Marc of Angels

Untitled Part 1

The third volume of the Marc of Ashes Trilogy:

Marc of Ashes is the saga of a small-town sheriff pressed into a doomed mission to bring relief to the besieged city of Constantinople. Having arrived in time to join the city's defenders, historic forces gather in a clash of empires. Trapped inside, he is witness and last defender to his friends, country and cause.

Chapter One:

The knight constable slept the sleep of the little death and then some more. He slept with Nyad wrapped within his arms and when she stirred, he stirred. He kept sharp vigil less she leave him in the night, or morning light, to go to labor on the walls. He kept sharp vigil to make sure that the Turks did not try to attack again that same night, or the next day. The Sultan must know that they were tired. They had fresh troops to defend the breech but they could not man the whole wall, day and night. There were only seven thousand strong at arms. Maybe another ten thousand of workers.

The only thing they had in numbers equal to the invaders were weapons, and then only if you counted the stones in the harbor, a few thousand sailors on ship, balistas, some canon... He drifted in and out of sleep. When awake, he would check with one eye to the wall and see that torches there still burned, but that was not enough. He feared stealth. He checked for sentries in the tower doors and windows, and one at the inside of the third wall gate.

Nyad stirred in his arms and thoughts. He smiled. He slept again. He smelled lilies and lavender. He dreamed a dream in which he never slept. His eyes were like the stone statue's eyes, carved open with no lids to move, no curtain to drop down, no break from ever seeing. He saw the men he sliced open and ran through, the faces as they were hurled back over the palisades into their screaming fates, back breaking on the jagged stone edges of the rubble, trod underneath by their replacements who were spurred on by threat of death by the Janissary horsemen below.

Each time she stirred he checked on the world. Checked on the guards standing guard, the walls, which flew pennants now in the day light rather than torches. He saw the color of the men atop the wall and everything was fine again. She stirred and he smelled her scent and tightened his grip, loosened it, and ran his hands up and down her form like sentries running the wall. He wanted to know every inch, to reaffirm, over and over that all was well.

It wasn't the smell of breakfast cooking that woke the lovers. They waited till the smell of lunch told them the day was leaving without them. The lovers dressed and Nyad drained the tub and rinsed it of its pink stain. They strode out into the bright day together to check on the city. To see if the hourglass was nearly empty, or somehow refilled.

They called first on Jon whose sleep was yet ended but whose breathing was gaining strength. He left word with the nun that the chemist need not haul stone or hammer timber while his friend needed care.

They were able to walk past the food once but after surveying the Turks and the wall and seeing the palisades reinforced yet again, they shunned the sound and bite and stench of the cannon and returned to the city for food. He felt like an emperor walking the city with this goddess on his arm. He would gladly fight another night on the palisades if it were followed by another night with Nyad.

They ate well and slowly, resting in chairs outside the inn where his men were quartered. Most slept or had wandered off. The ones in the battle slept still. Stories floated in a and around them and many wanted news of Jon. In time, everyone afoot had checked in with their old captain and all were satisfied of the list of living and dead. All knew as much about their future as any had to share.

In time Xerxes and Asif trod the dusty street towards the tower. Nyad hailed them. They sat down and greeted each other warmly, tiredly. Marc imagined that the professor went back to his own stone work after sleeping an hour or two. He wished he had that sort of stamina himself. The professor would rather have Marc's youth and strength than stamina.