Strategos: Born in the Borderlands by Gordon Doherty

again with a groan. ‘Oh dear, Mansur really has run out of tricks this time, eh, Vadim?’ His voice boomed, belying his tall but lean frame. He turned to his partner, flicking his head towards Apion. ‘Seems to have fled the scene and left a boy to deal with his problems. A Byzantine boy living and working for a Seljuk . . . what’s your story?’
     
    ‘What have you come here for?’ Apion said, noticing a glint of coinage from the packed hemp sacks hanging beside Vadim’s saddle.
     
    ‘Whatever I want, boy, whatever I want,’ Bracchus chuckled, then pulled off his helmet, the mail aventail rustling. He flexed his fingers, the iron studs on the knuckles of his leather gloves chinking, then ran his hands over his crop of fawn hair. ‘I would advise you to be agreeable to my demands.’
     
    ‘What is an imperial soldier doing on a Seljuk farmstead?’ Apion spoke evenly. ‘Mansur has paid his taxes well in advance. I ask you again: what do you want?’
     
    Bracchus simply glared at him.
     
    Then Vadim interjected in his jagged Rus accent. ‘Stubborn little shit, eh? Ah well, not to worry. Fancy goat for dinner?’ With that, he thumped down from his mount, and then strode over to the goat pen.
     
    Apion balled his fists, but Bracchus stood steadily over him, eyes unblinking.
     
    ‘Aye, a fat old one for more meat or . . . or what about the kids? Tender and tasty,’ Vadim continued.
     
    ‘No!’ Maria squealed, sprinting from the shade of the doorway, spreading her arms across the big soldier’s path. Vadim simply leaned over her and scooped a bleating kid out by the neck, its mother crying in panic. In a flash he tore a dagger from his belt and slid it across the animal’s throat. The kid kicked and spluttered as a wash of crimson covered its body and pooled on the ground below its dangling hooves. Within moments it hung limp, eyes staring. Maria leapt at the soldier with a sob but with a shovel of a hand, Vadim swept her back, sending her tumbling to the ground.
     
    ‘Maria!’ Apion yelped, lurching for her, but his leg jarred as he turned and he fell to the dust with a groan of agony.
     
    Bracchus snorted in derision and then crouched so his eyes were level with the prone Apion. ‘Now you listen here, boy. Mansur knows full well that when I demand, he pays.’
     
    ‘He has already paid you more than once this year, yet still you won’t leave us alone,’ Maria seethed.
     
    ‘You forget your place in this land, Seljuk whore.’ Bracchus stalked over to her, grinning. Then he coolly scraped his spathion a few inches from his scabbard.
     
    Apion’s skin writhed, that murky image of the dark doorway flitted across his thoughts. ‘You spill a drop of her blood and I’ll kill you!’ He screamed, forcing the words from his lips and heaving himself to standing, lumbering towards Bracchus. Then Vadim pulled his sword round to block Apion’s path, and he stopped just in time, the blade pricking his throat and a warm trickle of blood shooting down his neck and onto his tunic.
     
    ‘Brave move.’ Bracchus snorted. ‘Worth a shot but all it gets you is an open throat. Finish the little Seljuk-loving whoreson, Vadim, his corpse will be a fine statement of debt for Mansur.’
     
    Apion saw the gleeful malice in Vadim’s eyes and knew it was the end for him. He closed his eyes and waited. Then a clang of stone on iron rang out beside them.
     
    ‘What the . . . ’ Vadim staggered back, doubled over, hands clutching at his forehead. Then his helmet slipped from his red-stubbled head and landed in the dirt, a sharp dent in the brow glimmering in the sunshine. At the same time, a smooth pebble bounced away across the dirt path. Vadim’s left eye was swollen and purple and one nostril spouted blood. The big Rus roared, chest heaving, blade held out as he circled on the spot. ‘Mansur? Come face me! I will tear you apart like a goat!’
     
    Bracchus scanned the surroundings like a cat, poised,