The last week and a half had been a whirlwind of frantic, managed progress. After twelve days of grueling practice, the recruits were finally showing some semblance of discipline. They snapped to attention when addressed, assembled in the courtyard without being screamed at, and had begun to execute the simple drills Sergeant Leonidas put them through with a precision that was, at least, no longer laughable. It was an astonishing transformation from the broken, malnourished mob Theodorus had inherited, but as he stood in the pre-dawn chill, he knew it was nowhere near enough.
Critical supplies like vegetables were already running out, and straw bedding was a dwindling luxury. He had already sent the formal requisition to the capital, a meticulous catalogue of their needs conducted by Demetrios. Two days ago, he had dispatched Nikos on one of the new horses, the man’s face a mask of grim determination as he took the carefully worded requisition letter. The missive was addressed to the Megas Doux’s office, but Theodorus had instructed Nikos to deliver it only into the hands of Zeno Makris. It was a message within a message, a test of their fragile new alliance. Zeno would understand the indirect message perfectly, he was sure.
The preparations for the wall reconstruction had proceeded smoothly and the sick and injured men had all recovered with no casualties - a small miracle that was more than Theodorus had dared hope for. The success was a testament to Orestis’s dogged care and his own draconian, but effective, sanitary measures.
As Theodorus waited in the courtyard, the first two men emerged from the barracks, their arrival now a familiar part of the morning ritual. First came Christos, looking as wild and sullen as ever. Theodorus had come to realize the massive recruit was simply not a morning person, but he was here, punctual and alert. He was followed by Orestis. Since nursing the last of the sick back to health, the grizzled veteran seemed to have shed twenty years. He carried himself with a renewed measure of authority and a quiet sense of duty that was a world away from the profound apathy that had once defined him.
The morning call was a far cry from the first one. Leonidas and his men had no need to shout or bark threats; the garrison filed out of the tower and into the courtyard, forming their lines to stand at attention. There were no holdouts, no stragglers. They were sleepy and disheveled, but they were on time. The silence was broken only by the crisp commands of Sergeant Leonidas as he dressed the ranks. He moved down the line, his presence a heavy, grounding force, and when he was satisfied, he strode to Theodorus, his salute a model of military precision.
“All present and accounted for, Captain.” Leonidas’s was clipped, his gaze direct. The resentment was gone, replaced by a complex, watchful respect. “The latrine duty will have to be assigned.” For the first time, there would be no last man to volunteer for the latrine detail.
“Good,” Theodorus said. “We will begin a rotation. See to it.” He turned to the men, his voice carrying in the still air. “The rubble from the wall. We are nearing the end of the sorting. Today, we finish it.”
The herculean task, which had once seemed an impossible penance, was now a tangible goal within their grasp. They moved to the breach with a new energy, the rhythmic scrape of shovels and the thud of stone on stone filling the morning.
After the morning’s relentless cycle of hauling and drilling, the sun had fully risen, casting a pale, watery light over the fort. Theodorus, who had been directing the work at the wall with the obsessive focus of a master stonemason, strode towards Leonidas. The sergeant, noticing his approach, yelled a few final instructions to the flagging men, who were marching in surprisingly good order before turning to face his commander.
“Sergeant Leonidas.”
The giant turned from observing the drills, his salute crisp. “Captain.”
“They are making progress,” Theodorus observed. His eyes caught the slight disunity as the last rank shuffled through an about-face a half-second behind the rest. A month ago, they would have tripped over their own feet.
A rare smirk touched Leonidas’s lips. “They have the shape of it.” He paused, his gaze following the men. “They listen, now.”
“Good. Because you are in command until I return,” Theodorus said, the order delivered with a quiet finality that conveyed the trust the giant Sergeant had come to earn from him. “I depart for the meeting now. Maintain order.”
Leonidas’s smirk vanished, replaced by a look of stony resolve. He gave a single, sharp nod. This would be a test to see if the garrison, still fragile, no longer required Theodorus’s constant, suffocating presence to function.
He found Boudicca waiting by the lean-to, the mare’s breath pluming in the cool air. Demetrios and Pothos were finishing their work, securing the last of the saddlebags with an efficient, practiced silence. A captain, his aide, and a single soldier. It was a pitiful honor guard, but pageantry was a currency his brother did not trade in. Iohannes was a man of ledgers, not legions, and the veterans were too valuable an asset to waste on a parade when there was rubble to clear and firewood to gather.
