his club, but he only had to threaten to clear a path. Their slaves carrying cushions and crates followed, pushing through the crowd as best they could.

"We should leave, too," Flaccus said. "The crowd is really getting wild." Getting out wasn't easy. Two groups, red and green, held a screaming match. Some started shoving. Flaccus led the way along the wall of the stadium. Just outside the gate, a group of bored-looking legionnaires slowly donned their gear, tightened their straps and buckled their swords. A centurion quietly urged them on; they were getting ready to quell the crowd, but it seemed routine.

The four friends walked as quickly as they could up the broad avenue back to Chalkoprateia. As they went, men and women poured in from the smaller streets, the colonnaded buildings and the tenements. The richer people hurried away from the Hippodrome, many carried on chairs by slaves or in chariots pulled by horses. "It's going to be a riot!" Flaccus said; Javor derived the word's meaning from the growing excitement, the sense of hatred and anger that filled the street, the fear of the rich, the old, the very young, the way shopkeepers closed their stalls and pulled heavy shutters across their windows.

Off the main street, the crowds were smaller. Javor, Flaccus, Sandulf and Ammon were almost at the Abbey when they heard a noise from behind, toward the Hippodrome, then something like thunder. Looking back, they saw a huge crowd of mostly young men running along the avenue they had just left, all wearing blue scarves, all yelling. From the other direction came more young men, dressed in green tunics, all carrying sticks, clubs or tools. The two groups clashed with a shock that Javor could feel. Men fell to the ground, blood spurted. The four novices were transfixed, watching with horror as young men bludgeoned and butchered each other over a chariot race.

A steady beat came from one side, and mounted soldiers rode slowly and steadily into the midst of the riot, swinging heavy clubs or chains attached to metal rods. They struck indiscriminately, knocking men down, spilling more blood. The rioters tried to run, but were blocked or attacked by other rioters.

The knights got closer. Some of the rioters fled toward the four novices, and Flaccus took off, running away from them into a tangle of narrow alleys. The others followed. "That's the wrong way, Flaccus!" Sandulf called, but they followed anyway.

They ran until they could not run any farther, then flopped onto the ground under a colonnade. "Why did you come this way, Flaccus?" Sandulf puffed. His face was red.

Flaccus wheezed. Javor thought his friend, who was sickly at the best of times, looked on the point of collapse. His breath shuddered his frame, he hung his head between his knees. When he had regained his breath, he leaned forward and vomited a thin stream between his feet. Gradually, he regained control over his breathing and his face returned to a slightly more normal colour.

"Because the avenue to the Abbey was full of soldiers," he panted. He took a few more breaths and then spat to clear his mouth.

Ammon struggled to his feet, then pulled Sandulf up. Javor helped Flaccus to stand. They stood quietly, listening: the sounds of rioting and of soldiers beating and killing civilians faded. Flaccus staggered a few steps until Javor held him up. Slowly, they made their way through narrow alleys and minor streets toward the Abbey and safety.
Chapter 28: Fire and glass

Where are we? The sun had set. There was almost no light except for dim reflections of fires. The noise from the main streets was deafening. The four novices wandered for what felt like hours until they found a broad avenue that none of them recognized. Javor felt his amulet warn him of danger. He turned and almost immediately was confronted by six men in brown tunics with flaring sleeves. Four carried flaming torches, and one had a drawn sword. In the flickering torchlight, Javor could see that they were wearing leather helmets, but their hair hung over their shoulders. They each had a green scarf tied in a triangle around their necks.

Their leader was big, almost as tall as Javor, and he carried a heavy cudgel. Oh, no.

"And what are you doing here?" demanded the leader, who had a silver star on his green scarf.

"Sorry, we're just kind of lost," Flaccus whined. "If you could tell us how to get to the Chalkoprateia—"

"Are you Blue or Green?" he demanded. He raised the cudgel and stepped toward Flaccus.

"Neither!" Javor protested, stepping between Flaccus and the guard. "We're novices from the Abbey of St. Mary."

The leader turned toward Javor. "Barbarian. Not a Green, for sure," he sneered.

"St. Mary's is an Orthodox church, Stavros," said one of his companions.

"You talk like an idiot," Stavros said, stepping very close to Javor. "So, the Blues are recruiting barbarians, is that it?"

Javor's amulet vibrated madly. "We didn't mean to come here—we were at the Hippodrome, and then this big fight started..." Stavros took another step closer and the amulet vibrated so hard, it was hot.

Javor heard a whoosh above him and a strange gust blasted them all with dust and grit. At the same time, every bell in every church-tower in Constantinople started ringing. Between the peals, they could hear doors slamming and feet running. Men yelled and horses clattered on the cobblestones. "Stavros!" one of the guards yelled over the din. "It's the call for general stations!" Javor's amulet felt like it would catch fire.

"Wait a minute!" Stavros answered.

His second-in-command took Stavros's arm. "Remember our duty, Stavros! We have to report in!"

Stavros wrenched his arm free and glared at Javor. He raised his arm again, but this time just to point down the street. "That way to the second corner, then turn left, and the Chalkoprateia's a half-mile away. Now get out of here and don't come back!" The guards hustled the other way, disappearing into the growing panic.

Javor felt like he knew the way, and ran down the avenue. His friends followed. All around them, men pulled on their Blue and Green uniforms, strapped on armour, loosened swords and hoisted spears. Women banged doors and shutters closed, screaming for their children. Torches flared alight. Horses clattered down the roads, hauling men and barrels of water. Javor could smell smoke, saw it billow up over the rooftops on his left. A glow: something big was burning. And on his chest, the amulet burned almost as hot.

"What's going on?" Javor shouted above the noise. St. Mary's bell was tolling almost continuously. Along with the silent shrieking of his amulet, he felt like they were going to drive him insane.

"It's the general alarm! The city is under attack!" Flaccus shouted at his heels. They banged on the gates of the Abbey of St. Mary and were surprised when Father Peter answered.

"Let us in, Father, there's a riot!" Sandulf pleaded.

Father Peter looked at the four boys with his little smile. Behind him were some of the senior boys. "And what were you boys doing outside today? Where were you during prayers? And Mass?"

None of the four wanted to say anything. Father Peter just looked at them, smiling, and the monks behind him scowled as the noise from the street got closer and louder.

"Please, just let us in before we get trampled!" Sandulf whined.

"Just tell me what you four have been doing all day."

Javor had no idea how much trouble they were in, but he didn't want to be caught in a riot, either. "We just went to see the Hippodrome, Father, and a riot started, but we had nothing to do with it. We didn't do anything wrong!"

Father Peter's eyebrows went up so high, Javor thought he would lose them. "Nothing wrong?" His voice rose as high as his eyebrows. "Nothing wrong? What about disobeying the Order? What about shirking your chores and responsibilities to your fellow novices and the rest of the Order? And horse-racing, gambling—and I know there are wanton women who attend such activities! How I wish the Emperor would banish these pagan spectacles as the heresy they are! Nothing good comes from horse-racing, and if you boys had been as observant and obedient as you have vowed to be, then you would never have gone near that den of evil, licentiousness and heresy, the Hippodrome!"

Peter's face was red. Froth appeared at the corners of his mouth. "You boys get into your cells and stay there until I call you! And no supper today or breakfast tomorrow, either, until we can devise a suitable punishment for you!" The four entered the Abbey just as five men in green tunics chased one in a blue scarf down the street.

Father Peter smacked Flaccus on the side of the head. "You really ought to know better, Brother Flaccus! What would your family say?"

"My family was there," Flaccus muttered, and Father Peter would have hit him, but Javor grabbed his wrist.

"How dare you?" Father Peter hissed. He wrenched his hand away and would have slapped Javor, but at that moment Javor heard a familiar voice call his name across the yard.

"Peter! Enough nonsense! Javor, to the armoury immediately!"

Malleus was crossing the yard, beckoning. What is he doing here? Javor had never seen Malleus outdoors before.

"Don't you speak to me that way, Malleus!" Peter shrieked.

"Shut up, Peter! Javor—we need you, now!"

Javor ran after Malleus, leaving the rest to stare after him, mouths open.

Austinus waited at the Armoury's door. "Javor! The barbarians are at the city walls! Come to the council chamber with me!"

"I want my dagger!" he shouted. Inside the armoury, Philip and Theodor fussed over equipment. Javor's dagger still protruded from the shield, set up on a wooden frame near the big window.

The bells ceased but Javor still heard ringing in his ears. He couldn't understand what the others were saying to him and realized they were all still shouting.

How can I get the dagger out of the shield? But before he could take a step toward it, the big window, the whole height of the wall itself, exploded toward them. Shards of glass flew all around, slicing Photius' blue robe and Austinus' arm. They all threw up their hands to shield their faces, but even so Javor felt shards scratch his face.

They all blinked as the glass settled, then blinked again. The dragon! My dragon!

It was bigger than before, long and sleek and shining in the torch-light. It narrow, triangular head was as long as Javor's arm and its neck curved like a snake's. Its front left foot, with terrible curved claws, was now almost the same colour as the rest of its leg.

The dragon swivelled its head, looking at each of them in turn. "Don't look into its eyes!" Javor yelled and ran for his dagger.

But the dragon was far faster. In a blink, it was between Javor and the shield. Casually, it took the dagger's handle in its claw and effortlessly removed it from the shield.

"My dagger!" Javor tried to pull the dragon's front leg to free his dagger, but he couldn't get a grip: the scales were too hard, too smooth.

Javor. I am not your enemy. The voice was calm, even, deep.

"You know my name?"

The dragon lowered its head to Javor's level. I am Sarbox. We have no quarrel, you and I.

"You killed my parents!"

No, not I. It was Ghastog, the... the troll. The ogre. I do not know all your terms.

"You're stealing my dagger!"

It is not yours. It comes from my ... race.

"It comes from the earth!"

Yes. As I said. Human languages cannot describe ...

"Javor! Don't talk to it! Don't fall into its spell!" Austinus yelled. But Javor realized he was looking into its yellow, cat-like eyes. So like the other dragon's, yet... yet he wasn't falling into a spell. He could look away, he could see—

He could see Malleus throw a net over the dragon's back to Theodor, who quickly secured the rope to a beam. At the same time, Philip charged forward, screaming, and drove a spear into the dragon's chest.

The dragon stumbled back into the net. A swinging front leg knocked Javor to one side, its flailing tail knocked shields and other gear skittering across the stone floor. Philip pushed the spear harder.

The dragon opened its mouth, revealing terrible, long, pointy white teeth. It spat a green liquid toward Philip that hissed and steamed where it hit the stone floor. Some of the spit hit Philip's forearm, and he fell screaming to his knees. His skin bubbled, smoked, cracked and blackened, then began to melt and drip off. The bubbling spread, down toward his fingers, which shrivelled, dissolved and fell off. The bubbling spread upwards toward his elbow, dissolving more and more of the arm.

Malleus swung a long sword, neatly severing Philip's arm at the elbow, then fell on the stump to staunch the spurting blood. Philip's screaming stopped with a horrible choking sound.

The dragon pulled the spear out of its belly scales. I have no quarrel with you, it repeated, and Javor only then realized its voice made no sound. It moved fluidly, like a snake, toward the opening it had smashed through the wall.

"Wait! Give me back my dagger!"

No. It must return to where it belongs. I do not wish to harm you or any of your people. But I must go now.

Clear of the building, it spread its immense black wings, flapped, jumped and was gone.

How can anything that big disappear so fast? The sky was filled with smoke and the glow of fires. The whole city seemed to burn, filled with screams, the clash of metal and the sound of running feet.

Behind Javor, Philip moaned. Theodor and Malleus pushed rubble and scattered gear to try to help him, Austinus bellowed. "Bring Brother Thalos immediately! You—buckets of water, lots of them, hurry!" The dragon's spit smoked and stank on the floor, and Philip's severed arm slowly dissolved into a sickening puddle.

Javor looked back out the shattered window at the night sky, which was still filling with smoke. He felt sick and empty. I'll never get my dagger back. What do I do now?
Chapter 29: When the Danube was blue

Bright sun warmed Javor's face, but the breeze blowing down the river made him shiver. He pulled Photius' old blue cloak tighter around him and looked for a place to sit down.

I like boats, he decided, leaning against the gunwale and settling down on the deck. They were peaceful. If you can sit down for a few minutes and watch the shore go by. He looked at the Danuvius gently waving. The tree-choked southern bank rose steeply up to thickly forested, conical hills. There was not a sign of human habitation anywhere.

He turned to look over the northern shore—actually, the way the river twisted, he wasn't sure if it was still north. That was on the right side of the boat, or "galley" as its captain insisted it was called. It was steeper than the opposite shore: the Montes Serrorum reached down to the great river there in thick forested slopes interspersed with harsh grey rock cliffs, too steep for anything to live on. Sometimes, as the slaves on the deck below slowly rowed the galley upriver, he could see glimpses of higher mountains, bare cliffs that reached sheer up against the bright blue sky.

Besides the green trees and occasional flowering bush, the only signs of life were small birds that sang in the trees and great hawks that circled lazily over the grey cliffs, and the fish that flapped as crewmen pulled them out of the river using hooked strings attached to poles—an innovation that had amazed Javor when he had first seen it. And the bugs: tiny bugs that swarmed under the trees if the galley got too close to one shore, and great blue and green dragonflies that darted and hovered and flew sideways. Javor liked the dragonflies.

He leaned his head back against the gunwale and closed his eyes, enjoying the feel of the sun. It was one of those late spring mornings when the sun feels so deliciously warm, and Javor's body wanted to let the sun heat it up, but the air still remembered the cold weather.

How long ago was the attack on Constantinople? How long since the dragon stole my dagger? Javor tried to push the disturbing thought aside and enjoy the sunshine. He knew it was only a short time before Austinus or the boat's captain or someone else gave him some chore.

But the images wouldn't stop. Javor remembered how Malleus had carefully bound up poor Philip's arm and carried him to the infirmary, and he remembered how surprised he had been at seeing a gentle Malleus.

The monks and novices had poured out of their barracks, crying and shocked at the damage and hurt, astounded to see a wall smashed down.

"What happened?" Brother Jaccobbeas had asked, while Father Peter just stared, slack-jawed, at the stump of Brother Philip's arm. Flaccus came up beside Javor, mouth moving with no sound.

"A dragon attacked," Javor had said flatly.

"This is no time for your dry jokes!" Flaccus protested.

"It's no joke," Brother Theodor had replied. "It was a dragon. It smashed the wall of the Armory and it may have killed Brother Philip."

Lepidus and Quadratus had come up, bloodied and bruised. Fleetingly, Javor wondered about their condition, but he was distracted when Flaccus asked "Why would a dragon attack us?"

Theodor gave Javor a warning look. "Why indeed? It is a question we are all wondering."

"Did you recognize it, Javor?" Lepidus asked. Suddenly, he believed Javor's story.

"Yes. It was the same dragon that I saw in Dacia."

"I thought you killed the dragon in Dacia!" Lepidus protested.

"No, I killed a dragon on the closer side of the mountains, not in Dacia. And that dragon was bigger. But what happened to you?"

"Barbarians," said Quadratus. "Barbarians attacked the city."

"There are fires everywhere!" said Lepidus. Javor had never seen him so excited, so frightened. "They must have attacked all along the city walls at the same time! They must have had people inside the city, too. There was fighting all over the place. We got knocked over by a stampede of Greens running away from a company of barbarians near the Forum of Constantine."

Javor could not understand how any army could hope to conquer Constantinople. The walls were too thick, the armies too numerous. And General Priscus had just arrived with his triumphant Legions!

"It was a raid. Companies of barbarians attacked at different points in the city," Lepidus said. "They came in, lit fires, killed as many soldiers as they could and took away the barbarian princess that Priscus brought here." At that point, the sun rose over the southern walls.

The monks had worked through the night, trying to clean up and tend the wounded, the people hurt by falling glass, those traumatized by the sight of a dragon. Women from the adjacent convent pitched in. Many were crying; some of the older nuns said the dragon was an illusion of the devil, others that it was a message to cease sinning.

Javor found Austinus as he was going into his private rooms. "I think I know where the dagger is." They sat in the room that overlooked the street. Everyone in the city seemed to be on edge, fearing another attack. Austinus sat forward, eyes intent on Javor, but he said nothing. "I can feel it," he admitted, blushing at the ridiculousness of the statement.

Austinus did not laugh. He continued to peer into the young man's eyes. "It is heading north," Javor continued. "Somehow I can sense where it is."

The Comes thought this over long enough for shadows to move across the room. A monk brought bread, and as he left, Austinus asked him to bring Mother Tiana. Austinus did not say anything until the mother superior of the convent appeared at the door in her white robes.

"Young Javor says he senses the dagger moving northward."

Tiana looked at Javor intently. "Then we must follow."

The next day, Javor was traveling in a horse-drawn wagon with Austinus, Malleus and for reasons he did not know, Brother Theodore. Austinus brought plain, drab clothes for them all to wear. Javor had never seen Austinus without his striking and sleek black and silver garb. "We must not appear to be too prosperous," he explained. "That only invites robbers. Hence, these simple clothes. And no jewelry. Javor, keep your amulet well concealed."

The Emperor had sent a whole Legion, a thousand men, in pursuit of the Slav and Goth raiders, to punish them and to take back Princess Ingund, Austinus explained. They were headed north, and for protection as well as convenience, Austinus planned to follow them. There has to be a connection, Javor thought.

When they were well beyond the city walls, traveling past planted fields, Austinus said, "It's time you told us about your amulet."

Again, Javor felt that shock and that feeling of the bottom of his stomach reaching to his knees. Even his amulet felt uncomfortable. "It's nothing, just a medal from my mother..."

"Javor, do not presume to underestimate my intelligence!" It was the first time that Javor had seen Austinus angry. "I have read the inscription. Now tell me where it came from."

Javor felt his face redden. "It was part of my inheritance from my great-grandfather. The monster, Ghastog stole it. I used the dagger to kill it and retrieve the amulet. Photius said it protected me—it hid me from the supernatural sight of monsters and dragons, even when the dagger drew them to me."

"And did you find that it, indeed, protected you?"

"I—I think so. I don't think the dragon that attacked the fort in Dacia could really see me. And..." he hesitated before telling Austinus about his encounter with Ghastog. Well, he knows about the amulet. "When I came upon Ghastog, it was holding the amulet. I had the dagger. The monster grabbed me, and I thought it was going to crush me—but the amulet actually flew out of its hand into mine. After that, Ghastog didn't seem to be able to harm me."

"You mean, the amulet protected you against Ghastog?"

"Yes. And its claws didn't hurt me. It didn't even scratch me."

"You say the monster took the amulet, but not the dagger?"

"Well, I had the dagger with me, and I had left the amulet behind. I didn't think it was useful." What was he getting at?

"And yet, the amulet hid you from the dragon. Doesn't that strike you as curious?"

Javor hadn't thought of that before. "Maybe...Ghastog was drawn by the dagger, but it found the amulet first, and took it?"

