Strategos: Born in the Borderlands by Gordon Doherty Read Free Book Online Page A

munched on his fruit. When she took another bite, Apion noticed that a blob of the fruit had stuck to the end of her nose, then realised that for the first time in so long he was grinning.
     
    Maria frowned. ‘What?’
     
    Apion felt the laughter bubble up through his chest and couldn’t stop it; it felt good, like honey in his throat. But Maria was furious; he reached up to touch her arm and reassure her, when a snapping of bracken from inside the orchard caught their attention.
     
    ‘Who goes there?’ A gruff voice rent the air.
     
    Maria grabbed his arm and hauled him away from the opening, pulling him down behind a red rock. His scar protested at this sudden movement, white-hot pain rushed through him and he gulped back a roar. Then Maria added to his misery by digging her elbow into his gut and then wrapping a dirty-nailed hand over his mouth, a faint smell of sweat emanating from her robe.
     
    ‘Shut up if you don’t want a scimitar wound to go with that,’ she hissed. ‘That was Kutalmish’s oldest son, Giyath. I don’t think he seen us but he’s always keen to fight, he’s twice the size of me and you put together . . . and he’s armed.’
     
    Apion stilled as he saw the fear in Maria’s eyes. From the other side of the rock, crunching footsteps marched towards them and then stopped dead. Then the rasp of a scimitar blade being ripped from its scabbard sent a fiery dread crawling over his skin. His eyes bulged and his scar burned at the sound of the weapon that had created it. The terror of that night, that dark night, raced back to him.
     
    ‘I said who goes there?’ The gruff voice grunted. ‘You’re trespassing, so whoever you are, you’ll not be walking out of here! It’d better not be you playing games again, little brother?’
     
    Apion edged his head to one side: stood only paces away was a stocky and swarthy young man, shaven headed, stubble-chinned with a broad and flat-boned face, wearing a grey tunic and clenching a scimitar as he examined the hillside for movement.
     
    ‘Whoever it is, show yourself! My blade is dirty and I’m keen to wash it in your blood!’
     
    Apion turned to Maria; she hurled a jagged lump of rubble that flew from her hand and bounced from another chunky boulder around twenty paces away. Giyath’s eyes locked onto the disturbance. Then, with a growl, he thundered towards it, his gait clumsy but determined.
     
    ‘Come on!’ Maria hissed and yanked Apion by the wrist.
     
    At once they were hobbling up and around the orchard fence, out of Giyath’s line of sight. Then Maria wrenched him towards Kutalmish’s farmhouse. His body roared, his crutch meeting the ground only on every second stride, his vision spotting over and his scarred limb searing as though it was being sawn off. They stumbled past the snoring Kutalmish and into a field of tall barley, still dewy and mercifully cool on his searing scar. They were moving only at a fast walk but his body was spent and then, through dimming vision, he realised they were climbing the hill to the valley top and the goat herd once more. He reached out blindly, mouthing silently, knees shaking, when at last she stopped. He crumpled to the ground, panting.
     
    Maria crouched beside him. ‘We’re safe now. I’m sorry, Apion. It’s just that Giyath is . . . well father says he was a nice boy until . . . ’ her words trailed off. ‘Anyway, he is now a moody and violent man.’ Then she looked riddled with guilt as she eyed his trembling leg, biting her bottom lip.
     
    Apion sought strength enough to push himself to his feet. ‘It’s okay, I’ll be fine.’ He stopped as he saw her eyes bulge, looking over his shoulder.
     
    ‘Apion!’ She screamed.
     
    When he turned to see what was behind him, a cold hard shock to his cheekbone sent sparks of brilliant light through his eyeballs and bloody phlegm shooting from his nose and mouth. His world rolled in front of his eyes and he groaned, realising he