They set a brisk pace, the familiar landscape a bittersweet map of a life Theodorus had shed. With every league they covered, Theodorus felt an echo of the original stir as they neared the heart of the estate.
Their arrival was met with the calculated lack of fanfare he expected. Three figures stood waiting on the stone steps of the main house: Iohannes, flanked by the ever-stoic Sir Spiros and the household’s acting steward, Panagiotis. To hold a grand reception would have been to alert Georgios, and while his hot-headed brother was too blunt an instrument to plant spies, there was no need to be careless.
Theodorus swung down from his saddle, the leather creaking in the quiet courtyard. He handed Boudicca’s reins to Potho, while Demetrios took his own mount. Together, they walked toward the small welcoming party, Theodorus’s head held high, his worn brigandine a stark contrast to his brother’s fine wool tunic. He stopped at the foot of the stairs, his gaze locking with Iohannes’s.
After more than forty days apart, the two brothers were reunited, the silence between them heavy with the weight of all that had changed, and all that had not.
“Brother,” Iohannes said, his voice a low, appraising murmur. He stood with the unyielding posture of a man who had settled comfortably into his own authority. “You’ve grown.” His amber eyes, sharp with an unnerving perspicacity, scanned Theodorus not as a sibling, but as a rival assessing a piece on the board.
“Brother.” Theodorus offered a smile that was warm on the surface and pure steel beneath. He met Iohannes’s handshake, his grip firm, a silent declaration that the boy who had left this estate was gone. “It is good to see you again. I trust you’ve been well?”
“I have,” Iohannes replied, a faint, knowing smile touching his lips. “But this is a conversation for a more discreet arrangement. Come. I have a fine cask of last year’s vintage waiting for us in my study.”
As they walked, Theodorus noted the changes from when he was last here. The halls were immaculate, the servants moved with a disciplined haste, bowing precisely as Iohannes passed. The eldest brother had always been a capable steward, and Lord Konstantinos, for all his talents, had never been much of one. But the most striking change was the sight of Georgio’s former men-at-arms standing guard outside the main hall. Iohannes had not merely held his ground, he had been poaching his rival’s strength. It was a clear sign of who was winning their silent succession war.
They arrived at the study, Iohannes’s new nerve center. For all the changes that occurred, the two guards stationed outside remained the same. Grunt and Grim bowed low, sharing a meaningful look between them at the sight of Theodorus. “Welcome, Lords Iohannes and Theodorus.” Grim said.
“Is everything ready for my brother?” Iohannes asked. Grunt grunted his assent.
Iohannes gestured them inside. The room had been transformed. The great desk was now positioned before the main window, forcing any visitor to look into the blinding afternoon light while Iohannes remained a seated silhouette. A classic maneuver. Theodorus had to admire the simple, effective theatricality of it. A new, half-empty bookshelf lined one wall, something absent during Lord Konstantinos’s reign.
“Please, brother, sit.” Iohannes gestured to a chair. “I have something for you.” He nodded to the steward, Panagiotis, who retrieved a small, leather-bound collection of parchments from the new shelf. “Your poems. While cataloging Father’s effects, I found he had kept them. I thought it best to hold them for you.”
Theodorus took the collection, his fingers tracing the familiar binding. A genuine warmth spread through his chest, a ghost of the boy who had filled these pages. It was followed instantly by the cold appraisal of the commander. It was a brilliant move. Both a gesture of kindness and a reminder of the weakness of the original Theodorus. Iohannes was looking to control the narrative before negotiations even began. The game was already in motion. “Thank you, brother. This is… a welcome surprise.”
“Indeed,” Iohannes steepled his fingers, his expression shifting as he sat behind his great desk. “Though I confess, your arrival is the greater one. I had not anticipated seeing you again so soon, much less with a business proposition.” His gaze turned to ice. “You promised our house an ambassador in the capital. Instead, I find you playing soldier on a forgotten frontier. Care to explain?”
“Much has changed, brother,” Theodorus began, his tone disarmingly calm. “But rest assured, everything I do is for the benefit of our house. I have been granted military command of the Probatofrourio Border Fort.” He dropped the bombshell as if commenting on the weather.
Iohannes’s carefully maintained composure fractured for a moment, his eyebrows arching in surprise. “What? You rule over the fort that failed to protect our Father?” Probatofrourio Fort was the closest bastion to the Sideris estates, the first line of defense. Or at least it was supposed to be. “You were assigned as a full border commander?” Iohannes’s tone was simultaneously skeptical of the claim and cold at the mention of the fort that had been breached in the same raid that had swept south and claimed his father’s life.