"Maybe," said Theodor quietly, in his soft voice. "Or maybe, the amulet was what it wanted all along. And maybe the dragon wants the dagger, instead."

Weeks later, sitting on the deck of the barge on the broad Danuvius, Javor shivered as he recalled those words.

He thought back on their trip. Every bit of the countryside along the road was tended: farms and plantations as far as he could see. There was not a wild stand of trees that was not part of the agricultural plan for sustaining the New Rome, Constantinople. Hour after hour, day after day they rolled north-west through pastures and wheat fields and orchards tended by armies of slaves who toiled without a break in the industry required to feed an empire.

At a town called Perinthus, Austinus gave an innkeeper false names. The next morning, following Priscus' Legion that marched at forced speed ahead of them, they turned north-west. "This is the Via Militaris, which allows the Empire to send legions quickly to the borders against barbarian incursions," said Theodore.

As they approached the Empire's boundary at the Danuvius, the countryside became less populated. They passed through remnants of towns and burned-out, blackened shells of barns and homes. Once-tended fields had gone wild. "These lands have borne the brunt of barbarian invasions. Armies have fought across these fields and zones of control have swept back and forth," Brother Theodor explained. "Once, the Empire went right up to the Danuvius, and even beyond—"

"When you wiped out the entire Dacian nation," Javor interrupted.

Theodor looked Javor right in the eye. "Yes, the Empire did. Trajan ordered it destroyed, that it no longer be a threat to Rome. But those days are long past. A century ago, the Huns demanded that the first 100 miles south of the great river be empty, uncultivated, to prevent any trade, any shadow of civilization from seeping into their lands."

"Why?"

"They had no desire to become Roman."

They reached the Danuvius at a town called Viminacium. Austinus and Malleus sold the wagon and teams in the market and bought passage upriver on a galley. The crew, Javor learned, included slaves to row and a dozen tough-looking Goths as a bodyguard. "Who protects us from the guards?" he asked.

"You do," Austinus answered with a grim smile.

There were many peaceful moments on the galley. But Austinus ruined many of them by pestering Javor with questions about what he knew about dragons, what he remembered about Dacia and the monster, Ghastog.

When they reached Drobeta, the Roman fortress town at the head of Trajan's famous stone bridge, the rowers couldn't overcome the current, so slaves walking along the bank pulled the galley upstream using ropes.

Javor remembered parting ways with Antonio here, as he and the other Legionnaires who had survived the dragon hunt had returned to their Legion. Were they accepted or executed as deserters? He wondered what they had told their commanders. Would anyone believe they had fought a dragon? Thinking of them made him feel like he did when he thought of his parents.

They reprovisioned in Drobeta and left early in the morning, trying to catch up with the Legion that was pursuing the Goths and the Princess Ingund. They rowed past tall cliffs that seemed to be trying to squeeze the river closed. "The Iron Gates," said Austinus.

"What are they gates to?" Javor asked. The way that the mountains on each side plunged into the river was striking. He could hear the current swirling and splashing against the grey rocks on each side.

"A figure of speech. It's a gate for the river through the mountains." Austinus gestured left and right: "The Serrorum to the north and east, and the Balkans to the south and west. Once we get past the narrow part, the land opens up into the great plain of Pannonia." His tone changed. "What do you know about your great-grandfather, Medvediu?"

Javor watched a hawk spiralling higher and higher over the cliffs that looked like they were dipping their toes in the river. "Not much. He died before I was born." The river narrowed as they rowed upstream.

"How did he happen to come by that magical dagger?"

"I'm not sure. I told you he was in the Legions. He fought in the Persian wars. My mother always told me that he killed a giant in the Caucasus and took it from him."

Austinus nodded. "Yes, that is the old story."

"What do you mean?" Behind Austinus' shoulder, the sun was getting lower. Black against the light and the clouds, high over cliffs, more hawks circled. They almost seemed to be dancing in the air, or fighting.

"It's an old legend: giants live in the far-distant mountains and have fantastic weapons. A legendary hero slays one and brings back treasure. Tell me, did your great-grandfather bring anything else back? Gold coins, perhaps? Cups and plates of gold and silver? Diamonds the size of your fist?"

Javor shook his head. "Nothing but the amulet—at least, nothing I ever heard about."

The galley slowly rounded a bend of the river and, ahead, tall cliffs pressed closer. Javor could hear the galley's captain exhorting the slaves to greater efforts as the current got stronger. High above, the hawks were wheeling, spiralling higher. One made a sudden dash into the mountains, flapping its wings. Is that a tail? Is that—no, it can't be. But for a split second, Javor thought he had seen the dragon—his dragon, the one that had followed him down from the north, the one that had stolen his dagger. But then, it was gone, hidden by the craggy slopes.

"What's wrong, Javor?" Austinus asked.

"Nothing. I thought I saw something. But it's gone, now."

Austinus looked at Javor carefully, then patted him on the shoulder and left him alone the rest of the day.

They kept going, slowly. Gradually the river widened again and the current slowed, and the crew returned to rowing. The guards' captain, a fair-haired Goth named Alewar with a huge moustache, kept peering out at the north shore. "Never can tell when the Avars will show up," he growled once at Javor. "This land has been infected by evil."

Theodor joined them at the rail. "At one time, when the Empire was at its apex, this river was called the Ister," he said, gazing at the empty fields. "It was crowded with boats and barges that traded up and down its length, and people tilled the earth on both sides. It was a rich land and a rich waterway."

Now, it was empty. Javor hadn't seen another vessel on the river since Drobeta. There were few farms, and those only on the south, formerly Roman side.

The river bent toward the north, and the mountains receded on both sides. "Pannonia," the captain announced. "Keep a sharp eye out!"

Days went by in dull routine; Javor sat by the railing, thinking. The others from Constatinople delighted in the opportunity to talk yet more. Even Malleus became almost chatty. They came to towns, large ones with substantial ports. "Singidunum," the captain said one day. "Used to be a Roman town. Now it's in the control of the Avars."

They docked and took on more provisions; Austinus paid the river tolls and pressured the captain not to tarry. They rowed on the same day, spending the night anchored in the middle of the river with at least three men standing watch all the time. They sailed again in the morning, rowing in the middle of the stream even though the current was strong there. Javor could see the slaves sweating in the midday heat. He felt sorry for them, but knew he shouldn't say anything for fear of making their situation even worse. He was just glad when they could take a break.

The river's course wound and twisted, but gradually was turning toward the north. Actually, the river's turning more southward; we're going upstream, so it seems like it's turning north.

One day, they reached another substantial city. "Aquincum," said the galley's captain, Treon, a stocky, bald man with a bushy black beard. "We really need to rest here. My crew need to stretch their legs."

Austinus agreed; he wanted to ask for news about the legion they were following. They put into dock and tied off.

Javor found Aquincum, a former provincial capital, almost as impressive as Constantinople itself. The port had stone piers and great jetties, and what seemed an immense number of boats and ships. The docks were jammed with people and carts and animals loading and unloading. Behind were great stone buildings, warehouses and basilicas and temples. But the guards on the walls and towers were not legionnaires; they were Goths and Avars with plate-mail armour and recurved bows. Javor couldn't look at the Avars without feeling angry.

"Calm, my boy," said Theodor in his soft voice. "Let's get something good to eat and drink." He took Javor to a tavern near the port and paid for a good meal and a cup of ale—a drink he hadn't had since leaving home. It's been nearly a year.

By the time they got back to the galley, Theon was reloading his slaves and his mate was supervising the loading of more food, wine and water. Austinus had also returned and called the others around him.

"The Legion passed by here four days ago. So we're falling behind. They must be hard-pressed, and frankly I'm surprised they didn't meet any resistance from the local troops. They must have come to some kind of understanding. But no one knows anything about the raiders that passed through here—or they won't say, at any rate.

"In other news, the Avar Khagan, Bayan, is reportedly north of here somewhere with his army. So it's probably a safe bet that they're heading for him."

It didn't reassure Javor that his dagger was still ahead of them. But something about the way his amulet rested against his skin made him feel that they were on the right course.

That fine spring morning, as the sun warmed Javor's face, he couldn't believe there was anything evil around. He heard birds sing. A dragonfly buzzed past, looking for bugs to eat. I'm going back home, Javor thought, for the river had turned northward again.

Austinus wandered over to the deck and stood beside Javor, looking ahead, upriver. "It's a beautiful day, isn't it?" he asked eventually.

"Do you know why your religion is so much more unpopular—" Javor began.

"I think you want to say 'less popular,'" said Austinus indulgently.

"—it's because it's just too complicated. I mean, compare it to Christianity. Their religion is simple: God created the world, then created Man, and Man sinned, so God sent His Son to save us. See how simple?"

Malleus wandered over. He seemed to be in a better mood than Javor had ever seen him. "Ah, yes, but Christianity is calculated to be as appealing to the broadest swath of the population as possible. Even their central mythology was appropriated from the Egyptians. Osiris, the Egyptian god of the dead, died and resurrected three days later. Conquering death, he became the judge over the dead, and his righteous followers also become immortal. Horus, his son, is the god of the sky—see the connection?"

Javor's self-assuredness evaporated. "Don't the Christians believe the story of Jesus is true?"

"Of couse they do. But don't you see the parallels between the Egyptian myth and the Christian one?" Malleus said.

"Both stories are attempts to explain the underlying truth of the entry of the Christos into the material universe," Austinus said.

"See? That's what I mean!" Javor interjected. "The Christians' story is easy to understand. Jesus died and rose again. But your pleroma which emanated all these spirits—"

"Aeons."

"—which themselves emanated yet more generations of Aeons, lower and lower, until you get this Demiurge, which is not good, and which created the world and the people and the animals in it, and then more and more and lower and lower emanations until you get to Archons—well, you see how much more confusing it is?"

"Yes, Javor, it is more complex, but the universe is not necessarily simple, is it?" said Austinus.

"Can you blame people for wanting it to be simple? For most people, it's hard enough just getting enough food to eat and making sure your children aren't freezing in the winter."

"Yes, it's understandable. But the simplest explanation you have doesn't answer all the questions we have. That's why we are Gnostics—we are seekers of knowledge. For that is the true way to salvation. Javor, are you happy to live in ignorance?"

"What do you know?" Javor asked, sudden fire in his voice. "You talk about these 'emanations' and 'aeons'—but have you ever seen one? How can you know about the pleroma—have you seen it?

"I never believed in monsters or dragons or spirits. I thought they were stories told to scare children so they would eat their cabbage or go to bed early. But then I saw one. I saw how it killed my parents. I killed it. And I saw a dragon. I saw it kill men in armour, the best men I have ever seen. And I killed it.

"So I believe in dragons and monsters now. But as for your 'sophia' and 'pleroma,' sorry. Aeons, too. And the Christians and their wonderful, friendly and all-loving god—well, if you see the first sign of that, let me know."

Javor watched the hawks circle. He noticed that there seemed to be a lot of hawks circling somewhere upstream of them. Curious, he watched the big birds. Every so often, as the galley slowly made its way upstream, more birds would join the circling flock.

"Austinus?" Javor asked, watching the wheeling birds. "Hawks and vultures don't travel in flocks, do they?"

"What?"

Theodor joined them by the boat's rail. "Never. They're gathering because there's a lot for them to eat on the ground."

Javor noticed a grey cloud, low on the trees, rising from a spot just around the river's bend. "There's a fire on the bank," he said.

Horror came into view as the galley slowly made its way upriver. Javor impatiently waited for more of the far bank to come into view; but soon he wished that he couldn't see.

The ground on the northern bank was blackened, the trees blasted and withered for a mile around. Smoke rose from hundreds of burned logs and other things that Javor didn't want to name. Among that was the legion. Men's bodies were strewn and stacked, shattered, torn—parts of bodies, twisted limbs and grinning heads. Dead horses sprawled among them, limbs broken, bellies slashed or heads crushed.

The smell was unbelievable. Javor and Austinus leaned over the rail and vomited into the river. The oarsmen had stopped rowing and most of them were throwing up, too. The boat began to drift on the current.

Finally, Javor raised his eyes again. "There!" he called, pointing to a spot on the bank.

A tiny group huddled on the shore. The survivors.

"Row!" the captain screamed, and the oars dipped haphazardly into the water, knocking into each other. "Row!" The galley shuddered as it started to resist the current again. Gradually, the crew got their rhythm back and the boat made its way to the survivors.

There were no more than a dozen, out of a thousand men. None of them was unwounded. When the galley reached the shore, Austinus and Theodor leaped over the rail. Javor clumsily toppled over, fell headfirst into the water and came up sputtering. He struggled to shore, pulling his cloak out of the mud.

"Who's in charge here?" Austinus demanded, in Latin.

A Legionnaire used a stick to help himself climb to his feet and limped closer. "I suppose I'm the ranking officer left," he rasped. He was young, covered in blood from head to foot. He had removed his helmet and his cropped hair was caked with blood and grime. His armour was dented and dashed open in places, and a fresh scar ran across his neck. One arm hung uselessly at his side, and the other hand desperately gripped the long stick he used to help him walk. He touched the top end of the stick to his head as a half-hearted salute. "Volusus Salustus. Are you the party that was following us?"

"Yes, Centurion. Is this all that's left of the Legion?"

Salustus looked around and nodded. "Aye."

Beside Salustus, only two of the dozen survivors could stand. One young man wept as he bent over another who lay prone in the ash and mud; he was bleeding from the mouth as well as several wounds on his body. Another man with blood all the way up his arms was slowly winding a strip of cloth around the stump of his friend's leg. Two others sat in the mud, staring down; still another stared up at the sky, oblivious to everything around him.

"What happened?" Austinus demanded. Javor had trouble understanding much of what followed—Latin was, after all, his third language.

"We were trapped," Salustus said. He looked around for something to sit down on, and finding nothing, squatted in the mud. "We were following the trail of the barbarians who attacked the capital and stole the imperial hostage, Ingund. They weren't hard to follow—they left a trail a mile wide of food they stole from farms and inns, plus they left a lot of garbage behind. We took boats up the river from Drobeta. Then, a mile or so back," he waved vaguely downstream, "we saw a group of refugees. We pulled to shore, and they told us that they came from a village not far away. We should have known it was a lie! There have been no settlements this close to the river since Attila's time!

"But they told us a group of raiders had come upon them, slain a bunch, stolen their food and headed upriver on horseback. From their description, we knew it was our quarry. So we disembarked and started marching.

"It was almost nightfall when they attacked. Hundreds of them, some on horse, and they went through us like wolves among lambs. You see what happened."

"But you are a Legion of Rome!" exclaimed Austinus.

Salustus closed his eyes in pain. "We were. We were proud. We were mighty. Hail Rome!" He drew a shuddering, painful breath. "But we were not fighting against men. We were fighting demons from Hell, commanded by the Devil himself." He opened his eyes again and Javor could see the pain, the fear and the terrified honesty in them. Valgus had looked like that when he had spoken about the dragon. "They came toward us as men, but as the sun went down, they—they changed. They transformed into monsters," he whispered. "Demons. Goblins. I don't know what they were, but they were not human!

"Some were huge, with scaly hides. They literally ripped men apart, limb from limb! Some were small with horns and sharp fangs like daggers. Some were like masses of snakes with a hundred hands and heads. They sucked the blood out of men's bodies where they stood. They laughed as they cut us down.

"But the worst of all came later. Once they had killed half the Legion, the monsters withdrew into the blackest night I have ever seen. What was left of us, the Legate ordered into testudo formations, impregnable.

"Then it came. We couldn't see it. It was dark in a dark night, but huge and terrible. It came silently, then tore through the company and killed Legionnaires by the score! Men barely had time to scream before they died, and then it moved on to the next testudo and ripped it apart. And the next, and the next. One thousand men dead, helplessly, in a matter of hours.

"Some of the Legionnaires tried to run. They broke ranks, but the rest of us could hear the other monsters fall on them with terrible laughter. We heard our brothers torn apart, drained, eaten, crushed." Tears were running down Salustus' face.

The crew got the survivors onto the galley. Malleus and Theodor tried to bind their wounds and make them as comfortable as possible.

"We're not going another foot upriver," growled Theon, the galley captain.

"But we commissioned you, we paid you—" said Malleus.

"We agreed to take you to the Legion, and we did," said the captain. "And this is what's left of it. There's nothing that's going to convince me to go any farther."

"We're not going, either," said Alewar, the Goth captain. "We're not going up against anything that killed a thousand Legionnaires."

"Wait," Theodor asked. "What happened to General Priscus?"

Salustus laughed grimly. "He left us at Drobeta. He sent us along, said he had to attend to some business, and took off with his personal bodyguard. I guess he had no desire to fight an unbeatable foe."

The next morning, Javor watched the galley sail away, back downriver. The crew had a much easier time going back to Rome, with both the wind and the current behind them. Aboard were the crew, the slaves, the small company of Goths and the ten survivors of the cohort of Legionnaires—two had died of their wounds through the night.

Standing on the bank were Javor, Austinus, Theodor and Malleus. Javor honestly wished he were going back with the Legionnaires. At the moment, he didn't feel as anxious to retrieve his dagger. For the first time in his life, it occurred to Javor that he may not survive this adventure.
Chapter 30: Barbarians and monsters

"Do you really think we're going to find your dagger, or the dragon, by following the company of soldiers who rescued the princess Ingund?" Brother Theodor asked Javor. They were walking upriver on the old Roman road along the western bank of the Danuvius.

"Well, I had a feeling...my amulet seems to think that we are heading toward the dagger," Javor said, not entirely sure how much of that was true. But something was urging him northward, and it wasn't just his desire for Danisa. "But you're right, it does seem like an unlikely chance."

"Now is awfully late to bring that point up," Malleus snarled behind him. He had been in a foul mood all day and kept tugging on the straps of his pack where they dug into his shoulders.

Summer was almost on them. The sun shone hot and the air carried scents of flowers and growth. The young leaves on the trees were still light green and flowers danced in the breeze. To their right, they could sometimes hear the swirl and might of the river, and all around were the sounds of birds and crickets.

But there were no people. In the two days since they had watched the galley row back downriver, they hadn't seen a settlement, farm or even a lone person. Not a cow or a pig. There were deer from time to time, and once Theodor pointed out a fox darting across the old road.

One phrase repeated in Javor's mind: What is the connection? Danisa, the Gothic-Sklavenic raiders, the dragon, his dagger. What is the connection?

The road itself was a marvel to Javor: straight and almost flat, except for a slight incline from the high point in the middle, down on each side to allow rain to run off it. The light-coloured, almost perfectly square stones fit together so tightly, there was not a blade of grass growing between them.

"This land was recently part of the Empire," Austinus explained. "But over the past two centuries, successive waves of invasion and almost constant warfare have depleted its population. Once, the Vandals attempted to settle here, but they were driven out by the Goths, who were themselves driven out by the Huns. And now, the Avars have nearly destroyed anything that was left."

