Page 1 of Her Warrior’s Redemption (The Legendary Warriors #3)

Byzantium, 1208

B rian of Penrith walked alongside the men of his travelling party while the sun blazed against his face. The ground seemed to sway beneath his feet after sailing for the past few weeks. His shoes were cracked and worn, his skin burned from the relentless heat. He’d travelled for nearly a year, all the way to Byzantium. Or what had once been Byzantium before the sacking of Constantinople, he supposed. He’d heard rumours about the land being divided up since the Crusade had ended, but it meant nothing to him any more. He hadn’t joined this caravan to fight for God.

No, this was his penance, to atone for his sins. His best friend Robert was dead—all because Brian had lost control of his temper, acting recklessly without thinking. He couldn’t bear to stay and witness the grief on his sister’s face, for she had loved Robert more than life itself.

It was your fault. You deserve this suffering.

And so, he’d willingly accepted the endless days of exhaustion and hunger. He didn’t really know what he was searching for beyond absolution.

He’d traded one group of travellers for another until he’d found another caravan returning to Constantinople. Some were mercenaries while others were merchants seeking their fortune. But he’d joined them on their journey, hoping to find a new purpose. Or, at the very least, an escape.

The hills of the city were like nothing he’d ever seen before. Massive domes and towers guarded the city being rebuilt after the Crusade. The scent of wood and ashes permeated the air, but some of the surviving buildings were gilded, revealing the owners’ wealth. Despite the ruins, it surprised him to see baskets and containers of bright flowers. Nearby, a group of men unloaded clay containers of wine from another ship at port.

One of the merchants came to walk alongside him, and he passed Brian a skin of water. ‘We’ll arrive in Constantinople by nightfall. I know a man who can give you a place to stay.’

‘I’ve no coins,’ Brian started to say, but the merchant raised a hand.

‘You’ll work for him and earn your place.’ With a sly smile, he added, ‘You want to learn to fight, don’t you? This man knows how to train the strongest fighters in the kingdom.’ He reached out and pinched Brian’s arm. ‘He can turn you from the weak insect you are into one of the greatest warriors in the world.’

Brian jerked away from the man, embarrassed by his lack of strength. He already knew how to fight, though he’d grown too thin on the journey. Robert and his half brother, Piers, had trained him as a boy, teaching him some of their techniques, though he’d never had the chance to master them. But he remembered.

No one knew of his fighting abilities, for the long journey and the meagre food had taken their toll. The merchant was right. He was weak, for he hadn’t fought in over a year.

Yet the man’s words resonated within him. What if this could be his new purpose—to become a fighter and defend those weaker than himself? The idea was appealing, for he’d always admired warriors who could protect others.

‘Well?’ the merchant prompted. ‘Do you want to learn to fight?’

Brian met his gaze. ‘Yes.’

‘Good.’ The merchant nodded his approval. ‘You’ll come with me tonight and join the others. We’ll get a meal in your belly before you begin.’

He would stay for a time, Brian decided. Long enough to get stronger and fill out the muscles he lacked. And perhaps the fighting would grant him the skills he needed to become someone else—a man of honour.

Hours later, Brian met the owner of the arena where the fighters trained. The man, Kadir al-Kumar, was large and ungainly with a long black beard and dark eyes. He spoke no English, but the merchant conversed with him easily in the Byzantine tongue. Brian didn’t understand what they said, but Kadir passed a stack of coins to the merchant.

They were continuing to argue when he suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder. A female voice whispered at his ear. ‘You need to leave. Now.’

He turned and saw a servant girl holding a pitcher. She appeared to be the same age as himself, and her light brown hair was bound back in a braid, revealing sun-kissed streaks of gold. Blue eyes stared into his with a warning, and her mouth tightened in unspoken fear.

It startled him to see someone from his homeland here, especially a maiden who spoke his language. He kept his voice low and averted his gaze so as not to draw attention. ‘How did you come to be here?’

‘I’ve no time to tell that tale. Just...heed my warning and leave, as soon as you can.’ Her voice was tinged with desperation, and he wondered why.

‘They told me I could come here to train,’ he insisted. ‘I want to learn.’

‘Not here, you don’t.’ She pretended to fill his cup, keeping her voice low. ‘They’re not who you think they are. Kadir is buying you. You’re to become his slave.’

Brian narrowed his gaze on the men. They were laughing, and the merchant pulled out a set of dice for gambling. Though he didn’t want to believe such a thing was possible, he couldn’t ignore her warning. ‘Why would he want to buy me?’