“The Megas Doux himself saw fit to appoint me, yes.” Of a collapsed, disease-ridden, and demoralized border fort, yes, but Iohannes didn't need to know the particulars. “He knew our father,” Theodorus added, watching his brother flinch almost imperceptibly at the mention. “The interview was a success. I managed to impress him enough to earn the commission.” The lie was a smooth, polished stone, offered with an utterly straight face. That he was utterly and completely outplayed by the Doux, he deemed an irrelevant detail that did not need to be mentioned.
Theodorus leaned forward, his voice dropping conspiratorially. “In truth, I requested the post at Probatofrourio. It was the fort’s failure that allowed the raid that killed our father. I intend to see it rebuilt. And I intend to ensure such a tragedy never threatens our lands again. That is why I have come to you.”
Iohannes’s eyes narrowed. “And how, precisely, can a frontier landowner assist a Captain of the Principality?”
“The fort is in ruin. It needs materials for reconstruction, skilled labor, vegetables, straw - basic supplies the capital is notoriously slow in sending. The garrison’s previous collapse was as much a matter of neglect as it was of Tatar arrows.”
The warmth vanished from the room. “Oh?” Iohannes’s voice turned to ice. “So you are asking House Sideris to personally finance a state institution that has already failed us? To pay an additional tax on top of what we already render to the crown?”
“You know I would not come to you with such a one-sided offer,” Theodorus replied, his own tone hardening to match his brother’s. He was no longer a supplicant. In this room, they were equals. “The supplies I require are not exotic, and the quantities are manageable. The benefits, however, will far outweigh the cost.”
“Please, enlighten me, Brother.” Iohannes challenged, leaning back in his chair with a dangerous smile.
“First, security. The fort is obligated to patrol this territory, but under my command, those patrols will become a constant, vigilant presence on your lands. Think of it as an incentive. In return for your investment, your estate receives priority. Fewer roadside bandits. Safer roads for your tenants.” He paused, letting the point land. “More importantly, a garrison that will respond to a raid on your lands in minutes, not days.”
“A service they are already sworn to provide,” Iohannes countered dismissively.
“An understaffed garrison provides that service poorly,” Theodorus shot back. “But safer roads mean more than just fewer bandits. They mean more trade.” At that, Iohannes’s posture shifted, the shrewd merchant eclipsing the indignant lord. “If your roads are known to be the safest on the frontier, where do you imagine the caravans will choose to travel?”
Iohannes was silent, his mind clearly turning over the calculations. Theodorus pressed his advantage. “The Tatars are coming, brother. We both know it. They know the fort is weak. It is only a matter of time.”
“The Khanate would not risk open war over a minor raid,” Iohannes protested, but the conviction in his voice had begun to waver. Theodorus could see him considering the consequences, weighing the options. “We have a truce.”
“I did not waste my time in the capital, brother. These are not minor raids by disgruntled minor clan leaders,” Theodorus leaned in, his voice a low, grim whisper that captured every man in the room. “They are sanctioned by the Khan himself.”
Stolen story; please .
The air in the study grew thick. Sir Spiros’s knuckles turned white where he gripped the arm of his chair. Steward Panagiotis wiped sweat from his brow with a handkerchief he magically produced from his sleeve.
“It’s a political play,” Theodorus continued, his gaze locked on his brother’s. “A show of force to pressure the Prince into paying a higher annual tribute.”
He let the terrible truth settle in the silence, watching as understanding and then alarm dawned on his brother’s face.
“It is not a matter of
if
,” Theodorus finished, his voice resonating with absolute certainty. “But
when
.”
Iohannes rose and turned to the window, his hands clasped behind his back as he surveyed his domain. After a long moment, he faced his brother, his expression resolute. “Then we must hasten our own defenses. The Tatars cannot be allowed to reach this compound again. We can spare nothing while we ourselves are vulnerable.”
It was the predictable move. When faced with sacrificing a little for the greater good or hoarding everything to ensure his own survival, Iohannes would always build his walls higher. Theodorus didn’t blame him. He just had to prove that the surest path to Iohannes’s survival ran directly through him.
“You’re making the same mistake our neighbors have made for a generation,” Theodorus said, his voice measured, his posture serene. “Everyone protects their own small island, forgetting that a wave does not care. It will swallow every island, one by one. Our defenses must be a chain, not a collection of isolated forts.”