"Oh, that's an oversimplification," Brother Theodor argued.

Javor was amazed at these Greeks' ability to argue even when they were walking into danger, carrying heavy packs and sweating under the late spring sun.

Brother Theodor was even more curious: no matter the heat, he kept his hood on his head. "To protect me from the sun," he said. Javor tried it, but removed his hood when his head got too hot.

Austinus and Theodor walked side by side, arguing happily about the activities and blame of various barbarians. Javor fell into step beside Malleus, but didn't try to talk to him—he was apparently still angry.

"Can you not see a plan in the calamities that have struck all the civilizations?" Brother Theodor's smooth voice carried back. "Earthquakes, plagues, repeated attacks by successive waves of uncivilized hordes? And not just against Rome, but against the settled peoples who once lived peacefully beyond its borders. And also against Persia, Bactria—which has disappeared, by the way. Even ancient Serica has been divided into two kingdoms because of pressures and calamities."

Some days, the Danuvius River was close by on their right, and at others it meandered away. At night they would camp under some sheltering trees or stones. Austinus made sure they stayed away from ruined villages and towns they passed, even if they had to take a wide detour. "It's best to stay away from places of death," he explained.

One evening, one such abandoned town came into view as the sun sank. Javor was the first to see its ancient jetties in the river. Austinus decided to stop for the night before getting closer to the town. They camped downstream from the crumbling walls. As Theodor bent over the fire to make supper, his hood fell back. The setting sun outlined the thin face, the straight nose, the long neck. It was as if confirming something Javor had known all along, but it was still a shock.

"Mother Tiana?"

She turned toward him and smiled. "Yes, Javor?"

"It's been you all along?"

"Who did you think it was?"

"Brother Theodor! But where is he?"

"'He' is right here," she said, smiling her indulgent smile.

Javor took some time to think about that. There never had been a Brother Theodor—it was just a robe that Tiana wore to allow her free movement about the Abbey. And the relationship with Austinus—now their closeness made sense.

Ideas fell into place. The raid. Danisa. The dragon, Sarbox. It was planned. I allowed the dagger to separate from the amulet, which allowed the dragon to find it. The riot was a diversion, allowing the raiders to attack the city. And the dragon chose that moment to strike.

It's all connected. Danisa was after my dagger from the beginning.

She never loved me.

Javor realized that his birthday would be soon. It would be nearly a year since he had left his home. He wondered how far away home was, now, and what the people in his village were doing. Were they getting ready for the kupalo festival? Were they even alive? He thought of Elli, her thin body in the moonlight. He thought of his parents and almost cried, when he felt his amulet tremble.

Danger.

"Do you hear that?" Tiana whispered. In the failing light, Javor could not see Tiana's face.

"What is it?" Austinus whispered back. "I don't hear anything."

"There are people in the town," Malleus muttered. He crept a closer, making sure he remained hidden under trees. They could see the glow of fires in the town, and hear voices.

"The town looked deserted in the daylight," Austinus said.

They waited until the sun set, then picked up their weapons and stole closer, trying to stay in the shadows. The moon hadn't risen, so the night was as dark as any Javor could remember.

The amulet trembled. I know, amulet. Thank you for warning me. From now on, I will call you "Preyatel"—good friend.

Even the swishing of grass against their ankles alarmed Javor. They all tried to be silent. They peeked over the remnants of the town wall—little more than a row of stones, chest-high, wrecked by some battle.

Javor's amulet started vibrating harder, faster. Danger! said its voice in his head.

Don't worry, I'm being careful. No one can see me.

Behind the wall's meagre protection was a camp: little fires burned in a circle. Men in leather armour finished a meal and got ready for the night. One man, a commander of some kind, was telling others who would stand watch.

They were tall, and in the flickering firelight they appeared fair-haired. They all had ragged beards and most had scars; they seemed to have been travelling for a long time.

Then Javor realized that he could understand them!

"Where are they?" one warrior asked another. "We've been waiting here a week!"

"Shut up," the other growled in a low voice. "Don't let Stanislaw hear you complain. As far as I'm concerned, the longer they take to get here, the better."

So that's how we caught up with them: they've been waiting here.

"Well, still, this place gives me the willies," said the first warrior.

Javor crouched back down. "They aren't Goths, they're Sklavenes!" he whispered.

"And they're waiting for someone," said Tiana.

"What? How did you know?" Javor whispered.

Tiana smiled her patient smile. "Because I speak Sklavenic."

Javor didn't know what to think of that, and the amulet didn't help—it kept clamouring in his mind, Danger! Danger! Danger!

"I knew they were Sklavenic from their weapons!" Malleus hissed back. "So what?"

"So I can talk to them!" said Javor. "They're not the people we've been looking for!"

"Is that so? Then how did they get the Gothic princess?"

"What?"

Malleus slowly put his head over the wall and squinted into the firelight and smoke. He pointed across the biggest fire.

Too many surprises in one day. Javor tried not to let the amulet distract him too much as he stood up to look over the wall again. Across the fire, a young woman sat on a wooden stool. She wore a thin tunic and a necklace glittered around her neck. There was no doubt it was Ingund: thin, long nose, large eyes, hair that seemed to flow from her head and over her shoulders like water. Danisa!

She didn't act like a captive. She seemed completely at ease, talking comfortably with the rough warriors around her, stretching her delicate feet toward the fire and wiggling her toes. She even had what appeared to be a decorative knife in a jewelled scabbard, attached to a jewelled belt around her waist. Javor was struck again by how much she resembled Elli.

Danger! Danger is coming closer! said the amulet.

They slumped down again behind the wall. "Okay, it's her. She was rescued by Sklavenes, not Goths." It's all right, Preyatel. We're hidden back here.

"She must be Sklavene, herself," said Tiana. "Or at least, she speaks their language."

"Or maybe her guards speak Gothic," Austinus countered.

"She's Sklavene," Javor whispered, and ignored the questions about how he knew that. His amulet seemed to catch fire. "What do we do now?"

In answer, something hit Javor hard on the side of the head. He tumbled to the side, landing on his back in time to see Austinus flying over the wall straight into the warrior's camp. There was sudden yelling from all around as men scrambled for their weapons. Malleus had his sword out but was knocked on his face by something in the dark. Tiana, back against the wall, lifted her hands and rapidly recited a spell. There was a flash of light from everywhere at once and for an instant they could all see their attackers: five warriors carrying double-recurved bows with arrows aimed at them, and one with a cudgel who had done all the damage.

Then more Sklavenic warriors jumped over the wall, swords out.

"Qui vado!" shouted one, misusing Latin as the common language.

"It's me!" Javor replied in his own tongue, hoping to give the idea they were friendly. "It's Javor!"

Red light flared, then flickered as more men came with torches, bows and drawn swords. They grabbed Javor, Tiana and Malleus, but Tiana waved her hands again and there was another flash of light. The warriors sprang back, yelling. An arrow flew over Javor's head as one archer fell back onto his butt.

"Hold it!" yelled another warrior in Sklavenic, and in the torchlight they could see him pulling a dazed Austinus forward. "No one move or I cut your friend's throat!" The warrior stepped closer, shoving Austinus, who stumbled, and they could all see the knife at his neck. "Who are you?"

"I'm Javor," he said, meekly.

"I don't know any maple trees. What are you doing here?"

"We are just travelling, and we saw your fire and thought..."

"Don't you know this is a very dangerous area? Don't you know not to trust strangers? And how are you making those flashes of light? Bring them to the fire!"

Tiana put down her hands and the soldiers dragged the company into their camp. They took away their weapons and brought them before their captain, a heavy-set, bald man with a red face and long moustaches. He wore chain mail armour and a leather skirt, and a long iron sword was buckled at his side.

The princess, Ingund or Danisa, stood at ease beside him. She had a long amber necklace around her neck and gold rings on her fingers, and her cloak was held in place with a complex brooch in front of her shoulder.

"Captain Stanislaw, Miro found these four spying on us!" said the warrior who had held his knife to Austinus.

The captain looked at all four without expression. Danisa also looked at them, especially at Javor. He did not know what to think.

"Well? What do you want here?" the captain asked at last, in heavily accented Greek. No one answered. "Who sent you?" he barked.

We should have had a plan for situations like this. Javor pointed at Danisa. "I am her lover," he said in Sklavenic.

"What!" said Danisa in unison with one of the warriors and, surprisingly, Tiana.

"Danisa, where did you go after the Roman fort? After you tried to steal my knife?" Javor demanded.

Stanislaw grabbed Javor around the throat. "Do not try to lie to me, boy," he said in Javor's language, but with a strange accent. "Who are you? Who sent you?"

"No one sent us, sir. Lord." The others were looking at Javor, and he realized they couldn't understand him. Apparently, Tiana can. "We have come from—from Constantinople. No one sent us."

"Then where are you going and what do you want?"

Think fast, Javor. "I told you. Ingund—well, I know her as Danisa—we're lovers. When I heard she had been taken out of Constantinople, I followed her."

"And who are these others?"

"They are my friends. They've come along to protect me." That sounds reasonable.

"You look like you can take care of yourself. And who brings a woman along for protection? Unless she's some kind of witch?"

"She used magic on us, Lord," interjected the warrior who had captured them. "She made a bright light with words and her hands!"

"Javor, do you really know that girl?" Austinus whispered in Greek.

"Shut up, you fool!" the captain roared. "Bind them!"

The warriors roughly tied their hands behind them with coarse rope, then sat them in the dirt beside one of the fires and tied their ankles. Malleus wriggled, testing the knots, so the warrior with the cudgel hit him on the head. He groaned and fell.

The warriors were clearly nervous. They kept looking out into the night, fingering their bows and swords.

Stanislaw, the captain, sat on a stool talking quickly with his lieutenants. Ingund/Danisa listened intently, but said nothing. "We should just kill them now," said Miro, a thin young man with long dark hair and a moustache clearly modelled after his captain's.

"Do you think they're alone? I want to find out what they're really doing. Bring the young blabbermouth to me!"

"The big blonde?" Stanislaw nodded and went into his tent.

Two men grabbed Javor under the arms and dragged, then tossed him into Stanislaw's tent. I'm not a blabbermouth! Javor rolled over until he was looking up. Stanislaw had taken off his mail shirt and was sitting on a stool and drinking from a wineskin.

The leather tent was very comfortable, held up by a central pole that allowed Stanislaw to stand upright. Javor thought it might even have been high enough for him. The floor was covered with thick carpets bearing patterns that Javor had learned in Constantinople came from Persia. There was furniture and racks for Stanislaw's clothing and armour and weapons, and what looked like a comfortable bed in the corner. Behind Stanislaw was a table with scrolls and even a book. "Well, youngster, why don't you just tell me where the rest of the force is," Stanislaw said as he wiped his chin.

"There is no force. There's only us."

Stanislaw stood and glared directly downward at Javor. "That's the one and only lie I'll allow you, boy. I know a full Legion followed us all the way from Constantinople! Where are they?"

"We're not Legionnaires! We're not wearing Legion uniforms and we don't even have Legionnaire weapons!" Stanislaw drew back his foot to kick Javor. "The Legion was wiped out days ago!" he cried. "We found them on the bank of the river—there were only twelve left, and two of them died that night!"

"Then who are you? And don't give me that horse-shit about being Ingund's lover!"

Tell him the truth. Javor couldn't tell if that was his thought, or the amulet's.

"I am Javor. I am a warrior from the north. I'm searching for my great-grandfather's..."

Stanislaw aimed a powerful kick at Javor's side, but his foot struck the carpet instead and he fell across Javor's body, swearing. He stumbled to his knees beside Javor.

Tell him what you really think.

Javor struggled to sit up. "Let me join you."

"Hah! Why should I ever trust you?"

"I told you—I am a Sklavene, too!"

" 'Sklavene' is the language we speak, it's not a nation or a people!" Stanislaw growled. "It doesn't make me your uncle or your father. Anyway, you talk like a country bumpkin from some backwater in the Carpathians, not like a warrior."

"I have killed Avars in battle. I killed a monster. And a dragon. And you can't hurt me—I am protected by magic!"

Javor, you should not have said that!

Stanislaw smiled. Javor saw a massive fist at the end of a forearm as thick as his own calf for just an instant, and then it slammed straight into his stomach. He heard his breath wheeze out and he fell back, retching up bloody vomit.

"Well, it seems I can hurt you whenever I want, boy. In any case, if you're killing monsters and Avars, you've already sided with our enemies. I should take Miro's advice and kill you now."

Javor struggled to breathe. His stomach kept heaving. "Wait. You don't understand," he hissed.

One of the warriors poked his head into the tent. "Captain Stanislaw! They're here!"

"Who's here?" growled Stanislaw without turning.

"Them...the...things..."

Stanislaw grunted, rose, pulled his mail shirt back on and put on a pointed iron helmet. He buckled on his sword and told the warrior, "Bring him outside." Then he stepped out of the tent.

The warrior dragged Javor out by his ankles and left him sprawling in the dirt. Outside, the Sklavenes had lit more torches. Javor, still retching and heaving, could see his friends were still tied, but were standing now. Malleus had regained consciousness, but had a big dark bruise on his face.

All the warriors were standing, and they all looked nervous—some looked truly afraid. Stanislaw stood in front of his tent, back erect and head high. To his side, a young warrior scolded Danisa in hushed but urgent tones. "When did you meet him? How could you take another lover, when you know—"

"Shut up," she said, not even looking at Javor.

One of the warriors pulled Javor to his feet and, at Stanislaw's signal, brought him to stand next to Malleus. "What are we waiting for?" Javor asked him.

"Silence!" hissed the thin young warrior with the big moustache. Miro, Javor remembered.

Then, at the edge of the faint orange light cast by the torches and campfires, Javor could see someone approaching. But as they came into view, all the warriors and their captives caught their breath.

The newcomers were not human. They were an assembly of monstrosities with horns and tentacles and long fangs. They slobbered and grunted and sniffed, scuffled and shuffled and slithered and stumbled closer. The men, all scarred and heavily armed, shrank back from the sight, instinctively pulling closer together and closer to the fires.

A leader of the gruesome horde strode forward: roughly man-shaped, but bigger, a full head taller than Stanislaw. And what a head: huge and scaly, as long as a wolf's but shaped almost like a snake's. A ridge where a man's eyebrows might be circled all the way around, and another curved from the front of its snout over its mouth, merging down into a thick, powerful neck. Except for a decorated belt that went over one shoulder and around its waist, and a long knife that hung from it, the monster was naked, but its scaly hide, greyish in the firelight, was a better protection than any armour. Its arms were thick and wrinkled as an old tree-trunk, its legs thicker than bridge posts. Every finger and toe ended with a curved claw. It might be Ghastog's little brother, Javor thought. Why would it need a knife with claws like that?

Most of the foul host stopped short of the firelight. They blinked in the light and smoke and seemed to try to stay clear of it. But the leader strode past the fires until it stood directly in front of Stanislaw and looked down on him.

"You're late, Stuhach," Stanislaw said in Greek, as if he were talking to one of his men instead of a demon.

The thing hissed slowly. "Destroying a Legion takes some time. We will reach King Ingolf by the appointed day," it said in a voice like tin scraping over gravel. It swivelled its head toward Ingund. "Is this the princess?"

"Yes," Stanislaw nodded. Miro moved closer to her and fingered his bow.

The monster looked at her for a long moment. "Yes, she will do," it scraped. "She is pregnant, according to the plan."

"What?" shouted Miro, Tiana and Javor, all together.

"Never mind about her," Stanislaw said. "We rescued her, and we'll take her back to her father, the King. Did you hold up your end of the bargain?"

"The Legion is dead, isn't it?" the monster replied. A long forked tongue flicked out and back into its mouth.

"And how are we going to get back to the Hall?" Stanislaw demanded.

"The kobolds will provide transportation. They should be here soon." Stuhach turned toward the prisoners, and as the firelight flashed on its shoulder-belt and knife, Javor's heart stopped for a full second. That's my great-grandfather's dagger! "Who are these three?"

"Some sneaks we caught spying on us a few minutes ago, and there are four of them, you idiot," Stanislaw sneered. "Can't you count? One, two, three, four."

The monster peered at the prisoners, then stiffened in surprise. "Ah, yes." It strode toward Javor. "This one is different." Stuhach reached out a terrible claw. Javor held his breath. Every hair on his head and his body stood up straight, but his bonds were tight and he couldn't move. To Javor's surprise, instead of killing him, the monster casually slashed Javor's tunic and cloak apart. His amulet swung free on its chain, glinting slightly in the firelight.

What Javor could only guess was a horrible smile parted Stuhach's mouth. "Ahhhh," it hissed, and reached for the amulet. The monstrous paw closed around it, and right under his chin, Javor saw sparks and smoke. The monster's eyes widened and a hiss turned into a gurgle and then a roar as it dropped the amulet and staggered back. Stuhach roared and screamed, which set its monstrous companions to roaring in distress. The warriors and the prisoner jumped out of its way as it stumbled all around the camp, flailing its arms in pain. Smoke came from its paw. Its forked tongue hung out of its jaws as it stepped right into the middle of a campfire and stayed there, oblivious to it. It doesn't feel the fire, but my amulet burns it!

Finally, Stuhach regained control of itself, but its right paw seemed to have shrunk. Javor couldn't be certain in the dark, but it seemed blackened and shrivelled. The monster screamed something in a hellish language at its companions to shut them up, then pointed its good claw at Javor. "That one is dangerous!" it screamed. It took a step forward, inadvertently putting the fire completely out, but seemed unsure what to do. "Kill him!"

"I'll kill who I want, when I want," said Stanislaw. "Now, you tell us how you plan to get to the mountains before the solstice."

The monster bared its teeth: they were all long and pointed, and there seemed to more of them than possible in even so large a mouth. "I told you to kill him. Do it now! And the rest—they know too much!"

"We are not your servants. We went to rescue our King's daughter, not to spill blood for demons of Hell."

The monster slashed its good paw at Stanislaw, so fast no one could even see it. Stanislaw opened his mouth and blood poured out, and then he slumped to the ground.

"Chort!" Miro shrieked. Javor had never seen a man move as fast: he drew a long sword and swung it at Stuhach. The sword broke on the monster's hide and Miro sprawled in the dirt. Stuhach lunged with snapping jaws at Miro, but Miro was too quick. He dove between the fiend's legs, sprang to his feet, spun and drove the broken shard of his sword into the thing's back. Uselessly: the broken blade slid off the scales. The thing hissed and slashed with its claws, but Miro rolled again out of the way.

Ingund was screaming as pandemonium broke out. The monsters attacked the warriors, who responded with swords and spears. Unlike their leader, most of the fiends were susceptible to points and blades, but they had claws and teeth and tentacles. Man and monster screamed as they tore each other apart.

The prisoners shrank back from the fighting, and Javor felt strong hands cutting the ropes. It was the warrior who had held a knife to Austinus. "Look out for yourselves," he yelled, then disappeared again into the fray.