‘For his fighting pits,’ she said dully. ‘You’re English, like me. Many citizens would pay good coins to watch us fight and die.’

He stole another look at the men, wondering if she was right. The merchant had warned him that the Byzantine people still hated the crusaders who had sacked the city.

‘I have nowhere else to go,’ he admitted. ‘And no silver.’

‘You have your freedom,’ she said. ‘That’s worth more than any coins.’

Though he didn’t want to believe her, she had no reason to lie to him. She reached for his cup and pretended again to fill it. ‘Find the house with three crosses above the door. A Norman lord lives there, Alexander Berys, Baron Staunton. If you see him, ask him to help free me.’

‘Where can I find the house?’ he asked.

‘Look for the Hagia Sophia church. It’s the largest in the city. He lives not far from there, west of the church, so he says.’

He guessed she’d never been there. Likely she’d been unable to leave this house. ‘Are you a slave in this household?’ When she nodded, he asked, ‘What is your name?’

‘I am Velaria of Ardennes.’

‘My name is Brian. I was raised in Penrith.’ When the men glanced over at them, Velaria lowered her head and moved to the next guest, filling his cup.

Brian took a sip of the wine, his mind spinning. This young woman needed help, and if he disappeared tonight, he might be able to get her out. Though it was dangerous, and he understood none of the Byzantine language, he wanted to help her.

She turned back and met his gaze. In her expression, he saw the loss and hopelessness. He didn’t know if he could find a way to buy her freedom. But perhaps this was Fate’s way of granting him a second chance. He had failed to save Robert.

But maybe he could save her.

Brian waited until the men were sleeping, their bodies passed out from gluttony and drunkenness. In the darkness, he kept his footsteps light while he searched for the girl. Velaria wasn’t anywhere in the stone kitchen, but he found a set of steps leading below ground.

She’d asked him to leave and find the Norman lord within the city. He was torn between trying to bring her with him or seeking help.

He decided to go down below to see if she was among the servants. Slowly, he crept down the stairs. An acrid stench assailed his nostrils, and he blinked into the darkness where only a single oil lamp was set into a stone crevice to offer light. Was this where Kadir kept his slaves?

Brian waited a moment for his eyes to adjust and saw rows of swords, maces, and daggers gleaming in the yellow light. He stepped closer and heard the clinking of chains.

Never would he forget that sound. The four of them—Piers, Robert, and his sister, Morwenna, and himself—had been captured by English soldiers after a raid at Penrith, years ago. They’d fought for their freedom...but Brian knew what it was to be kept in chains. Velaria was probably telling the truth. This was a place of captivity, not a place where they trained men to fight.

Brian crept back up the stairs, not daring to go any farther. He didn’t know where Velaria was being held, but he would try to find the Norman lord within the city.

He slipped outside the house into the darkness. The night air had grown cooler, and he stopped to look for the Hagia Sophia. The church stood atop a hill, and he tried to remember the direction of the setting sun. Velaria had said to look for the door with three crosses. But the city was an endless maze of wooden houses, half of which had already burned down. He started walking towards the hill, hoping he would find the house from there.

The moon rose golden above Constantinople, illuminating the shadows of a nearby mosque. As Brian began to wander the streets, he saw dozens of beggars sleeping along the road while the scent of ruin and fire lingered.

Brian found a discarded torch and lit it from one of the dying fires in the city. As he continued to search for the lord’s house, the voices of doubt intruded on him.

You’ve travelled nearly a thousand miles. And for what? To fail again?

There were many people in this city who needed help, not just the girl. But as he continued walking, he couldn’t stop thinking of Velaria. Despite her status as a slave, he’d sensed her bravery. Though she had tried to conceal her features by keeping her head lowered, she was quite pretty. Her blue eyes had captivated him, and he’d never met anyone like her.

Velaria had tried to warn him, and he was grateful for it. Had her family travelled on Crusade? How had she come to be so far from England? And had her parents died? She seemed to be alone, like himself—but he wanted to help her.

His feet ached in the worn shoes, but he continued searching, house by house. He had been walking for nearly an hour when he suddenly heard dogs barking. At first, Brian didn’t know what was happening, and he ducked into the shadows to stay out of their way. Then, he realised they were coming closer. He quickened his pace, moving down a narrow passageway—but the dogs seemed to follow.

They were tracking him , as if he were an escaped slave. Which seemed impossible for why would anyone go to such lengths to find him? He was a serf, not worth anything at all.

But the snarling grew louder, and he had to find somewhere to seek shelter. Brian hurried down another passageway, turning towards the outskirts of the city. By sheer luck, he found a doorway with three crosses marked upon it.