A muscle feathered in Iohannes’s jaw. “And I suppose your broken little fort is the first link in this grand chain?” he sneered. “We shall see how well your depleted garrison withstands their fury.”
“I do not plan for it to stand alone,” Theodorus countered smoothly. The expressions on the faces of Sir Spiros and Panagiotis shifted from passive observation to sharp attention. “This offer is not exclusively for you, brother. I will ride to every landlord, every village elder under the fort’s protection. I will build a coalition.”
The air in the room charged with a new, dangerous potential.
“By banding together, by centralizing our resources, we will present a united front. An attack on one will be met by the strength of all.” Theodorus delivered the coup de grâce, knowing there was only one thing that trumped his brother’s sense of self-preservation. His ambition. “And you, brother, as the first and most powerful lord to join, would become its natural leader. This is how we overcome the disdain of those who look down on our ancestry. This is how House Sideris finally commands the respect it is owed.”
Iohannes’s eyes, which had been cold with dismissal, now lit with a predatory gleam. Theodorus saw the gears turning, the small-minded landowner giving way to the grand strategist. The power, the influence, the cementing of his authority over the entire frontier, even if informally - it was an irresistible prize.
“And the capital would allow this ‘coalition’ of yours?” Iohannes voiced the obvious suspicion.
“They are too preoccupied to care about our little frontier, you know this. If we play it by the book, I believe they will be content to observe for a time.” Theodorus’s eyes narrowed in focus. “Enough time to show them the benefits of this system by beating back the Crimeans when they come.”
He slowly sat back down, the tension draining from his shoulders, replaced by a profound, calculating stillness. The abrupt pivot came without a hint of shame, the cold logic of the new proposal simply overriding the old one.
“You speak well, little brother,” Iohannes said, a slow, wolfish smile spreading across his face. “A very worthwhile endeavor. We are, as you say, much stronger together.”
Theodorus allowed himself a small, knowing smile in return. “Then let us speak of the details of our cooperation.”
“Yes,” Iohannes leaned forward, his eyes alight with newfound purpose. A playful smirk spreading across his face. “Let us speak of numbers, little brother.”
“The first payment will need to be a significant one,” Theodorus began, his voice taking on the cool, precise tone of a quartermaster. “I require ten bundles of straw for bedding, a full cartload of seasoned lumber for repairs, the carcasses of five salted sheep, and half a wagon of whatever greens you can spare.”
Iohannes’s eyes narrowed at the litany. “A steep price for the founding of this alliance.”
“It is the price to make the fort functional,” Theodorus corrected. “The subsequent tribute will be more manageable. Monthly. Two barrels of wine, two salted sheep, and half a dozen cartloads of lumber and straw. These are goods your estate produces in abundance.” Ironically, it was Theodorus’s original worthless estate that would supply the supplies they would need in the greatest amounts. He knew the idea of turning his most worthless assets into more tangible ones would appeal to Iohannes’s profit-oriented mindset. “For you, it is surplus. For me, it is survival.”
“And in return for this monthly charity?” Iohannes pressed, the word ‘charity’ a deliberate barb.
“In return, you receive two dedicated patrols, every day for the first fortnight, securing the roads and lands of your estate. After that…” Theodorus leaned forward, drawing his brother into the heart of his strategy. “The patrols are a temporary solution. Loud, visible, and inefficient. The true value is in the network we will build.”
He saw the flicker of intrigued confusion in Iohannes’s eyes and pressed his advantage. “My men will not just walk the roads. They will survey your entire territory. They will map every stream, every hidden ravine, every game trail. They will identify the shepherds, hunters, and charcoal burners who live on your lands - men who are currently invisible to you.” He paused. “Knowledge, brother, is the precursor to profit. What if there are untapped clay deposits on your lands? What if a forgotten thicket holds a rare herb? How many shepherds tend to your flocks? We will find out. A free and thorough census of your domain, we both know how valuable that is.”
Iohannes stroked his chin, the merchant in him stirring. Sir Spiros and Panagiotis exchanged a look of grudging admiration. They could themselves conduct a similar census, but it was tedious, exhaustive work that would detract from their duties. Theodorus was offering it for free.
“These men, your men,” Theodorus continued, his eyes taking on a calculating gleam. “Will become our eyes and ears. We will establish a system of smoke signals - great pyres in strategic locations, ready to be lit at the first sign of a Tatar advance. The warning will reach the fort in minutes. And it will not be a soldier lighting that flame, but a shepherd on a distant hill, a trapper checking his lines. A silent, invisible web of sentinels. A system you can adapt for your own needs, should you wish.” The potential for espionage and information gathering was left unsaid.