The four looked for an escape from the madness. "It has my dagger!" said Javor as Malleus pulled them past the ruined wall.

"Worry about that later," Malleus said.

Javor pulled away, looking for the monster with his dagger. "Javor, come here!" he heard Austinus call, but ignored him. He looked for Stuhach and found himself facing what seemed to be a ball of snakes with red eyes and long teeth. It raised itself above him and only then did Javor realize he had no weapons. The snake-thing struck out with one of its heads, but Javor heard a sound like a sudden wind, felt something clutch him around the sides and suddenly he was high above the tumult, wind in his ears.

He realized he was screaming. He looked down and saw long, green claws around his body, gripping him firmly but not hurting him. He looked up and up and saw a long, long neck stretching above him, a neck that ended in a long, pointed head. He could see wide, black wings like a bat's flapping over and over. He looked down again and saw that he was rising higher and higher.

He had been rescued by a dragon.
Chapter 31: A conversation with the dragon

Javor looked down, but he couldn't see the camp anymore, couldn't tell what had happened to his friends.

The dragon flew into the darkness and soon landed on a rocky outcrop that stuck out of a wooded hillside. When it released Javor, he was cold. His cloak was gone, his tunic shredded by Stuhach. In the moonlight, he could barely see the outlines of trees on the hillside.

Why didn't you warn me, Preyatel? he asked his amulet. He heard no response, but it did occur to him that, possibly, the dragon didn't pose any danger to him—not now, anyway. It could have killed him easily, but instead had carried him far from enemies.

It was the dragon from Ghastog's mountain, the dragon he had confronted in the mountains in Dacia, the one that had taken his dagger. Has it grown again since then? It was long and sinuous, covered in dark scales that gleamed in the moonlight. It slowly lowered its great head to Javor's level, and its yellow eyes seemed to hold...wisdom.

"What do you want?" Javor demanded.

The dragon did not make a sound. Instead, strange thoughts entered Javor's mind. We must discuss many things.

"Discuss! I need to help my friends!"

Your friends are beyond your help.

"Your friends are going to tear them limb from limb and eat them!"

Those warriors are not cannibals, and by now they have joined forces with your friends.

"I meant the monsters, you idiot!"

Those are not my friends. That is what we must discuss.

"I don't care! I'm the only one who can help them!"

Your friends will be safe. Their allies will protect them.

Javor took a deep breath and looked into the dragon's enormous yellow eyes. The pupil was wide and round, almost human. "All right, dragon. You've got me. But you can't hurt me, and without my dagger, I can't hurt you. Tell me what you want to tell me. But first, if those monsters aren't your friends, why did you give them my dagger?"

It is not your dagger. You have been appointed to carry it. And I did not give it to Stuhach. The dragon looked away into the black night. Its head drooped. They...took it from me.

"How? You're a... a dragon, for God's sake!"

The dragon's neck sagged even lower until its snout was almost on the ground. Even its great black wings drooped. They surprised me. I was careless. I stopped to rest and drink by a river. I was tired. Your friend had stabbed me...

"You burned his arm right off!"

I regret that. Truly. I was merely defending myself. He hurt me.

"I thought we couldn't hurt you—nothing can penetrate your scales!"

That is not quite true. Nothing man-made, nor human strength can hurt a full-grown dragon. But I am not quite full-grown yet, and my scales have not fully hardened, at least on my front. I was in mortal danger.

"Why did you take my dagger in the first place?"

It is not yours. You are merely the bearer. As was your ancestor, in his time. The dagger is very important. It was made not by humans, but by a member of an older race to protect this world. Now our world's survival is in jeopardy. The war could destroy it utterly.

"What war?"

The war between the gods.

The dragon's eye grew until Javor could see nothing else. He was in the dragon's eye, and then he was the dragon, seeing what it saw.

He looked down from an unimaginable height. He saw mountains, sharp under a yellow sun. Wide oceans tossed blue and white waves against rocky shores. Broad rivers crossed high plains and shallow valleys. Thick forests shone with leaves the bright green of spring.

It was the beginning of the world. Some corner of Javor's consciousness told him the dragon was telling him its story of creation, just as his parents, the Christians and the Gnostics had.

Sun poured out its energy and life spread thick, green and changing across Earth's surface and deep in her waters.

Great forms rose out of the soil and the rock, shaking their earthy hides in joy under Sun's warmth, ecstatically breathing in the clean air. No two were the same. They grew, lengthened, ate, roared, slept, defecated, mated. After a time longer than a human mind could grasp, they settled and merged back into the earth, not dying but becoming features of the world that gave rise to them.

The first dragons. The bones of the earth.

Javor felt as if he were flying, but he understood his vantage point was moving through time. The dragons changed, gave birth to more dragons that in turn rose and ate and mated, each one different from the rest.

Javor rose until he could see the outlines of the continents and the shape of the Earth itself: a disk surrounded by water, no, a ball, blue and white and green and brown and grey, glistening and vibrant. The dragons moved across the continents, they were the continents that moved and shifted and reshaped. Mountains rose as the dragons stretched their backs and limbs.

As Earth basked in Sun's warmth, every kind of animal, insect and plant spread around the world. There were creatures whose beauty made Javor gasp, creatures so fearsome that his gut shrank, creatures that made his mind whirl.

The dragons continued to grow and move. Oceans, continents, seas, lakes, rivers, mountains grew, shrank, moved, settled. Life changed. Javor saw horses, bears, cats and dogs—and soon, people. Men and women walked out of a forest and across the continents, built boats to cross the seas, planted farms and built cities.

They worshipped the Earth and the Sun and the dragons they could not see but knew were there. They fought wars, saying that they were over differences in the way that they worshipped the Earth or the Sun, but Javor could see that the wars were really over food and water and so that kings could live in greater ease and splendour.

Both the Christians and the Gnostics are wrong. The vision faded. Javor struggled to regain his orientation: he was on the rock with the dragon in front of him and the half-moon high in the sky. "So you are a part of Moist Mother Earth?"

We all are.

"Yes, but—you're a mountain or something?"

Those are the 400.

"The 400?"

The original dragons, the first race. There are 400 that make up the oceans, the mountains, everything that makes what you call the earth.

"Four hundred. A nice round number. Sounds hard to believe."

The fact that you perceive it that way proves that it is a real number.

"Ah."

My race has controlled the earth for longer than you can imagine, many, many times the length of time man has even been on the earth. As we dragons age, we become stronger and wiser. The original 400 control what you perceive as time and space. Their first-born generation inherited most of their power.

The 400 ceded their influence over temporal events to the first generation. They are the guardians of the essential balance of form and motion, of energy and matter, of sky and sea and earth. They can change their shape and were the first to assume the shape you associate with "dragons."

The second generation took many forms. Javor, in his mind, saw flashes of different forms, some beautiful, others monstrous. Many were dragons, or like dragons.

"Are monsters like Stuhach and Ghastog dragons, too?"

Yes. Dragons have taken many forms, but each generation is a little weaker than its forebear. Some of the younger generations of dragons chose to take forms similar to man's, but more beautiful. They lost the ability to change shape after that. Men began to call them gods and worshipped them. And they began to rule over men.

"Why? Why do gods and dragons, with all their power and strength and so-called wisdom, why do they care if men worship them?"

I do not know.

"You know, you're not much of a dragon. You don't know anything, and you let a smaller monster take my dagger from you. What do you want from me, anyway?"

You are the true bearer of the dagger, which was made from the bones of the earth. I will help you take it back.

"So you took it from me, but now you're going to help me get it back? Why should I trust you?"

You have no choice but to trust me. I must stop Stuhach and Kriemhild from carrying out their plan.

"What plan? Who is Kriemhild?"

Kriemhild is the one you seek, the author of the misfortunes men and their civilizations have faced these past centuries.

"The evil king? Is that a different name for Bayan?"

No. Bayan is merely a pawn of the Gothic King Ingolf, who is himself a pawn of his Queen, Kriemhild.

"A queen? I had no idea. What is her plan?"

She will use the dagger to commit an act so heinous as to tip the balance in the war.

"The war again. The war between the gods?"

Yes. The solar gods—

"Wait—sun gods? Are they dragons, too?"

I am not certain. But they emanated from the sun, the energy half of the creative force of life. Many of your centuries ago, the solar gods began to unite, no, to merge. They continue to merge, willingly or by force, in order to dominate this world. The dragons of Mother Earth resist this domination. Now they fight a fearsome war.

Man is the linchpin of the war. The sun god is winning the race for man's worship. And he will use that to finally vanquish Earth. Kriemhild worships Earth, and she seeks to reverse Sky's triumph.

"How can this Kriemhild control the dragons?"

She cannot. She has manipulated some of the lesser dragons to carry out her will by offering them something they want: the bones of the earth.

"My dagger."

And the amulet, too. But Kriemhild has no real power, other than her ability to manipulate some of the energy of the world from time to time. She has used some of that energy to extend her own life unnaturally, and more to trick some of the lesser dragons into doing her will. Some of them do her bidding willingly.

"So why do you want to stop her?"

Because Kriemhild seeks to control the 400. Her very attempt to waken them would unleash forces that could destroy Earth and all life on it. The dagger is her key.

"One more question: if the dagger is what's so important, why did the monster Ghastog take my amulet after it killed my parents?"

The amulet's power hid the dagger from Ghastog for centuries. It knew the dagger was in a your area, but could never find it. When you separated the two, the amulet's distress attracted the monster. Its path crossed yours, but Ghastog did not have the sensitivity to follow the dagger closely. It came to where the dagger had been for so long and found the amulet instead. I do not know why it took the amulet. Ghastog's purpose was not the same as mine. There are more than two sides in this war.

But your amulet is important. It, like the dagger, is one of the Three Companions.

"That again. Theodor—I mean, Tiana—figured that out from reading the runes on the blade. What are the Three Companions?"

Three artefacts made before the race of man was born: the dagger, made from the bones of an ancient dragon; the amulet, made from what you perceive as our scales; and the third, the Eye of Knowledge, which appears to you as a large jewel or stone, and grants the holder answers he seeks. Kriemhild already has it, and if she holds the others as well, she will be unstoppable.

My focus is the dagger. I was trying to take it from you in our first encounter on that mountain-side. We must stop Kriemhild and restore the dagger and the Eye to their rightful holders. Will you help me?

"Will you help me get my dagger back?"

Yes.

"Then let's go."
Chapter 32: Barbarians versus monsters

Malleus could not believe how brave and stupid Javor could be. The boy tore out of his grasp and ran straight toward hell: barbarian warriors and monsters slaughtering each other in the middle of the night, back-lit by a rising half-moon.

But his astonishment reached a new peak as he heard a loud rushing noise and a huge black shape dropped from the sky.

"The dragon!" Tiana screamed behind him. It swept between them and Javor, grabbed him in its front claws and disappeared. Malleus, Tiana and Austinus could only gape after it. "Javor!" Tiana screamed and ran a few steps after it, but it was useless.

Malleus pulled them to relative safety under some trees beyond the wall. They threw themselves into the darkest shadows. Malleus crept back on his belly to see what was happening.

Miro, the thin warrior, was slashing off the heads of the snake-thing that had confronted Javor, but didn't seem to be having much of an effect. Other warriors were cutting monsters apart and getting bitten, slashed and gashed. There were bodies everywhere.

"It's the man who freed us!" Tiana gasped. She pointed at the warrior who had caught Austinus. He was close to them, facing something that seemed to be nothing but a gigantic mouth on legs. Its jaws gaped open to show rows of teeth long as knives. It snapped at the warrior, who fell back and dropped his sword. He was helpless. The monster knew it and seemed to relish the moment.

Malleus sprang forward, swept up the fallen sword and frantically slashed at the thing's leg. Black blood spurted, but Malleus knew to dodge it. Its leg gone, the monster toppled sideways and snapped madly. A hideous whine came from its jaws. Malleus stabbed downward as hard as he could into what he thought might be its brain. The monster twitched, but the whining stopped. He yanked out the sword.

"Thank you," the Sklavene warrior said in accented Greek. "Give me my sword—I must help my brothers!" Malleus complied, and the warrior leaped back into the middle of the camp, beheading something that had just killed a man.

Malleus saw another sword, dropped by a warrior who had been bitten by something that looked like a pig's head with legs. He swept up the weapon and jumped beside Miro, who had just killed another monster. "You and I, Sklavene, back to back!" Miro nodded. Back to back, swords out, the two whirled in unison as they slashed through the demons. They were unstoppable, each protecting the other's back, moving almost instinctively as though they had been practising this move for years. They ripped through fiend after monster, saving Sklavenic warriors from horrible deaths—until they confronted Stuhach, and Malleus' borrowed blade broke on the fiend's hide. They stopped, looking up at the thing's wide, hideous mouth. That mouth gaped wide, revealing rows of triangular teeth. Spit dripped from the forked tongue as Stuhach prepared to swallow Malleus whole, like a snake.

"STOP! STOP! STOP!" The voice was high and thin, but commanding. The monsters immediately froze, and the men hesitated, then looked toward the remaining campfire.

It was Ingund. "Stuhach, cease this stupidity right now!" The monster looked at her, and she returned its gaze, staring directly into its eyes. "If you do not quell your creatures immediately, you will have my mother to answer to." Incredibly, it bowed and sputtered something in a ghastly language. The other monsters also bowed toward the princess.

"Miro, as the daughter of King Ingolf, I command you to tell your men to put away their weapons!" Miro looked at the men, then at the princess. "Miro!" she repeated, almost screaming. "Bury my uncle!"

Miro looked at the monsters to make sure they were not going to move, then sheathed his sword. He nodded at two men, and they pulled Stanislaw's body into his tent.

The monsters withdrew into the darkness. Ingund took over the command of the troop, ordering groups to bury the dead and tend to the wounded. There were not many left unhurt.

Austinus, Malleus and Tiana were left on the sidelines, but they didn't dare wander out of the flickering circle of firelight. They huddled together. Tiana looked at the purple bruise on Malleus' head.

"Ingolf! That old scoundrel is now calling himself 'king of the Goths'!" Austinus whispered.

"So it wasn't Bayan, after all," Tiana replied. "Somehow, they have manipulated the Avars into taking the brunt of Imperial wrath..."

"Don't forget the Sklavenes," said Malleus. Maybe it was the blow to the head, but he did not seem to be sneering as much as usual. "They're they ones who have been doing most of the fighting."

"Be silent, witch," said Ingund, approaching. "Tell me how you got here and what happened to that annoying puppy-dog, Javor, or I'll have you all killed on the spot!"

"You'll kill no one, Ingund!" It was Miro, striding back from Stanislaw's tent. "These people were my prisoners, and now they're free. On my honour, I must protect their lives."

"Don't you dare speak to me that way, Miro!" Ingund hissed.

"Shut up, Ingund! Being the Queen's daughter may mean something in Rome, but not to me! Is what he said true? You and he are lovers? And what about what the fiend said—are you pregnant? Is that boy the father of your baby?"

"Oh, please! I haven't even seen him for more than ten months! And don't you think I can do better than some boy from gods-know-where?"

"Oh, yes, you are the 'Princess of the Goths'! I forgot!" Miro scoffed. "Well, to me you are merely my younger, spoiled cousin whose mother filled her head with grand ideas."

"Oh, really? Do you forget who stopped the chorteh?"

"You were the one who made an agreement with the spawn of Hell, and because of it my father is dead! Now go and tend to his body or I'll take you over my knee, 'princess'!"

Ingund huffed, but stomped into the tent. Miro looked after her for a moment, then turned to the three. "Well? Who was your friend, and where did he go?"

"His name is Javor, and it looked like he was carried off by a dragon," Tiana answered.

Miro took a few moments to absorb that. "I am sorry. At first, I thought that ridiculous, but after all I have seen tonight, well, I suppose it must be true. And I am sorry for your loss."

"And we are truly sorry for yours," Tiana replied. "But I do not fear for Javor's safety. I do not know why, but somehow I feel he is safe."

"How can you say that?" Austinus said. "That was the dragon that took the dagger from the armory and burned off Philip's arm. It has been hunting Javor for months."

"I know. Still, I cannot quell this feeling I have. I think the dragon meant him no harm. After all, it flew him out of harm's way when it could have very easily slain him on the spot."

"This discussion is useless," Malleus said. He seemed to be recovering some of his composure. "What do we do now?"

"For now, you will wait with us. Your fate is tied to ours now, unless you want to face those things out there," Miro said, nodding into the darkness where Stuhach waited with its companions. "For my part, I prefer to have as many men with me as possible right now. And women," he added. Tiana nodded.

"What are we waiting for?" she asked.

"For our transportation to the Hall of the Mountain King," Miro explained. "Our King also made an alliance with Krum Chimmek, leader of the Kobolds. They are expected this night."

"Kobolds!" Tiana exclaimed. "More fantastic creatures!"

"No, not fantastic," Miro said. "They are people who live in the mountains. Small, yes, and very shy, usually, but also very skilled at metalwork and making marvellous machines. They will help us return to Ingolf."

"I thought Ingolf was dead," said Austinus.

"No. He is rebuilding the Ostrogothic Kingdom. But I have probably said too much already. You had better tell me who you are and how you found us."

Austinus took a deep breath, but Tiana answered before he could. "We are mystics from Constantinople, and it is our role to preserve civilization by learning about, and destroying threats to it—like those monsters out there."

"And how did you find us?" Miro pressed.

"We were just following the trail of the men who rescued Ingund from Constantinople. But we were also guided by our friend, Javor, who has a mystic connection to that dagger that the monster Stuhach wears around its waist."

"How is he connected?"

"The dagger is his. Or at least, it was in his possession for some time."

Malleus added, "He has used it to kill monsters and at least one dragon already."

"My friends!" Austinus exclaimed. "I must protest at this far too candid sharing of secret knowledge! I am sorry, Miro, but really, we hardly know you."

"In our situation, my dear, our best hope to survive is to share as much information as we can," Tiana argued gently. "Miro has shown good faith by telling us as much as he can. By combining what we know, we can perhaps deduce more."

"So, if the dagger was Javor's, how did Stuhach get it?" Miro asked.

"Good question," said Malleus. "The last time we saw it, that dragon stole it from us. Now it's taken Javor, instead."

"How did Stuhach get it from the dragon?"

Tiana, Austinus and Malleus looked at each other and collectively shrugged. "Another mystery," said Austinus. "The origins of the dagger are also unknown."

"What's so special about this dagger?"

"Have you ever tried to kill a dragon?" Malleus said. "You saw how Stuhach's hide broke that sword; only a dagger like Javor's can cut it."

"Your friend has miraculous qualities," Miro mused. "He also seemed to set Stuhach on fire, which started this fight. But enough—the Kobolds have arrived!"

From the river, they could see a glow drawing closer. Gradually, it separated into several lights, not flickering like torches, but shining steadily. The warriors drew into formation, ready for anything. Ingund came out of the tent to greet the glow.