He took a deep breath and knocked on the door. The barking intensified, as if the dogs were coming closer. Brian pounded the door harder, hoping someone would answer. When no one did, he tried the door handle and it opened easily.

He moved inside and bolted it shut behind him. His heart raced while his lungs burned with fear. There was no one in the house—at least not that he could see. With his back against the door, he wondered whether Lord Staunton was here. And what could he say to the man?

An oil lamp flared, and a man staggered forward, the scent of wine permeating his skin and clothing. He spoke in the unfamiliar language, but Brian answered in English. ‘Velaria sent me to you. She said you could help. You are Lord Alexander of Staunton, are you not?’

At that, the man eyed him in disbelief. ‘I am, yes. But you’ve gone half-witted if you think I could help you.’ He shook his head. ‘Foolish boy. They despise us here.’ He came closer until he stared into Brian’s eyes. ‘They want all crusaders dead after what our men did to the city.’

A knock sounded at the door, and Brian begged, ‘Please. I will work for you. She is being held as a slave by Kadir al-Kumar. She needs your help.’

At that, the Norman lord shook his head. ‘I can help no one, boy,’ he muttered beneath his breath. ‘They only allow me to live because of the bribes I’ve paid. The Byzantine fighters took my wife prisoner when we were trying to escape.’ After a long pause, he added, ‘She’s gone now. But I will not rest until I’ve found her.’

In his eyes, Brian saw the face of a man who was barely hanging on to his own survival. Baron Staunton had clearly loved his wife, and the resignation in his eyes didn’t bode well. Brian didn’t think there was anything he could say except, ‘I’m sorry.’ He lowered his voice and pleaded, ‘Will you let me hide here for the night? I’ll leave at dawn, I promise.’

Lord Staunton studied him for a moment. His expression turned bleak, and he shook his head. ‘I must answer the door, or they will break it down. There’s nothing I can do for you, boy. But there’s another door in the back. You can leave through there.’

Disappointment and frustration shadowed Brian, but he had to seize his only chance at freedom. He hurried to the back of the house and found the narrow passageway, slipping outside just as the Norman lord opened the front door to answer. Brian didn’t hear what the man said, but he kept his head down and hurried down the street.

As soon as he reached the end, two men were waiting. They seized him by his arms, and raw panic flooded through him. Brian reacted out of pure instinct, hardly aware of anything at all. Before they had a firm grasp, he twisted free, reaching for the blade at the first man’s waist.

The world seemed to blur, and he remembered the training Robert had taught him.

‘Keep your balance. Be aware of your surroundings.’

He would not let them take him into slavery. Brian kept his eyes firmly on his enemies, remaining in a defensive stance while he glimpsed another street that could be an escape. Though he lacked a shield, the blade would be enough.

‘So. You do know how to fight,’ came the voice of Kadir as he spoke English. The man stepped forward and regarded him. ‘That will be useful.’

‘I am leaving,’ Brian told him.

Kadir laughed. ‘You might escape for a time, boy. But every person in this city knows who I am. They won’t hesitate to turn you in.’

‘I won’t be your slave.’ He hadn’t travelled all this way to lose his freedom.

When one of the men darted forward, Brian spun and slashed his arm. The man let out a foul curse, but Brian had his gaze locked upon his second opponent. He held steady for a moment before he bolted towards the other street. An invisible snare seemed to tighten around him, for he had no idea where he was going.

Just as he reached the edge of the city, a sharp pain blasted through his shoulder. An arrow had pierced him, and blood ran down his side.

His lungs burned as he struggled to keep running. But a small crowd gathered before him, closing in. They stared at him with hatred, and from behind, the dogs continued to track him.

Brian tried to turn in a different direction, but all around him, the beggars cut off his escape.

‘You see?’ Kadir’s voice cut through the stillness. ‘They work for me. All the people of Constantinople know that I am generous to those who are loyal. And I punish any who disobey me.’

The man moved in close, and when Brian tried to wield his blade, Kadir tore the arrow free. A cry broke forth, and Brian dropped to his knees from the brutal pain.

‘I like your spirit, boy. You are fortunate that I do, for I will allow you to heal before I put you in my fighting pits.’

Brian was hardly aware of Kadir’s words as he was dragged to his feet, blood spilling from his shoulder.

‘That spirit may be the only thing that keeps you alive, boy.’ He laughed again. ‘I hope you enjoyed your last night of freedom.’

As they took him away, Brian glanced up at the moon, the bleakness settling into his bones.

He would never see his sister again. But after everything he’d done, this was what he deserved.