“Furthermore, we will drill your people. We will establish a clear evacuation procedure for the outlying tenants. If the worst comes, we will ensure the enemy finds only scorched earth and empty homes.”
Theodorus then played his strongest card. “Finally, I pledge that should this estate come under direct attack, the garrison’s first duty will be to its defense. We will not hide behind our walls. My men will bleed to protect this house.” He let the promise hang in the air, a solemn vow. Historically, the garrison was responsible for safeguarding only the valley that connected the northern wastes to the Theodoran heartland. The outlying villages and settlements were mostly forced to fend for themselves.
Iohannes was silent for a long time, absorbing the sheer scale of the vision. “A grand strategy,” he conceded. “But it relies on the cooperation of lesser lords. Men like our brother.” He narrowed his eyes, assessing Theodorus for the most minute tell.
“I know of your feud, brother.” Theodorus started, his tone placating. “But the more lords join the coalition, the better we can-”
“Absolutely not.” Iohannes’s tone was that of a razor, thin and deadly. And absolutely unwilling to bend. “I will not share the seat of power with that half-wit. Nor help protect his stolen land.”
Theodorus prepared a counterargument, but the words died on his lips, noticing Iohannes’s gaze.
Theodorus feigned a look of grim consideration. “Georgios is a blunt instrument, driven by pride. He would be a useful piece, but one I am ready to abdicate of if it sets you at ease, brother.” He met Iohannes’s gaze, offering the final, perfect concession as if it were a great sacrifice. “He will not be invited. This alliance will be for those who see the board clearly.”
The last of Iohannes’s resistance crumbled. An exclusive pact, led by him, that would solidify his power, increase his wealth, and isolate his brother. It was perfect.
“You will need me to arrange the meetings with the other landlords and village elders,” Iohannes stated, already taking ownership of the plan.
“I will,” Theodorus confirmed. “They will listen to you. We will present this as a united front. The full strength of House Sideris, finally brought to bear.”
As the meeting drew to a close, the sun well past its zenith, the two brothers rose. They sealed their new, dangerous pact with a handshake, a firm, equal meeting of grips that acknowledged a profound shift in their dynamic. Iohannes was deeply impressed. The proposal was audacious, but the vision of a unified frontier, an early warning system, and the subtle extension of the House’s soft power was undeniably brilliant.
“Count on it,” Theodorus replied, mirroring the warmth. “Be safe.” He had secured the first, most crucial pillar of his grand design for Probatofrourio.
The ride back to the fort was initially quiet, the weight of their victory settling over them. It was Demetrios, riding behind the stoic Potho, who finally spoke. “That went better than I could have hoped, my lord. We stand a real chance of defending our little fort now.”
“I told you before, Demetrios, we cannot survive as an island,” Theodorus said, his gaze fixed on the horizon. “That is what led to my father’s death. Not just the fort’s weakness, but the disunity of our people against a common foe. If we band together, we are stronger.”
“True enough,” Demetrios conceded. “But I doubt the petty lords of this barren land will be as amenable to the idea. They have defended their own walls for generations. You will face resistance.”
“I am aware,” Theodorus said calmly. “That is why our alliance with Iohannes is so critical. His name provides the credibility we need to break through their shells.” He allowed a wry smile. “Though some concessions were necessary. Georgios and his lands, for instance, are to be excluded from the coalition.”
Demetrios looked curious. “That surprised me, my Lord. You actually wanted to include Georgios in this venture?”
“In an ideal world, of course. More men means more strength. I have no interest in our petty rivalries.” Theodorus explained patiently. “But I also recognize he would be a cancer within the alliance. We could never trust him. By framing his inevitable exclusion as a concession - one I fought to keep and reluctantly gave up - Iohannes felt he was winning a point. It raised its value in his perception.”
Demetrios nodded, a slow dawn of understanding on his face. “You gave him something that was never truly on the table.”
Theodorus simply inclined his head, easing Boudicca into a slower walk as the fort came into view. The men were in the final dregs of their work, the great mountain of rubble now reduced to three neat, manageable hills. Soon, he would need a new project to keep them occupied while they awaited the lime from the capital, but he already had ideas.
“Careful maneuvering and my brother’s support will handle most of the nobles,” Theodorus mused aloud. “But for the common villages, the groundwork is already laid.”