Out of the woods along the river came a procession of very short, stocky and powerful-looking men. They all had long beards and wore chain mail and beautifully decorated helmets. Each had a double-headed axe slung across his back. The light, almost as bright as daytime, came from ten glowing globes on long poles.

Their leader was the stockiest of them, with arms as thick as Stanislaw's. His beard was silvery and his helmet was adorned with a dragon made of gold. He stopped in front of the Gothic warriors and stomped his foot, and all his followers stopped in time. "Where is Stanislaw?" he demanded.

Miro stepped forward. "Dead. Killed by Stuhach. I am Miro, his son and now commander of this company."

Ingund pushed between the warriors. "Where have you been, Chimmekin? You are late!"

The Kobold leader barely looked at her. "I am Krum Chimmek, Truth-Speaker of the Kobolds, young lady, and my elite company and I have arrived at precisely the appointed time. I am disappointed to be met, not with the befitting protocols, but by a smart-mouthed girl and the signs of a terrible battle. What has happened here?"

"We were awaiting you when those chortek, the demons, attacked us without provocation," said Miro, bowing to the dwarf.

Ingund pointed at Tiana, Austinus and Malleus. "It was their fault!"

Krum Chimmek looked at the three coolly. They blinked in the bright light from the globes. "Well. A Greek, an Egyptian and a Scythian witch. Just who might you be?"

"I am Austinus," he answered, trying to sound confident. "This Egyptian man is Malleus, and this is my wife, Tiana, who is no witch, I can assure you. We are mystics from Constantinople, seeking answers to ancient mysteries and endeavouring to protect the light of civilization."

"Civilization!" Krum Chimmek snorted, walking slowly up to the three. "You call Rome 'civilization'? An empire that ruthlessly exterminates entire nations and that stripped its homeland of the ability to feed its own people? A nation that has adopted a religion that it is still making up, then forcing on others? A religion that makes no sense? Keep your Christianity! Keep your civilization! We have our own, far superior society!"

"We are not Christians!" Tiana exclaimed. "Please, you and we, all of us, are caught in a web of forces no one can fully perceive, but which may destroy us all! You have made alliances with demonic beings and, as you can see, they can turn on us in an instant!"

Krum Chimmek looked up at her from under his golden dragon crest. "You say you are not Christian, and you are also not named 'Tiana.' No, I am not addressing Te-ma-arun-Vd-a, Scythian priestess of the goddess Tabita?"

Tiana went pale in the artificial, pure-white light of the glowing globes, and Austinus' jaw dropped.

"But we are wasting time. We must return to Devín now." Without a further word, he turned toward the river.

"Wait!" Ingund cried. "We must bury my uncle!"

Krum Chimmek said nothing, but four Kobolds, one carrying a glow-globe, went into the tent and carried Stanislaw's body out on a stretcher. The surviving Sklavenic warriors gathered the bodies of their fallen comrades.

Tiana, Malleus, the stupefied Austinus, Ingund and the rest followed the Kobolds back to the river bank, where more Kobolds waited beside a long boat that was completely unlike any craft that the humans had seen before: long and low and sleek, made of a smooth, light-grey material without grain, seam or joint. It had no oars, paddles or sails. There was a long, low cabin in the middle. The bow was covered in a smooth deck of the same grey material, but the stern was open. Krum Chimmek strode across a wide plank from the riverbank to the forward deck. The Kobolds bearing Stanislaw's body followed him and carefully placed the stretcher at the stern.

Miro, Ingund and some of the other warriors gathered around the body. Krum Chimmek said a brief prayer in an ancient-sounding language. Then he gave a sign and the Kobolds tipped the stretcher. Stanislaw slipped gently into the river, drifted out of the reach of the globes' light and sank slowly into the dark water. "He is committed to the care of Donau," said Krum Chimmek.

Miro had his men bring their fellows' bodies to the edge of the river. He improvised a quick ceremony and the men pushed the bodies into the dark river, as well. By then, the moon was getting to the western sky and Krum Chimmek's patience was worn out. The Kobolds pushed the men—twelve in all, out of more than 20 who had taken Ingund from Constantinople—into the open stern area. Krum Chimmek and two other Kobolds stood at the bow, looking at the bank, and the rest of the Kobold crew went into the cabin.

Tiana, Malleus and Austinus crowded into the open part of the boat with Ingund, Miro and the surviving warriors. Tiana wondered what Krum Chimmek waited for until Stuhach and its remaining fellows strode, limped and slithered to the bank. As soon as Stuhach set its foot on the plank, Miro jumped up. "No! I will not ride with the demon that killed my father!"

"Our craft is very full, Stuhach," said Krum Chimmek.

"Very well," it scraped, flicking its tongue toward Miro. "I can follow."

And with that, the boat cast off. Without any sound or apparent effort by the Kobolds, the plank withdrew into the body of the boat and the glowing globes faded. A low, throbbing noise came from beneath the boat's hull and it slowly backed away from the bank, turned upriver, and then with the slightest lurch started moving forward.

The boat quickly attained a speed that alarmed the people in the back, but Krum Chimmek and his Kobolds stood calmly on the foredeck, oblivious to the wind that whipped their long beards. Miro was amazed to see the riverbanks recede past them, and Austinus was mesmerized by the wake behind the boat, like two long triangular furrows that merged far behind them. Tiana looked at the bank and could occasionally see Stuhach loping along the river's edge, keeping pace with them.

Ingund clung to Miro as they sped north-west, upriver. The only sound was the wind whistling past them and the low throb of whatever was driving the boat. As the moon rose, they saw low but craggy mountains on the right-hand side of the river.

Malleus screamed into Tiana's ear over the sound of air rushing past, "Who the hell is Te-ma-arun-Vd-a?" Tiana shook her head, unwilling to answer, but at the same time, Austinus asked "How did the Kobold king know your real name?"

The boat sped upriver as the moon tracked westward. Sometime past midnight, as Tiana could reckon, the craft slowed as it approached a deep shadow cast where the mountains reached the river, and came to a rest beside a dock. Without a word, the Kobolds disembarked. The humans followed them along a path that led straight to a cliff.

Krum Chimmek walked without hesitating straight to the rocky face and as the light from the glowglobes touched it, a door, twice high enough for a tall man and wide enough for a wagon, opened silently on a long, smooth tunnel. The walls and floor shone with light reflected from two lines of glowing globes attached to the walls. Krum Chimmek led the way in while the other Kobolds waited outside until the humans entered, and to their surprise Stuhach joined them, dripping water.

At that moment, several things happened at once: a blast of wind from below scattered dirt and stones into their eyes; a stream of liquid hit Stuhach, covering it; and a man landed beside the monster.

It was Javor. He made a desperate grab for the dagger strapped to the monster's side, but Stuhach casually backhanded him. Javor flew across the tunnel.

Sarbox landed in a blast of wind, blowing grit into the shining clean tunnel, scattering Kobolds. Krum Chimmek ran toward him, brandishing a double-headed axe and the other Kobolds joined a formation around him. Sarbox ignored the Kobolds; it whipped Stuhach with its tail and pinned it to the ground.

Javor had thought the dragon was the most powerful being on Earth—everyone had told him that repeatedly. But despite being more than twice as big as Stuhach, and even with the element of surprise, the dragon was unable to subdue the monster. The dragon spit that had burned off Philip's arm in Constantinople had no effect on it. And its strength was terrifying. It pushed the dragon off and slashed with its claws. The talons dug into the dragon's hide and Sarbox roared in pain. It snapped its huge jaws at the monster and managed to wound its shoulder, but Stuhach did not slow down. It grabbed the dragon's head, holding the jaws shut, and slammed the head into the floor. The Kobolds moaned collectively when the dragon's head cracked the polished granite.

Sarbox slashed its tail at Stuhach, tearing the dagger in its sheath from the strap around the monster's body. Stuhach noticed it, too, and let go of the dragon's head. The dagger slid across the smooth floor, out the door to the riverbank.

Kobolds, humans, dragon and monster all ran out, but the dragon stretched out its neck and caught the dagger in its teeth. It spread its wings but before it could flap, Stuhach jumped on its back, wrapped one arm around the dragon's neck and wrenched sideways. The dragon stumbled and collapsed.

"Sarbox! Throw me the dagger!" Javor shouted as he ran toward the dragon's head. Miro was right behind him. "Give me the dagger!"

The dragon rolled suddenly, trapping Stuhach beneath it, then quickly righted itself and sprang away from a momentarily dazed Stuhach. "Sarbox! The dagger!" Javor yelled. "What are you doing?"

It had no intention of giving up the dagger. It spread its wings and got ready to fly, but Stuhach was not finished, yet. Still prone on the riverbank, it flung a boulder at Sarbox.

The boulder hit the dragon's head; the dragon fell back over the bank and the dagger dropped to the ground. Javor heard a succession of big splashes as the dragon's body fell into the river. Javor ran to the bank and looked down; the dragon was sinking even as the current carried it south.

Stuhach calmly picked up the dagger again and went back into the tunnel. "We have wasted too much time, Krum Chimmek," it said in its horrifying voice.

The Kobolds surrounded the humans, weapons out. Krum Chimmek studied Javor carefully. "Who are you?" he demanded.

"My name is Javor."

"He's one of us," Austinus said.

"Bind him," Krum Chimmek ordered the Kobolds.

"There is no need for that!" Austinus protested.

"Shut up, unless you want the same treatment," the Kobold leader said. "And young man, remain quiet or I will have you gagged, as well. Don't even think of calling your dragon friend again."

Quickly, two Kobolds fastened around Javor's wrists thin metal manacles that were surprisingly comfortable, joined by a chain so thin that Javor nearly laughed. But the Kobolds laughed when Javor tried to break it. How could something so tiny be so strong?

The Kobolds led the humans back into the tunnel, and Javor heard more than one clucking their tongues about the cracks in the floor. The door behind them closed silently and Krum Chimmek led them down the tunnel to where it opened into a huge chamber, lit by more glowing globes fastened at regular intervals on the rock walls. At the far end, there was another tunnel, dark and thrice the size of the one they had walked through. Where it entered the chamber, a smooth, semi-circular trench continued across to another opening.

And in the middle of the trench was the strangest thing that any of the humans had seen: a huge metallic cylinder lying on its side. The edge of the trench reached perhaps one-third up its side, and level with the floor of the chamber was an opening in the cylinder's side.

Krum Chimmek stepped inside the cylinder and the humans followed. Inside, the cylinder was sumptuously furnished: the floor was covered in a thick carpet with a complex pattern, the walls in dark wooden panels. Benches upholstered in soft red leather were attached to the walls. There were cabinets and tables built into them as well, and at one end was a huge chair made of heavy oak, covered in red leather and adorned with at least a dozen sparkling gems of all colours, each the size of Tiana's eye. Krum Chimmek sat there; Danisa made a point of sitting on the bench nearest him and claiming at least three seats for her own use. The rest of the humans found places at the other benches. Austinus sat as close to the Kobold leader as he could, and Tiana sat next to him, with Malleus on the other side. Miro sat beside a wooden cabinet, looking curiously at Javor.

Krum Chimmek made a tiny gesture, and two Kobolds pushed Javor into a seat at the back of the cyclinder. One unlocked the chain from one manacle, then attached it to the arm of the chair. Another chain attached the other wrist. Javor pulled experimentally. Hopeless.

Stuhach bent down to get its bulk inside the cylinder and Miro immediately took a defensive posture. Krum Chimmek pointed at the far end of the cylinder; awkwardly, the monster shuffled there. The wood panelling silently slid aside to reveal another compartment, not as comfortable looking but still incredible. Stuhach squeezed through the opening and squatted down, and then the panel closed again, hiding it from human view.

The remaining Kobolds entered, opened cabinets and, without speaking, took out dishes and cups. They poured red wine and put out plates of bread, cheeses, berries and grapes.

The door slid closed, and humans and Kobolds were completely enclosed in the wood-panelled cylinder. They felt the floor shudder slightly and heard a sound like far-off wind in the treetops.

"We're moving," Austinus said. There was no shaking, no noise.

"We are going underground as quickly as we can to Dun Regen, the hall of the King of the Mountains," said Krum Chimmek.

"May I inquire as to the nature of this conveyance?" Austinus asked.

"We call it the bog sciopa, fast mover," Krum Chimmek answered.

"And what propels it forward?"

"None of your business."

One Kobold held a goblet to Javor's lips and tilted it to help him drink. He realized how thirsty and hungry he was and gulped down the wine. It was far better than any he had had in Constantinople. The Kobold put down the goblet and fed Javor bread and cheese.

Austinus, Tiana and Malleus happily dug into the feast. Miro looked at it suspisciously at first, but once he saw the Kobolds eating, too, stuffed a huge bun into his mouth.

"My compliments to your cooks, Krum Chimmek," Austinus said graciously, then gulped down more wine. "And to you vintners!" Krum Chimmek nodded just as graciously and took a huge bite of cheese.

The bog sciopa continued, and the Kobolds remained silent, removing dirty dishes and carrying them somewhere to be cleaned, disposing of leftovers, replenishing wine. Malleus' bruise was looking worse every minute, but every sip of wine made it feel a little better. And after several goblets of wine, Krum Chimmek grew more talkative.

"You know, much of the artifice we use to make the bog sciopa was learned from you Greeks," he said.

"Really?" Austinus only pretended to sip his wine; after what felt like hours in the conveyance, he was still on his first cup. "But we have nothing that even approaches this!"

"Ah, but you once had the best engineers and most inventive mechanics in the world, before Rome came along," said Krum Chimmek, gulping down more wine. "Archimedes, of course, and Heron developed some of the basic tools and techniques that we Kobolds still use routinely. But once the Romans took over, well, they didn't like any inventions that they could not understand, unless they could be used for killing people."

Did I lose my mind a year ago? Is everything I have seen and done since been nothing but a mad fantasy? Javor wondered.

Despite being chained to the chair, he was very comfortable. He almost felt as if he could fall asleep, but at the same time he could feel the nearness of his great-grandfather's dagger, in the grip of the monster in the chamber behind him.

Even after all the marvels he had seen over the last year, his mind reeled at his new situation: the diminutive Kobolds (They're so strong!), their tunnels and weapons and armour, the bog sciopa.

He could not keep silent any longer. "Who are you people?"

Krum Chimmek drained his goblet and poured himself more wine. His mood continued to mellow. "You call us the Kobolds. We are similar to men, but different, too. We pride ourselves on our skills at metal and stone work—and with gems, too. But by necessity, we must remain hidden from men."

"Why?"

"You have seen and heard, have you not, what Rome has done to other nations?" He looked at each of the humans in turn. "We have no desire to become part of the Roman Empire, especially now that it is dying. And its successor 'civilizations,' as you call them, are as vicious. So, we remain hidden, free from your wars and jealousies so that we may develop our own culture and knowledge without harming the earth that gives us life.

"But I told you to be quiet. Not another sound out of you, young man, or I will truly have you gagged."
Chapter 33: The hall of the mountain king

By Tiana's estimate, they traveled for hours. She had a vague feeling of speed from the deep rumbling sound beneath their feet, a slight whoosh like wind, an occasional rocking back and forth. For a time, Tiana felt as if they were moving downward slightly, but then it felt as if they had leveled out—or was that just her imagination?

After finishing his meal, Krum Chimmek became decidely less garrulous. He would not satisfy Austinus' curiousity about how the bog sciopa worked or moved, nor would he say any more about his people, the Kobolds. "Do you have an alliance with the Goths? The Avars?" Krum Chimmek just looked at Austinus, his face a mask. "With...the monsters?" Still no response. None of the other Kobolds said anything, either, until after what felt like two hours, some started to sing softly, in an eerie, high-pitched drone and an even more eerie, guttural language. Even Tiana could not understand it.

Malleus gradually fell asleep. On Tiana's other side, Austinus studyied the strange craft they rode in, looking carefully at the jewels that studded the furnishings, at the workmanship of the benches and chairs and tables. He got up and paced around the cylindrical room, tracing his fingers around the panel door, rubbing the wood. Javor just sat, his face expressionless; Tiana could see that his mind had withdrawn to that unreachable place deep within.

Ingund sat close to Krum Chimmek's side, but no matter how hard she tried to appear regal, she could not keep her eyes open against the gentle rocking of the Kobolds' underground wagon. Before long, her head tipped forward. Then she slumped to the side. Her mouth drooped open and she drooled slowly as the conveyance whispered on.

Tiana thought back on all the puzzles of the past few days, trying to put them in order. She mentally listed the facts that she knew: Sklavenes, not Goths, had rescued Ingund—whom Javor called Danisa. But Stanislaw, their leader with the Sklavenic name, called himself a Goth. The Sklavenes were taking her to her father, Gothic King Ingolf, and they were aided by monsters, who had turned on them. The monsters had Javor's mystical dagger. The dagger had been stolen from the Abbey by the dragon. The dragon took Javor away from the fight with the monsters, then brought him back, tried to take the dagger from the monsters' leader and lost.

Think back: Spiridon had said that the Avar Khagan, Bayan, was behind the troubles beyond the Danuvius, driving southward the Sklavenes who wanted only peace and pasture. But these Sklavenes who had captured her served the Gothic King Ingolf. That name was familiar to her, somehow, but from where?

When Austinus tired of his fruitless inspection of the bog sciopa, he sat down beside Tiana with a deep sigh. "Well, wherever the Kobolds want to take us, we have no choice but to go." Malleus opened his eyes, looked around, saw that nothing had changed and went back to sleep.

Tiana rested her head on Austinus' shoulder and closed her eyes. Then, Austinus' head blocking her mouth from Krum Chimmek's view, she murmured into her husband's ear, "How do the Kobolds fit into all this?"

"Hmmm?" Austinus answered, smiling gently at Krum Chimmek.

"Why are they helping the Sklavenes and the monsters? They have this remarkable craft, these amazing abilities—what could they possibly want from barbarians? And who is Ingolf?"

Austinus stretched his arms over his head, lowering them so that it looked like he was holding a sleeping Tiana. He leaned his head on hers and closed his eyes, then murmured "Wake up, Malleus."

"I have been awake all along," he snarled softly. "My eyes appear closed, but I am watching our host through the narrow slits. Even now, he is admiring the jewels on his armour. He is probably looking at his own reflection, telling himself how impressive he is in having captured us, the little twerp."

"Be careful, Hammer of Rome," said Austinus in a voice so low that Malleus barely heard it. Through slitted eyes, he cast a glance at Krum Chimmek's direction. "The Kobolds appear small, but they are strong enough to bend an iron sword in their bare hands, and I daresay Krum Chimmek could toss you around this chamber at will."

Malleus snorted derisively, if softly, and continued to pretend to sleep.

"Ingolf was one of the Ostrogothic generals who supported Totila in the last Gothic War in Italy," Austinus said quietly. "After Totila died, Teia was chosen as his successor, and with the tribal leaders Scipuar, Gibal, Ragnaris and Ingolf, led a last stand against the Roman general Narses in southern Italy. All but Ragnaris and Ingolf died at the battle of Mons Lactarius on the slopes of Mount Vesuvius. Ragnaris was later assassinated, but Ingolf disappeared. It appears he went north to the Alps and rebuilt his power."

"But that was thirty years ago!" Tiana murmured into Austinus' neck. Her breath tickled him a little. Although they were captured and in constant mortal danger, the situation was very intimate. He pursed his lips and gently kissed Tiana's head.

"I do not know much about Ingolf," he answered. "He may have been quite young at Mons Lactarius, or he may be quite old now."

"So, for these past thirty years, he has been manipulating the Avars, Lombards and Sklavenes, making them strike against Rome's borders and warring against each other to prevent any of them from becoming too powerful," she said, analyzing as her sweet breath continued to tickle Austinus' neck. "And at the same time, he has made alliances with monsters and supernatural forces, as well as with these little people that I thought were only children's stories!"

"The Kobolds are an ancient race that has always hidden," Austinus replied. "According to ancient lore, they stayed in mountains, usually building fantastic, beautiful cities underground lit by magical gems. I thought they had died out centuries ago. I suppose that is just a testament to their ability to hide themselves."

"But why are they aiding Ingolf? What benefit could they hope to get from such an alliance?"

"Perhaps he has promised them something."

"What could Ingolf offer? Wealth? Look at the diamonds and other gems! There is more wealth right here than in most of the richest homes in Constantinople—how could the Goths match that? Land? Kobolds live underground. Ingolf could not prevent them from tunneling anywhere. Look at our situation—we are in a tunnel leading from underneath a mountain on the bank of the Danuvius to who knows where!"

"We are headed west," Malleus said from behind his almost closed eyes.

"How do you know that?" Tiana whispered.

"I kept track of the direction when we entered the mountain chamber after we came off the boat, and the turns we took until we stepped inside this, this...fancy wagon," Malleus muttered. "The boat took us to the westernmost extremity of the Sarmatian Mountains where they reach the banks of the Danuvius River. We entered a tunnel into the mountain's south side and stepped inside this chamber. We started moving west, and a little south, by my estimation, and I did not feel us turn to either side the whole time we have been in here. We went down for a little while, but now we seem to be moving straight."

"Do you know where that would take us?"

"From what I remember of the maps, we are in the middle of the Alps now," said Malleus. "Or under them."

Austinus opened his eyes and stretched his arms again, making a show of yawning. He stood and stretched his back and addressed Krum Chimmek. "You called yourself 'Truth-Speaker' of the Kobolds," he asked in slow, careful Greek. "Are you a king?"

Krum Chimmek answered in fluent, sophisticated Greek. "No, my people—you call us 'Kobolds,' but that is not our term for ourselves—abandoned the obsolete form of hereditary monarchy long, long ago. I have been elected by all our people to be the lead representative of our people to the outside world."

"A democracy! Fascinating! So who is your leader?"

"Our Niech Riagleth is also elected every 20 years by the entire population. Everyone has a vote."

"Even women?"

"By all means. Monarchy or absolutism as practiced by you Romans and other states, is an unnecessary, artificial and evil system of organizing a people, for it is based on the unsupportable idea that one person is inherently worthier and wiser than others. It is nothing but a bully system. The strongest bully claims the kingship, and forces lesser bullies to support him by bullying weaker people. And when one of the lesser bullies believes he can defeat the king, he does so. Your history proves that, over and over again."

"An interesting perspective on history," Austinus admitted. "But how does a democratic system, where every citizen has a say in decisions, deal with emergencies?"

Tiana sighed. She had hoped that Austinus would pry some useful information out of their host/captor, but it seemed as if he had become engrossed in one of his favourite debates.

"We deal with emergencies by avoiding them," Krum Chimmek said. "We are prepared for every eventuality, and when they inevitably happen, we have a plan whereby everyone responds, each in his or her own way."

The sound of the bog sciopa changed: the deep throbbing sound became higher pitched, the floor rocked back and forth twice, the whoosh became louder. They all felt the craft slow. There was a shudder, and the Kobolds stood at attention.

One final lurch and a sound like steam, and the bog sciopa stopped. More hissing steam, and the door slid silently open. Krum Chimmek led his captives out, followed by his company of Kobolds. Stuhach stumbled out last, bending his scaly bulk under the bog sciopa's lintel.

They were in a wide chamber under rock, similar to the one where they had boarded the cylindrical craft. The broad floor was made of smooth, polished granite, as were the arching walls. The whole space was lit by more of the Kobolds' glowing globes.

Krum Chimmek led them through another high, broad tunnel, up a ramp and then a wide staircase of polished black granite. No one spoke, but their footsteps echoed long and deep. They came into another broad chamber, this one dramatic and beautiful. The floors were black marble with rippling white streaks and speckles, and the walls were decorated and carved with animals, men and trees that rose up to a ceiling too high to see in the glare of a hundred glow-globes. Javor realized that these were more than just decorations—the carvings, in which the twisting, rippling colours of the marble were a part of the depictions, were actually a huge mural that told the story of the Kobold people. He saw gods and men, dragons and giants.

Krum Chimmek led them across the beautiful gleaming floor to the very centre, where twelve chairs were arrayed on a wide dais. On each sat a bearded Kobold: some had white beards, some dark brown, others red. As they drew closer, Javor realized that half of them were the Kobold women: even though they had beards, they had delicate faces and small hands and shoulders and large, expressive green and brown eyes. Some are even beautiful, despite the beards.

Krum Chimmek marched up to the dais and stopped with a stomping of his feet. He greeted them in his ancient-sounding language, then switched to Greek. "Niech Riagleth, members of the comhairle, in addition to bringing the cruine-cnàimhich and its bearer, the troll Stuhach, as well as the daughter of our ally, the Princess Ingund and her brother, Miro, I present these four from Constantinople, who call themselves 'seekers of truth.' They, too, followed the blade."

The Kobold in the centre of the group was the oldest. His silver beard hung over his ample belly, and he had tied it with a silver ribbon and then tucked the tuft at the end into his belt. He peered carefully at the three from Constantinople over his long, hooked nose. "And who are they?" he asked in a voice old as the mountain, yet powerful and clear.

Austinus stepped forward. "Greetings, Nich Reegleth. We seekers of knowledge..."

"This is the Hall of Speaking of the People of Knowledge, and none but the People may speak here without invitation," the head Kobold said curtly. "Niech Riagleth is my title, not my name. In your terms, it means in your terms 'first speaker of the many.' My name is Goldemar.

"This realm has been hidden from your kind for centuries, and we are loathe to admit any of the race of men. At one time, you would have been killed at your first sight of this hall." The other Kobolds on the dais nodded and muttered assent in their weird language.

"But these other people..." Austinus began, gesturing toward Miro and the Sklavenic company.

"I have already told you to be silent! These people are our allies, albeit reluctantly," said Goldemar. "But I owe you no explanations. Time is growing short, and I will not decide your fate. It is bound up with the blade and the Eye, and I leave you in the hands of the King of the Mountain. We are bound thither now." He rose, and the rest of the Kobold council, Krum Chimmek's company and their prisoners followed him to a semi-circular recess carved smoothly into the far wall of the chamber. The circle was completed by a narrow curved gap on the floor, leaving a separate piece of smooth granite as wide as twice Javor's height. The Koblolds stepped onto the circular stone, then turned to face away from the wall; the Sklavenes stepped onto it, pushing the three Gnostics and Javor. Ingund stepped on daintily and tried, but failed, to stand exactly in the centre. Stuhach then stepped onto the circle, and all the men and Koblolds got as far from it as they could.

Goldemar nodded and the humans all lurched a little as the circle began to rise smoothly with a slight hum. The semi-circular recess in the wall became a perfectly round hole in the ceiling. The Sklavenes and Stuhach were calm, but Ingund's eyes were wide, and she looked as if she were trying very hard not to be sick. The Kobolds were silent.

As they rose, the hum echoed louder and the air grew colder. After a few minutes, Austinus thought he could see light far overhead. Finally, the platform slowed and stopped smoothly just as they emerged into the open air.

They were on a wide plateau on the side of a mountain. A chilling breeze blew from the snow-covered slopes on one side. A sheer cliff dropped on the other side. And in between was a magnificent hall, obviously human-made, as big as any basilica in Rome or Constantinople. It was covered in white marble and its roof gleamed silver in the light of the rising sun. At the front were tall doors of oak bound with bronze, and the back seemed to merge with the mountainside so that no one could see where manmade walls ended and natural rock began.

"What is this place?" asked Malleus, gaping.

"The hall of the self-styled Mountain King, Ingolf," Goldemar answered. He led the group toward the high doors, which gleamed in the rising sun. Stuhach was trying to stay in the shadows, shading its hideous face with its enormous hands.

"Let us get inside quickly," scraped its voice. Javor could see that the sunlight was weakening him, maybe even hurting him in some way.

Ingund seemed to have recovered her composure. She tilted her nose upward and stepped in front of the group, striding toward the hall. "Father!" she called. "I have come home!"

"Wait—the sun is not rising, it's setting!" Malleus exclaimed. It was true; the last rays of the sun fell below the outlines of the mountains in the west and the gleam left the hall's roof.

"How long were we on the bog sciopa?" Austinus asked.

"Half a night, and all the following day," Krum Chimmek answered. "Although you did not realize it, you slept soundly during your journey. Worry not—you were safe in our hands. Hospitality toward our guests is one of our strictest mores."

Part of the cliff detached from the mountain side and took on a gigantic humanoid shape, three times Javor's height. Its every step shook the ground. Ingund ran behind Miro.

"Who goes there?" it asked in a voice like thunder echoing in the canyons below.

"Goldemar and the Yon-Sakathe, the People of Knowledge, are fulfilling our bargain with 'King' Ingolf," answered the Niech Riagleth. "We are here at the agreed-upon time."

The stone-giant opened one of the great doors to a spectacular royal citadel that surpassed the Roman Emperor's. A double row of gilded columns held up the vast barrel-vaulted, blue-painted ceiling. Between the pillars, the light from torches in gilded posts shone in hundreds of jewels embedded in the walls. Heavy tapestries showed battle scenes and a wise king. The floor was the smoothest marble of black, grey, white and brown.

Ingund ran into the hall, crying "Daddy!" At the end of the hall stood a dais of shining black rock. Seven steps led up to its top, where sat a high oak throne, encrusted with gold and silver, and with gems of white, blue, red and green.

It was empty.

Krum Chimmek marched to the foot of the steps and came to a ritual halt. The other Kobolds spread in a double line. They stood at attention, waiting for something.

Miro and his warriors stood by, uncertain. Ingund peered toward the back of the hall. And behind them all stood Stuhach, its face unreadable.

The great door closed with a boom; its echoes were replaced by a brassy fanfare from the back of the hall, clashing of metal and heavy footsteps. From the shadows of the hall emerged a troop of soldiers in full armour. They wore pointed iron helmets decorated in silver, heavy mail tunics and black trousers. Each carried a shield on his left arm and held a long sword pointed up in front of his face. They marched out and stopped in front of the dais, facing the visitors.

Behind them, a herald in a long black and white robe announced "Ingolf, King of the Mountain and the Ostrogoth people!"

Ingund bowed elaborately, sweeping her arms back. Krum Chimmek, Goldemar and the other Kobolds bowed respectfully. Miro and the other warriors stood to attention. The four from Constantinople did not know what to do.

The King was a tall, handsome young man with long legs, long brown hair and a thick moustache, wearing simple blue and white tunic and trousers, and high, soft-looking brown boots. A red cloak was wrapped over one shoulder, held in place with a great golden brooch decorated with an amber gem. Beside him in clothes of exactly the same design was a young boy who could have been no more than seven years old. He had big blue eyes and curly dark-brown hair. He was almost a copy of Ingolf.

Ingund threw her arms around the King. He embraced her and kissed her forehead.

"Ingund, I cannot tell you how happy I am to see you again, unhurt. Are you well?"

"Yes, father," she said, sobbing. "I have succeeded in my mission!"

"Good, wonderful!" Ingolf said, but he did not look very pleased. "Your mother will be very proud." He extricated himself from Ingund's arms, and took his young son to the top of the dais.

"Daughter, Miro, I am very glad to see you return to my hall, unscathed. And greetings to you, Goldemar and the People of Knowledge. But where is Stanislaw? And who are your prisoners? Most important, why have you allowed this hell-spawn into my hall?" He looked at Stuhach, which flicked its forked tongue in and out of its mouth.

"Stanislaw is dead, my king," Miro answered in a bold voice, standing at full attention. "Murdered by this fiend!"

"I bring the blade that was the goal of this mission," came the metal-on-stone scraping voice of Stuhach.

"That was not the goal of the mission I sent my best men on, fiend!" Ingolf thundered. "The mission was to rescue my daughter from Rome! You were to provide protection against the Legions, not kill my brother!"

"We destroyed a Legion," Stuhach scraped, his tongue flicking in and out of his mouth. "Rome will fear to venture north of the great river again for a long time."

"And where is this blade that was worth the life of my general and how many other good men?" Stuhach held it up. "Bring it here," Ingolf ordered.

"No," Stuhach answered. "It is not the property of men."

Ingolf's face reddened, but before he could say anything, Goldemar cleared his throat. "If I may, your Majesty. My people have fulfilled our side of our agreement. We have provided transportation and brought your warriors and your daughter safely to you. I am sorry for the loss of your good men, but Krum Chimmek, here, tells me that they had already lost their lives when he found the troop. All that being said, we would like to retrieve our property, as we agreed at the outset of this mission.

Ingolf looked down at the Kobolds. "In good time, Goldemar. First, tell me why you have brought these four strangers here?"

Krum Chimmek spoke up. "We found them with your men, fighting Stuhach's monsters. They seem to have been captured by your men, and I thought it best to prevent them from bringing intelligence to your enemies."

"Without their help, Stuhach and its fellow hell-spawn would have slain and doubtlessly eaten all of us!" Miro exclaimed. He turned to the monster. "You will pay for murdering my father!"

"Hold, Miro!" Ingolf ordered. "I must get to the bottom of this. Now, strangers, tell me yourselves: who are you, and what brought you to my men?"

Austinus bowed formally. "We are Gnostics, seekers of mystic knowledge, now living in Constantinople but originally from far-flung quarters of the world. My name is Austinus; this is my wife, Tiana; and this is our good friend and best fighter, as well as a wise mystic in his own right, Malleus. And this tall one is our apprentice, Javor, but also one of your countrymen, I believe, being from the North.

"But please indulge my curiousity: you call yourself 'Ingolf,' but you cannot be the Ingolf from the Battle of Mons Lactarius—that was over thirty years ago."

The King of the Mountain smiled a little. "That was I. I have fixed my age at thirty years. What were you doing in Pannonia?"

"We were looking for answers to a great mystery, and travelled up the great river Danuvius until we came upon the survivors of a Roman Legion that had been all but wiped out by what they called 'monsters.' Well, of course, we took that with a grain of salt, but soon after we found your men camping, just a few nights ago."

"We caught them spying," said Miro. "We took them captive, but when the monsters turned on us, we cut them free. And a good thing we did, too, or we would all be dead!"

"You have said that, Miro," Ingolf said impatiently. "Now be quiet."

"There is more to tell, King Ingolf!" said Krum Chimmek. "The blonde one, the one they say is one of you, only joined the group at our waystation, carried there by a dragon!"

Ingolf was shocked. "What do you mean?"

"A large dragon, with dark scales. It tried to take the blade from the troll, your servant. But the troll fought it off and retrieved the blade. Our blade. We then took the dragon-rider prisoner."

"It's my dagger!" Javor exclaimed, unable to keep his mouth shut any longer. Everyone looked at him, except for Stuhach, which only flicked its tongue. The dagger was still in its claw.

Tiana decided to take a great risk. "King Ingolf, the dagger that Stuhach holds was the property of our friend. The dragon took it from him in Constantinople. Obviously, Stuhach wrested it away after that point."

"Tiana!" Austinus exclaimed.

"There is no use hiding these truths anymore, my dear. We must make clear to King Ingolf the danger of their alliance with the underworld."

Ingolf came down from the dais. "So, you are Javor from the northern mountains. You're a big, strapping young lad—it's too bad we did not meet earlier. I could have used more like you in my army."

"I would never join you!"

"Why not?"

"You're allied with—things like that," he nodded toward Stuhach. "Like the chort that killed my parents!"

Ingolf nodded. "Yes. Some necessary alliances are regrettable. But fighting Rome without them was futile. And when it comes to incursions into our hereditary territory by Avars, well, they are quite useful, wouldn't you agree?"

Javor sputtered. "You sent Ghastog? You murdered my parents!"

Ingolf shrugged. "If they were stupid enough to get between an ogre and its quarry, it's their own fault."

Javor head-butted the King in the face. Ingolf went down with a grunt and his men charged forward. One knocked Javor to the ground and held a sword point to his face. Two other guards helped the King to his feet until he shook them off angrily.

"Shall I kill him, my King?" the guard asked.

"Not yet," Ingolf said, rubbing his head. "I want to find out more about this dragon."

"I think you will want to kill him when I tell you he claims to be Ingund's lover!" said Miro.

Ingund gasped and Ingolf stiffened, eyes wide. He turned toward his daughter, but before he could say a word, he was interrupted again, this time by a distant gong.
Chapter 34: The goddess' cave

"The Queen summons!" called the herald. Ingolf, his son, daughter and the herald marched to the back of the hall. The black-clad soldiers herded the others after the King.

At the back of the hall, a stream fell in a tinkling spray into a carved pool. In the centre of the pool, guarded by four white pillars, was a white marble statue of the goddess of love and beauty. A stream flowed out of the pool into a wide cave that opened in the mountainside that formed the back wall of the hall. The herald led the way along a broad path beside the stream.

Inside the cave there was almost no light, save for a few torches carried by the herald and some of the soldiers. Their light, far inferior to the Kobolds' glowing globes, reflected greenly in the water of the stream, and footsteps echoed eerily. To Javor's amazement, the tunnel was high enough for the monster Stuhach to walk unstooped.

The herald halted at the edge of a huge underground lake and raised his arm. A long, empty boat with a high prow and stern glided silently closer without a visible means of propulsion. It stopped against a sort of natural stone jetty, and the herald led the others aboard.

Javor worried that Stuhach would capsize the vessel, but though it tipped when the monster stepped aboard, it righted itself and then, without warning or sound, started back across the water.

The shore quickly disappeared into the dark. Soon, he could see the far side: a strange light, a sort of garden (But how do things grow underground, away from the sun?), and what appeared to be benches.

And in the middle, raised on a small platform, a woman reclined on a comfortable couch, stroking a huge black cat with bright yellow eyes. As the people, Kobolds and monster disembarked, the woman stood.

She was very tall, with long blonde hair. She wore a long and nearly transparent white robe, and gold rings on each finger. There were gold bangles around her wrists and a necklace of gold and amber across her chest. Her hair was bound by a wide band of gold that held a large amber sphere in the middle of her forehead. This is Kriemhild, Javor knew. Who else could it be?