“What do you mean, my lord?” Demetrios asked. Theodorus felt, more than saw, Pothos startle slightly in his saddle as he realized the meaning behind Theodorus’s words.
“The journey here was not just for travel,” Theodorus explained. “When I spoke with the headman of every village we passed through, I broached this subject. Their trust requires a different approach - a frontal showing of competence, time to deliberate. I planted the seed of this idea with them then. I also learned the crucial interpersonal dynamics of each community, identifying the key figures, the respected elders, the village loudmouths. And most importantly, our very own ambassadors.”
“You planned this so far in advance?” Demetrios’s voice was full of awe. “Wait… ambassadors? Who do you mean, my Lord?”
Theodorus looked ahead to the fort, where the exhausted recruits were finishing their work. A small, confident smile touched his lips as his gaze settled on them. “Well that, Demetrios,” he said quietly, “Should be obvious.”
Sergeant Leonidas was putting them through the usual hellish routine with what Christos could only describe as sadistic glee.
LEFT FACE!
The command cracked like a whip. Christos’s body moved without thought, his boots grinding into the dirt with the uncanny precision of an automaton.
ABOUT FACE!
He pivoted, his face a demonic mask of concentration, every muscle screaming. His body had learned that the only way to escape the sergeant’s wrath was a perfection so absolute it bordered on inhuman.
You do it by proving them all wrong.
The captain’s words echoed in his head, a relentless mantra. He would prove them all wrong. Let Leonidas shout until his throat was raw, let them make him haul twice the stone as any other man. He would become so flawless they could find nothing to fault.
A grunt and a thud from the ranks. That rabbit, Stefanos, had collapsed. Christos’s lip curled. The princeling couldn’t get anything right. While they had been breaking their backs for weeks, he’d been vacationing on the upper floor, getting spoon-fed gourmet slop. Now he was getting a real crash course on the suffering he’d been missing out on. His new momma bird, Orestis, swooped in now, hauling the useless boy to his feet with a speed the dead-eyed man from before could never have managed. It only took a dressing down from the captain to make him a model soldier. Orestis sure as shit didn’t care about them before.
“WHO TOLD YOU TO STOP?” Leonidas bellowed, his voice a thunderclap that shook the courtyard. “RIGHT FACE!”
The drill resumed with ferocious intensity. Leonidas barked a rapid-fire sequence of commands, a brutal test of muscle memory and focus designed to make them fail. “LEFT FACE! FORWARD, MARCH! COLUMN LEFT, MARCH! HALT!” But this time, something was different. The shuffle of hesitant feet was gone, replaced by the unified, earth-shaking stamp of thirty men moving as one. When the final, deafening “HALT!” echoed off the walls, a profound silence descended upon the yard. For the first time, they had completed the entire circuit without a single man making an error.
The men stood panting, their chests heaving, their eyes locked forward, waiting for the inevitable roar of criticism. It never came. A slow smile of grudging pride spread across Sergeant Leonidas’s face.
“That was good work, men.” The captain’s voice came from behind them, quiet and calm as he arrived astride his mare, surveying them from above. They hadn’t even known he was there. “You are dismissed for the day.”
For a beat, there was only shocked silence. Then, a ragged, triumphant cheer erupted from the garrison, a single, unified roar of relief and pride. “YES, CAPTAIN!”
As the men broke ranks, the captain’s gaze found him. “Stratiotes Christos. Meet me in my study in ten minutes.”
“Yes, Captain.” The answer was immediate, his voice clear. Christos stood ramrod straight, the way he knew the commander liked. Theodorus gave a single, appraising nod, and Christos felt a hot flash of pride. “Good,” was all he said before turning away.
Christos grabbed a quick meal of bread and salted mutton, forcing it down and drinking deep from a waterskin, his mind racing. What could the commander want with him? He ascended the tower stairs, his heart hammering a nervous rhythm against his ribs. He knocked.
“Enter.”
The voice was steady. Christos pushed the door open. The captain was seated at the far end of the room, a dark silhouette against the bright glare of the window behind him, the light obscuring his features and turning him into a figure of pure authority.
“Captain,” Christos said, his voice suddenly hoarse.
“You are from the village of Kerasia, are you not?”
The question landed like a stone. Christos’s posture stiffened, his face turning grim at the mention. “Yes, Captain.”
“I have a job for you,” The Captain said, his voice holding an ominous tone. “One that you might not like.”
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