"Mother!" Ingund cried. "Mother, I succeeded in my mission! I am pregnant!"

The Queen gazed at her visitors. Her eyes widened when they landed on Tiana, but then the young boy ran up to her and hugged her. She smiled a little and patted his head. She kissed Ingund on the cheek. "Well done, daughter. The plan has come together," she said in a voice deep and earthy, yet musical. "We now have the required elements for the ceremony. Two of the Companions are here. Your child will be the key to our power over the whole world.

"I am glad that you have fulfilled your mission, as well, Stuhach," Kriemhild continued. "Now give me the Second Companion."

"The blade?" the monster said in its awful, scraping voice. "No. I will keep it."

The Queen just looked at the monster. She raised her right hand to the big amber ball on her forehead and held her left hand out. She looked into the monster's eyes, and the monster stared back at her.

No one else could speak or even move. Tiana felt like she was choking. Then Stuhach began to stoop. Its eyes never left the Queen, but its back bent and its head went lower and lower. It put its free claw on the marble floor and it began to tremble. Finally, it reached out a shaking claw and placed the dagger in Kriemhild's hand. Then it crawled backward to the stone wall.

Kriemhild lifted the dagger high and laughed wildly. "Yes! The Fang is mine! My final victory is at hand!"

She turned and walked up to Tiana. "And you are the last ornament in my triumph, Te-ma-arun-Vd-a, priestess of my sister Tabita. It is good to have a Solar witness."

"My name is Tiana," she said, shaking.

"We all know it is not."

"And who are you?" Austinus demanded, stepping between the two women.

"Have respect, man," Ingolf warned, but the Queen held up her hand and the King closed his mouth.

"I am Ildico, Queen of the Ostrogoths," she said. "I have also been called Kriemhild and Gudrun, and I am the Goddess of the Alps."

"Ildico?" Austinus asked. "Your husband claims to be 60 years old and one of Totila's generals—are you saying that you married Atilla the Hun over 100 years ago?"

She smiled a little. "And you are Austinus, the wise Gnostic magician—really, though, just another worshipper of the sky gods. Like your wife, here."

The Queen turned to Javor. "And this is the young fool that bore the Fang. I am disappointed, daughter, that you were unable to persuade him to give it to you."

"Don't let your head get too close to his," Ingolf warned.

"How do you know about us?" Austinus demanded.

Kriemhild pointed at the bauble on her head. "I have the Eye of Knowledge, Brath, once the most prized possession of the Yonn-Sakathe. I can see all in the world and know what is in the hearts of men. I am now a goddess who possesses complete knowledge."

"Knowledge, perhaps, but not wisdom," Austinus said.

Kriemhild's eyes and nostrils flared. "Wisdom! And how wise are you, Roman? How wise is the mighty Roman Empire, which conquered Egypt only because it had so degraded its own farmlands that it could no longer feed its population? Which cut down entire forests for its war machines, until Africa became a desert? No, Gnostic—do not presume to banter with a goddess!"

"You're not a goddess!" Javor could not believe he had said that. "You're just a woman who doesn't want to admit how old she really is! You don't know anything about gods and goddesses!" he continued. "None of you do, not you Christians, you Gnostics or least of all you, Kriemhild or whoever you are!"

Tiana goggled at Javor; Austinus' mouth hung open. Malleus looked slightly amused.

Kriemhild's face was red. Javor thought she would slap him, but instead she stroked his face gently. "You are a beautiful fool. Ingund, I can see the attraction, but I truly hope you did not lie with him. Tell me, fool, how would you know of the nature of the gods?"

"The dragon showed me."

Kriemhild could not disguise her shock. "A dragon showed you?"

"And it showed me what 'bones of the earth' means."

Kriemhild flushed again and Javor once more thought she would hit him.

Goldemar interrupted. "Queen Kriemhild, the People of Knowledge have fulfilled our contract with you. We have allowed you to live in our former entry chamber and use our oldest watercraft. We have delivered your daughter and the dagger through your servant, Stuhach. Now it is time that you uphold your side of the contract and return to us the Buill Brath, the Eye of Knowledge."

Kriemhild answered, "I thank you for your part in carrying out my plan, but I will not give you the Eye. Instead, I will increase your wealth and your holdings beyond your imagination, Goldemar."

"Nothing that we desire is within your power to give, Gudrun. Our arrangement was the return of the Eye that has been in our keeping for millenia in exchange for the Fang. You better than anyone here should know the consequences of breaking an oath made to the Yonn-Sakathe!"

"With the power of the Eye alone, I have already brought Mother Earth's deep power to the surface of the world! I have unleashed the plague that killed the Emperor Justinian! With the Eye and the Fang together, I can reshape the world as it should be, Goldemar! I will destroy our enemies. Rome and Persia will cease to be. I can cause the sea to swallow Constantinople, the Tigris to drown Ctesiphon! No longer will the Yonn-Sakathe have to hide!"

"Without the Eye of Knowledge," Goldemar answered, "no possessions mean anything to us. Return it to us or face the consequences."

The Queen turned her back to Goldemar. The soldiers in black formed a line to protect her. "It is time to begin the ceremony!"

The herald gave her a large golden goblet. "Bless you, child and mother to be," Kriemhild said. "Drink this to ensure your child becomes the embodiment, the fulfillment of our destiny." Ingund took the cup in both hands and sipped. She grimaced. "Drink it all down, child," her mother urged gently, but there was no gentleness in her eyes. Ingund closed her eyes, wrinkled her nose and gulped the whole contents down, then coughed twice.

Kriemhild smiled horribly, lifted her hands and cried out in a strange language—like the Kobolds', but they did not understand her, either. A commotion interrupted. She turned to see Ingolf's honour guard fighting desperately against the Kobolds. Even though the Kobolds had no weapons, the black-clad men had no chance. Krum Chimmek picked up a tall Goth in his hands and hurled him into the water.

"Kriemhild! We Kobolds have upheld our side of the bargain! Now we want the gem back!"

"Do not dare to argue with a goddess!"

More Gothic warriors fell, stunned, and Javor watched one of the smallest Kobolds pummel a tall Goth into unconsciousness. Miro's group drew their swords but seemed unable to decide what to do next. The point was moot as the last of Ingolf's men fell.

Krum Chimmek stepped toward the Queen. She raised her hands and barked a command in a language no one could understand—none but Stuhach. The monster jumped forward, slashing its terrible claws at the Kobold.

Krum dodged, lunged under the monster's reach and punched it in the belly. Stuhach staggered back, but slashed again at Krum Chimmek. He jumped up and brought his two clenched fists down on the monster's snout. When he hit the ground, he picked up the monster's foot in two hands and tipped it over.

Stuhach crashed to the floor, shaking the whole cavern, but managed to grab the Kobold in its claw. Javor tried to jump to help the small man, but his wrists were bound and he tumbled to the floor, helpless.

Krum Chimmek pushed with all his might on the claws, but the monster squeezed and the Kobold's face turned red. Stuhach was about to pop the Kobold like a gourd when Malleus sprang forward with a sword he had taken from one of the senseless guards and thrust the point into Stuhach's eye.

The monster's scream terrified everyone in the room. Even the Queen shrank behind her husband. Ingund hid behind the couch.

Malleus pushed the blade into the monster's head, but it swept its free arm around and sent the warrior sprawling. Then it picked up Krum Chimmek and smashed him into the ground again and again until all that was left was a mass of bloody flesh.

Miro sprang forward then, aiming his sword at Stuhach's remaining eye. At the same time, Austinus jumped toward the Queen and tried to pull the dagger from her grasp.

The monster backhanded Miro across the cavern. He hit the rock wall and lay still.

Kriemhild called for Stuhach. With one taloned hand over its destroyed eye, the monster bit the gnostic's head off. Tiana screamed as her husband's headless body fell.

"Goths! Push the Kobolds back to their boat!" Ingolf ordered, his voice ringing off the cave walls. Reluctantly, Miro's men advanced toward the little people, who drew back toward the lake. But as one Kobold passed Javor, he brushed a single finger over the chain between Javor's wrists. He felt a tiny click more than he heard it, and realized that his hands were free.

"Begone!" Kriemhild shrieked. "You forfeit any reward or recompense for our contract! Go and never return to my sight!" Goldemar led the remaining Kobolds onto the boat, and it departed as silently as it came, bearing the little people back to the entrance to the mountain hall.

Last chance! Javor jumped to his feet. Three steps, four, five ... behind him, Kriemhild screamed. He jumped as one of Miro's men grabbed at his arm. He hit the water and was gone.

No one left in the Queen's cavern moved for several minutes until Kriemhild strapped Stuhach's sheath around her daughter's waist and chanted in her language again. There was a deep rumbling sound from the rear of the cave and a blast of cold air, and then a sense of something moving. An enormous form emerged from the darkness—another stone giant. Kriemheld said something else, and the giant bent low and cupped its great hands together. Kriemhild, Ingolf and their son and daughter stepped onto the great palms. The giant straightened without any visible effort, turned and strode back into the darkness. Stuhach, its eye leaking a foul black liquid, roughly grabbed Tiana around the waist and followed the giant.

They strode up a broad staircase that led up a high, arched tunnel, and soon they were out in the open night again. Stars glittered hard overhead and the air was chill. The staircase continued up the mountainside and the giant and the monster strode up, ever higher, without slowing.
Chapter 35: The people of knowledge

Javor fought panic and stayed under the surface as long as he could. He tried to remember how old Photius had swum in the river the night they escaped the strigoi and kicked his legs and waved his arms until his lungs felt they would burst.

Come up now, slowly, said the amulet.

Javor pushed down with his hand and lifted his head above the surface as gently as he could. He barely made a ripple, but his first gasping breath echoed. He could not see anything. There was no light in the cave. Where are the others? I could not have swum that far!

The water was surprisingly warm. Javor kicked and waved his arms to keep his head above the surface, but was still worried that splashing would give him away.

Which way should I go?I don't even know which was I was facing when I came up. He tried swimming forward again, but the blackness was so deep he could not even tell if he was moving.

When he first saw a dim, yellowish glow, he could not be certain whether it was real or imaginary. It grew brighter and closer until strong hands grabbed him and pulled him up, out of the water and onto the Queen's long boat. He struggled to his feet, ready to fight until he saw the Kobolds.

Goldemar wrapped him in a cloak. "Thank you." Javor did not know what else to say. He realized he was shivering. The air in the cave was cooler than the water. The Kobold leader handed him a silver flask. Javor sipped strong liquor that warmed him immediately. A cut on his leg smarted. He sat down on a bench. A Kobold smeared a tiny amount of some sticky liquid on his cut, then withdrew before Javor could say anything.

So many questions whirled through his mind at once. He clenched his jaw and asked "How do you control the Queen's boat?"

Goldemar snorted. "It is our boat. We allowed Kriemhild to use it once, and she kept it."

Javor could feel the boat moving, could hear the water lapping the hull, but still could see nothing beyond it. "How does it move?"

"Do you know what a machine is, lad?"

"Never heard of it."

"The Greeks were once quite skilled at machinery, but the Romans only appreciate machines as means of mass murder. We built all this. We began with natural formations, like this underground river, then the tunnels and the staircases. Later came the conveyances, like our boats, the bog sciopa and the lifting platform."

"Who are you?"

"We are the People of Knowledge, the Yonn-Sakathe. In this part of the world, men call us Kobolds. Once we had a civilization above and below ground that stretched across this continent. Our numbers have declined as your peoples' have grown, and many of our finest works have been abandoned. Opportunists like Kriemhild have taken advantage of them. Now, we are little more than a fading memory." He fell silent, staring into the dark for a long time, reminding Javor of Photius. "We were powerful, once. The Companions were once ours—the Eye and the Fang were our most powerful defensive weapons. And now Kriemhild has them. We have endured her presumption only because she promised to return the Eye in exchange for helping her to acquire the Fang ..."

"The Eye—you mean that big orange gem on Kriemhild's head?"

"Yes. It gives insight, as well as far sight, to its bearer. Little can remain secret to the one that bears the Eye. It must not remain in Kriemhild's possession!"

"Why not?"

"In your religion, does your god not forbid you the tree of knowledge?"

"You mean, Christianity? It's not my religion. Too little of it makes sense."

"You think as we do. We are dedicated to knowledge, to learning how the world functions. Our civilization has fed and protected all our people without war for thousands of years, all without despoiling the land. We do not argue about faith or the nature of gods, or anything else we cannot see or measure."

"And the Fang is my dagger?"

"Yes. An unbreakable, irresistible weapon, the only thing that can cleave the hide of a dragon—or of a monster like Stuhach. The Fang and the Eye are two of the Companions—the weapon and the light of knowledge."

"And my amulet is the Shield?"

Goldemar gently pulled apart the cloak he had wrapped around Javor's shoulders and looked closely at the amulet in the greenish light of the Kobold glow-globe. "I suppose it is," he said after a while. "It appears to be a single scale from a dragon's hide. As such, it cannot be pierced or broken."

"Even by the Fang? My dagger?"

"To tell you the truth, lad, until now I had only heard of it in legends that are older even than our people. I doubted it truly existed. How is your leg?"

Javor was surprised to realize it did not hurt at all any more.

"Tell me," said Goldemar. "Will you try once more to regain your dagger and help us regain the Eye?"

Javor nodded. The boat stopped at a stone wharf. Kobolds jumped out and tied it off, while others helped Javor disembark. Goldemar led them down another glow-globe-lit tunnel. It ended in a shadow, but when Goldemar entered it, more globes ignited to light another spacious cavern with a smooth marble floor.

At one side was a small armoury. The Kobolds donned shining silver and gold armour and strapped weapons on.

The armour was too small for Javor, except for helmets. He found a very ornate one with a tall horse-tail crest and golden wings on the side, but Goldemar shook his head and gave him a simpler silver one. It actually fits better. He picked up a Kobold broadsword, which for him was like a Legionnaire's short sword.

Once armoured, the Kobolds marched across the floor to another circular lifting platform. Javor hesitated until Goldemar gave him a sharp look, then joined the small people in their formation. He nearly fell when the platform started to rise. It rose so fast, he could barely breathe in the rushing wind.

Chapter 36: The spell on the mountain

The staircase wound around a shoulder of rock and Tiana shivered as a blast of cold wind hit her. She pushed uselessly against the monster's claw. It followed the giant ahead, on and on, and Tiana realized that the staircase spiraled up the highest peak in the area. The other mountains, outlined dimly in the starlight, fell away around them. The air was getting so cold that Tiana felt a little grateful for the monster's claws where they blocked the icy wind, even though its scales were cold.

The stair ended on a wide, roughly circular area just below the summit. Except for the stone staircase, three sides of the ledge dropped off sheer cliffs. When Tiana peered over the edge, she felt almost as if she were looking down at stars. The half-moon was low. Is it rising? Or setting?

In front of them was a rocky outcrop, the mountain's peak, about twice the height of the stone giant.

The giant gently put down its human cargo. The little boy shivered in the cold mountain air. His father wrapped his red cloak around him and held him close.

Kriemhild went to the edge, lifted her hands over her head and screamed defiance in her strange language. She turned and walked to the opposite edge and repeated her scream, then again on the third side before approaching the rocky hump and bowing, muttering in the same bizarre tongue. Its harsh syllables sounded ancient to Tiana. At that moment, there was a red glint against the cliff: the sun was rising.

Ingund climbed onto a small rock at the base of the hump, like a little step. She leaned back against the rock, legs a little apart, and gazed at the sky. Her face was calm, intent, and she seemed to hear something no one else could.

Ingund drew Javor's dagger, the Fang, from the sheath that still hung around her waist, kissed it, then held it out handle first to Kriemhild. The Queen took the knife in her right hand and held her left out for her son. The boy came to stand under her arm, cuddling against her for warmth but not finding it.

Tiana felt a sudden alarm as she started to guess Kriemhild's intentions. She squirmed in the monster's grip, but it was no use. The Queen lifted her arms again and spoke, this time in Greek.

"Oh Great Mother, giver of all life, on this solstice day, I bring before you two young lives. One conceived and born wholly of the earth, the people who have never left the true faith of the earth: this innocent born of my loins, Ana-kui, who bears the name of that people who have ranged across your holy face these seven generations.

"And the other lives still in the belly of my daughter, now arrayed upon your altar, Great Mother." She lowered her hands and spoke to Ingund. "Tell your Mother truthfully, child, are you carrying your own child at this time?"

"Yes," Ingund answered proudly, face high to the night sky. "Two months now."

Kriemhild lifted the tip of the blade under Ingund's thin shift, then slashed upward. Tiana gasped, expecting the girl's evisceration, and she saw Ingolf jump a little, too. But to their surprise and relief, the Queen had only ripped apart the dress, leaving her daughter naked on the rock. Tiana shivered sympathetically.

"Answer truthfully, mother, were you a virgin upon conception of this life?" Kriemhild demanded.

Ingund/Danisa hesitated less than a heartbeat before she answered. "Yes."

"No! Javor was her lover!" Tiana yelled.

Both women stared at Tiana. "Silence, witch!" Kriemhild commanded.

"She is lying!" Ingund protested.

"It's true! Javor told us that he and she had been lovers!" said Tania.

"Do not break the spell!" Kriemhild snarled. "Be silent, witch of Tabita, or I will kill you immediately!" She turned back to her daughter. "It matters little whether you were a virgin. But answer truthfully, mother, what is the sex of your child?"

"A girl," Ingund answered firmly.

"Answer truthfully, mother, who is the father of your child?"

"Paulus, prince of Rome, son of the Emperor Maurice!" she cried proudly.

"Yes, Great Mother! The seed of Rome, worshippers for centuries of the gods of the skies!" Kriemhild shrieked triumphantly. "In the body of my daughter I have united the faiths of Earth and Sky! I bring before you the seed of Rome itself, destroyer of your worshippers, despoiler of your fertile fields! Now, in this place of Earth and Sky united, I unite Man's worship in this young mother's body!" She raised the dagger high again and chanted in her weird, ancient language.

She turned to her son and spoke in Greek again. "Mother Earth, take power from my sacrifice this night and defeat your enemies! Vanquish Sky and restore the rightful balance of this world! Mother Earth, I offer you my greatest sacrifice. I give you my son!"

"No!" Ingolf screamed and sprang forward. He grabbed the boy in one hand and Kriemhild's knife-arm in the other. She was surprisingly strong and stabbed her husband in the belly. Groaning, Ingolf pulled the boy behind him as he crumpled to the ground, still gripping Kriemhild by the wrist.

"Father!" Ingund gasped, still on her rock.

"Witch," he whispered as blood ran down his wrist. Even as blood came out of his mouth he pried Kriemhild's hand from the dagger.

Kriemhild shrieked curses in a dozen languages. Ingolf whispered to his son, "Run!" and pushed him toward the stairs. He dropped face-first to the ground, embedding the blade deep in his body.

Ingund cried out again as her father died at her feet. Kriemhild cursed him, looking up just in time to see Ana-kui disappear down the staircase. "Turn him over and get the dagger back!" she ordered Stuhach. She yelled something at the stone giant, who strode after the boy.

The monster dropped Tiana and turned Ingolf's body over, but before Kriemhild could retrieve her dagger, there was commotion on the staircase. The stone giant returned, walking backward. Its attention was held by small forms coming up the stairs.

Goldemar, arrayed in full silver and gold armour, leaped up onto the rock platform. He swung a huge double-headed axe at the giant's legs. Behind him a company of Kobolds poured onto the summit. The giant swung its arms, trying to sweep them off the mountain, but the little men were too fast. Three carrying ropes ran circles around the giant, binding its legs. Another hurled a hammer as big as himself at the giant's head. It reeled back, windmilling its arms, then fell, silently, over the cliff just as the sun rose, red between blood-stained peaks.

Stuhach attacked. Goldemar swung his axe and struck a blow that would have felled an oak tree. It only bounced off the fiend's scales, but it staggered back and then it was attacked by three other kobolds. Their axe blows were also useless, but they kept the half-blind monster busy and away from Goldemar.

"Kriemhild!" he shouted. "You know never to break faith with the People of Knowledge! Now give us back the Eye or we will kill you all!"

Kriemhild laughed. She touched the amber ball on her forehead and looked at Goldemar, then all the other Kobolds. "Hold! You know the power of the Eye! I command you all to stop where you are!" The Kobolds froze in place. Even Stuhach held still.

Kriemhild pulled the dagger out of her husband's body, then raised it over her head and started to chant her spell again.

Tiana grabbed Kriemhild's upraised hands from behind. The Queen managed to turn around without letting go of the dagger's handle and Tiana found herself dangling from Kriemhild's grasp. She kicked at the Queen and Kriemhild went down on her butt.

Then Javor slammed into Kriemhild, sending her sprawling to the ground.

Unable to keep up with the Kobolds as they charged the short distance from their lift to the summit, he jumped up the last slope to see the Kobolds keeping Stuhach at bay while the Queen threatened Tiana.

Kriemhild dropped the dagger and Javor grabbed it with a huge sense of relief.

But the Queen was not dismayed. "Yes! The Third Companion is here! The pieces of the spell are now complete!" she cried.

Javor looked up. I don't believe it. On the other side of the ledge, Stuhach wrestled with a dragon. Javor knew it was Sarbox because of the great scars in its side—the results of its previous encounter with Stuhach on the Danuvius' banks. It was able to follow us because the dagger was separated from the amulet.

The dragon had surprised the monster and pinned it to the ground, but it could not hold Stuhach down. Its strength was terrifying. It pushed Sarbox off and slashed with its claws. The talons dug into the dragon's hide, and Sarbox roared in pain. The dragon sank its long fangs into its opponent's shoulder, but that did not even slow Stuhach down.

Stuhach is stronger than Sarbox. It's older. The monster grabbed one of Sarbox's wings and pulled. There was a horrifying crack and the dragon's wing drooped, the bone snapped. The monster gripped Sarbox' jaws and pulled them open, and the dragon seemed helpless to do anything about it.

The monster's back was toward Javor. He jumped forward and plunged the dagger in. The tip of the blade bit into the scales, but did not sink deep. The monster let go of Sarbox and whirled on Javor. He didn't hesitate and thrust as hard as he could with all the strength he could find. The dagger went deep into the monster's belly and Javor felt a shock all the way up to his shoulder as the tip penetrated the scales. But the fiend did not even stagger.

He wrenched the dagger out of the monster's body. As it turned and slashed at him, Javor dodged, swinging the dagger wildly. The monster trapped him in front of the wall.

Then Javor saw something that only Javor could have seen: the dagger had made a slit in the monster's hide. He stabbed and the monster laughed at the futility. But the little cut was slightly larger.

It can't be just one thing. It's never just one thing.

Javor pulled the amulet off its chain and pushed it into the wound. The ogre screamed so loudly Javor's ears hurt. It began to shake and smoke came from its scales, although Javor felt no heat. He pushed harder and the monster fell to its knees. Its arms hung limply against its body, and it slowly fell back.

The amulet was burning a hole in the monster's body and Javor pushed it deeper. Stuhach fell back onto the rock, the amulet firmly embedded in its belly and burning in deeper. Its screams turned to chokes and then smoke came out of its mouth.

The sun rose fully over the mountains, changing from red to gold as cold green flames began to play along Stuhach's shuddering body. Javor stood, panting and shaking.

Ingund began screaming, a long, drawn-out wail.

She hunched forward, holding her stomach. She vomited a thin stream. Blood flowed from between her legs. Instinctively, Tiana reached for her, but Kriemhild pushed her away.

"Mother," Ingund retched. She nearly collapsed but somehow stayed on the rock. "That potion..." She screamed and blood poured out of her. "No! No! My baby!"

Kriemhild cupped her hands between Ingund's legs. Blood flowed through her fingers, but she triumphantly held up something small and soft. Tiana gasped when she realized it was the foetal body of Ingund's baby, dripping blood through Kriemhild's hands. The Queen held the pathetic thing up to the moon and chanted some more.

The Kobolds, Javor and Tiana were frozen by the horror of the sight. Ingund fell into Tiana's arms, who lowered her gently to the rock. She was shivering from cold, shock and loss of blood and Tiana wished she had something to cover the poor girl with.

Kriemhild held her blood-soaked hands toward Ingund. "Get up, my daughter. The solstice is upon us! Come complete the spell and you will live forever!"

Ingund cried and tried to sit up. "Leave her alone," Javor said, and Kriemhild looked into his eyes. Her fiery green eyes and the amber ball over them seemed to grow, to fill his entire field of vision. It was the same trick that the dragon had used on him.

"Bring me the dagger," said the Queen without moving her eyes from his.

Javor could not make his mouth say "No." He felt the dagger in his hand, but he could not move his eyes from hers to see it. He felt a desire to bring the dagger to her and felt his feet moving.

"Javor!" Tiana called. "You do not have to listen to her!"

Tiana's voice sounded distant. All he could see were Kriemhild's eyes. It was like his conversation with Sarbox: her green eyes filled his vision and he knew what she wanted him to know, without hearing her voice. Her mind filled his and he could think of nothing else.

He knew that she had directed Goths, Huns and Avars, manipulating their leaders into wars that wore Rome down and finally shattered it. She had directed Ghastog to search across mountains and plains for the dagger and the amulet and bring them to her. The monster had sensed them when Javor had separated the dagger from the amulet to chase Elli's kidnappers. On its way to take the dagger, Ghastog had stumbled across a wandering group of raiders and killed them all, eating two in its mindless gluttony. When it got to the spot where it had sensed its goal, more little men had tried to oppose it. Ghastog had swept them away like grass, but found only the weaker of the items it sought: the amulet. Then it sensed the dagger coming closer. With horrifying calculation, it crushed the small woman who cowered in the amulet's hiding place and loped through greying dawn back to its temporary home, knowing revenge would bring the dagger's bearer to it.

It was my fault. I killed my parents to save Elli, who never loved me. Javor was back on the mountain top, looking at a tall woman whose green eyes were no greener than her daughter's, no larger than any woman's. The morning sun shone full on Kriemhild's face and Javor could easily see fine lines near her eyes, tiny wrinkles on her neck. The white robe had slipped and he could see tiny ripples along her naked white thigh.

"With the Eye, my will cannot be resisted!" said Kriemhild. "Bring me the dagger!"

Only Tiana moved. She walked up to the Queen and slapped her, hard across the face. "This is the secret of mankind: your mind cannot be dominated unless you consent to it."

Kriemhild snarled incoherently and smashed the heel of her hand into Tiana's face. Then she kicked her, and as the Gnostic woman fell to the ground, Kriemhild pulled the great amber ball off her forehead and struck it as hard as she could against Tiana's head. Tiana lay still on the rocks.

Javor ran to Tiana and Kriemhild scrambled past her body to the smouldering remains of Stuhach, now reduced to little more than a large pile of ash. She thrust her hand into the middle and pulled out Javor's amulet. "The Third Companion!" She held up the amulet in one hand and the amber globe in the other. "Yes! Now bring me the dagger!" she shrieked.

But she was too late. Sarbox's tail whipped at Javor's hand and the dagger went skittering across the rock. The dragon limped forward, but it was still faster than any human and it had the dagger in its claw—the same one that Javor had cut off a year earlier, the one that had re-grown but still did not look quite like the rest of the beast. Kriemhild shrieked again, wordlessly, but Sarbox, despite his broken wing and reptilian face, appeared triumphant.

"You liar!" Javor shouted. "I saved your life with that dagger! Give it back!"

I have no obligation to speak truth to a mortal man, came the answer in Javor's head. Sarbox turned and was looking for a way off the mountain top that did not involve flying when a loud crack echoed off the mountains around them. Rocks tumbled off the peak, and only then, looking up to dodge any that might fall on him, Javor noticed that the long rounded hump was shaped like a long snout with raised eye-ridges—

"It looks like Sarbox. Like a dragon's head," he said out loud.

The ground shook more violently. Javor picked up Tiana and pulled her toward the stairs, but the Kobolds were blocking the way as they scrambled down. Danisa, or Ingund or whoever she really was, was crawling toward the steps, too.

Kriemhild jumped up. "Yes, yes, awake oh Great Mother!" She was laughing.

A crack appeared in the hump of rock, then widened. The rocky platform they stood on shook; its edges crumbled. The staircase began disintegrating into a chaotic slope of razor-sharp rock. The young boy, Kriemhild's son, was clinging to a boulder that was flaking away from the cliff. He hadn't managed to run very far. A Kobold sprang down the rocks like a goat, took the boy under his arm and brought him back to join the others. Javor momentarily wondered if the Kobold and the boy would not have been better off if they had run down the mountain, away from the slide, but then he was distracted again by Kriemhild.

"Great Mother, you are awake at last! I am Ildico! I am the avatar of Freya! I return to you your Eye, your Fang and your Scale to make you whole again! I bring you the sacrifices to restore your dominion over this world!" She cackled and danced.

Javor felt as if he were looking down on the scene from a height even higher than the mountains. He saw Ingolf's body, still bleeding; Tiana sprawled unconscious; the ash that was all that remained of Stuhach; the Kobolds terrified but determined to hold their ground and regain their property; the ridiculous Kriemhild or Ilidico waving her arms over her head. Her transparent white gown had slipped more and she danced almost completely naked in front of the new cave.

Warm air like breath came out of it, and everyone on the rocky platform then knew, not as though someone had told them, but as if they had to acknowledge what they had always known deeply. They were in the presence of the Dragon, the earth itself, the consciousness of the Great Mother. Javor, Kriemhild, Danisa, the young boy Ana-kui, Goldemar and all the other Kobolds, and Sarbox knew that the dragon had seen and understood everything that had brought them to the mouth of one of the Four Hundred, the dragon that was the Alps. Even Tiana's eyes flickered and fluttered open. Javor picked her up in his arms and held her close to his chest.

They knew they could not hope to hide anything, could not hope to lie any longer. And they knew the enormity of the crime, the depth of the sin that Kriemhild was committing, that they had all played a part in. A formless wail ripped out of Kriemhild's core and poured out her mouth. She dropped to her knees but she could not escape the dragon and she could not escape her own knowledge.

Ingund felt guilt like a flood. Guilt for willingly aiding her mother's plans, for pursuing pregnancy by a prince of Rome, for falling in love with a low-born boy and failing to even follow her mother's simplest instruction. But mostly guilt for the trail of blood that led from her own thighs to her lost baby. She could not move, but sat on the ground, naked, bleeding and weeping.

Sarbox dropped the dagger onto the ground. If a reptile could look ashamed, Sarbox appeared ashamed. It took a step back and disappeared over the edge. Javor looked down the cliff but could not see the small dragon—it had disappeared.

Javor raised his hand. "Preyatel!" he called, and the amulet, as it had once before, sailed out of Kriemhild's hand to Javor. "That's mine, I said." She gasped and whirled, nostrils flaring, but there was another enormous crack and a rumble. The rocky floor beneath her feet crumbled and she fell shrieking into the darkness. She was gone in an instant.

Ingund held her breath but said nothing.

The hole reached to Javor's toes. He looked down into the darkness and felt the warm breath, sweet and rich coming up. I will keep them safe, he promised. He knew the dagger and the amulet were not his property, but his responsibility to protect. As was Tiana. I will keep them safe.

Javor got up again and helped the now-conscious Tiana to her feet. He picked up Ana-kui in his arms; the boy appeared to be unscratched, but he would not speak.

"The Eye has returned to the Earth whence it came," said Goldemar. "Come, young man. We will help you all home."
Epilogue: Constantinople

Javor watched bars close across Danisa's face.

The bars were plated with silver and decorated with ivory, and they enclosed the Convent of St. Mary in the Chalkoprateia. The sisters sang a hymn of welcoming another convert to the True Faith as the convent gates swung closed, protecting the Sisters from the outside world.

Danisa had not fought her induction into the convent. She was no longer the confident and commanding hetman's daughter. A severe black robe now hid her supple body, and a pure white veil over her neck and forehead hid her long, shiny brown hair.

I will always know her. Javor looked one more time at Danisa's chin, her nose, and her bright green eyes. Then the new Mother Superior took her into the chapel, away from the eyes of men forever.

He sighed and left the chapel. Constantinople was enjoying a warm, sunny fall day. The leaves were colourful again and Javor took his time, enjoying the breeze that brought the scent of the sea as he walked back to the Vlanga.

Javor felt strangely at peace as he approached his new home. He pushed open a gate and nodded at a slave standing in the small courtyard paved with loose stones. In the exact centre was a small tree with long, yellow leaves. It did not cast much shade, but Javor liked it.

At the door to the villa, he turned and looked to the western sky. No rain tomorrow. Inside, Barbara said "She's in her rooms," as she pushed through the connecting door to the tavern on the other side of the villa.

"You can have my old quarters. They're quite comfortable!" Malleus, now the Comes of the Order, had said. Javor could not get used to the Hammer of Rome's respect for him. But there were too many painful memories at the Abbey, and he could not imagine how he would have fit in with the monks and novices. How would I explain the dragon, the monster, Kriemhild to my old friends?

So he had gone back to the only other place in Constantinople that he knew: the Inn of the Four Winds. He smiled as he remembered how Rutius and Barbara had demanded to see some proof that he could pay for decent lodgings, and the looks on their faces when he spilled a handful of gold coins onto the bar. A gift of the Kobolds, from Ingolf's hoard—"We need none of the wealth of men," Goldemar had said. "Now the Earth has taken back the Eye of Knowledge, and we must be content with that." Javor had taken what he could safely and secretly transport himself, with only a vague idea of its value. On the trip back to Constantinople, Malleus had explained the value of gold. "You have enough to live on very comfortably for several years, Javor. But you needn't spend it. You will always be welcome in the Abbey."

Javor hadn't told Rutius and Barbara any of that. I would have to explain the Kobolds, the monster, the dragon, everything.

Barbara had swept the coins into her apron and screamed for Timon to carry Javor's bags, then shown him the biggest surprise since his return to the great city: a huge, bright and breezy apartment that took up the whole third storey of a building that backed onto the Inn of the Four Winds. It was this building that had the little courtyard with the skinny tree, and commanded a pleasant view of the avenues that led down to the harbour.

He pushed open the door. Barbara or Timon or whoever was cleaning the apartment that day had opened the shutters to the balconies, letting in the warm breeze and sunshine. Tiana sat in a rocking chair—an amazing invention to Javor—just out of the direct sunlight. She turned and smiled at him. He emptied a small jug of wine into a cup and held it carefully until Tiana had a good grip on it, then wiped her chin she sipped. She smiled again, embarrassed.

Tiana had been unable to speak since Kriemhild had hit her head with the Eye, and she could walk only slowly. Her hands trembled and she had trouble swallowing. But her mind was still whole. Goldemar had given her a flat piece of black slate and white chalk so she could communicate. "I do not wish to return to the Abbey," she had written.

Javor did not want to go back to the Abbey, either, but he knew he had to return Tiana to Constantinople, at least. And he could not leave Ana-Kui orphaned on the mountainside. So he had brought them with him to Constantinople. Barbara had said something about "marrying into money."

"She's not my wife," Javor had protested. Barbara smirked, so he added quickly, "She's my—my auntie."

"And this little one is your cousin, then?" Even Javor could tell she did not believe him.

"Umm, yes. Darko. Say hello to Mistress Barbara, Darko," Javor had urged, but Ana-Kui would not say anything.

Barbara's scowl had immediately changed when she saw how Tiana's hands shook and how she struggled to climb the stairs. "Timon!" she had roared. "Help the lady, now!" Timon and Barbara each had taken one of Tiana's arms and helped her to the third floor. Tiana had smiled and nodded to say thanks.

Now, on this sunny autumn day, Javor gazed toward the harbor and wondered how the ships sailed across the wind.

He heard scratching. Tiana was writing on her slate. His throat tightened when he saw how slowly and unsteadily her hand moved. "What's not my fault?" he asked.

She turned the slate around again and resumed her painstaking writing. "Oh, my parents. You mean their deaths? I know." A tear slid down his cheek.

His throat was dry. He took the empty jug down to the tavern, where Rutius was directing workers who were putting in a new door that actually fit the doorway. Timon was painting the shutters.

"Ah, Javor, good to see you this morning!" Rutius boomed. "As you can see, my wonderful wife is spending the money you paid us as fast as she can! What can I do for you? More wine?"

Javor gave Rutius the empty jug. His bar had been removed, and he was waiting for a new, marble one to be installed. "You must tell me someday where you went for a year."

Javor made up his mind and sat down; the tavern was empty except for him and Rutius, Timon painting the shutters and two workers installing the door. "For a big jug of your good wine, Rutius, I'll tell you."

He'll never believe it, anyway.

FIN

###

About the author:

Scott Bury is a journalist, editor and writer living in Ottawa. His articles have been published in newspapers and magazines in Canada, the US, UK and Australia, including Macworld, the Ottawa Citizen, the Financial Post, Marketing, Canadian Printer, Applied Arts, PEM, Workplace, Advanced Manufacturing and others.

His first published fiction is "Sam, the Strawb Part," a children's adventure story. All royalties from sales of this story go to Children at Risk, an Ottawa-based charity that supports families of children with autism spectrum disorders. For more information about them, visit http://www.childrenatrisk.ca/

He has also published a short story for free download as an e-pub, Dark Clouds, which is also available in e-book format.

The Bones of the Earth is his first novel to be published.

He has two sons, an orange cat and a loving wife who puts up with a lot. You can read more of Scott's writing at scottswrittenwords.blogspot.com

and scottstravelblog.wordpress.com, and on his website, http://www.writtenwords.ca.

Follow him on Twitter @ScottTheWriter.

