Chapter 2
But, he wasn't listening anymore...
-Sir,watch out! As he turned to see where the voice was coming from, three turkish soldiers charged forward against him. He slashed the first in the stomach and threw him off the wall. The second was fighting a crossbowman that had come down from his post to aid him, leaving the turk's back exposed, so he cut his leg. Though he is not a threat anymore, he kills him, so as not to let him return to his camp and come back later. Suddenly, there is a call behind him yelling "Behind you, bastard!". Before he can respond, he's struck down by a single blow in the left arm, falling to ground, in the same position as the second dead turk. He saw in him nought but determination of revenge. He's certain of his fate...
-Hey,sveta(idiot)!
The sturdy man turns, and his head is promptly cut off and his body falls to the opposite side of the wall. Apparently, the man was the captain in charge of the attack, for the Ottoman immediately sounded the retreat...
But he could not see any of this, he was disorientated, as the pain was incredibly real and everpresent, yet he did not yell, as he felt himself slipping into peaceful slumber...
-Sir, wake up!
Now he had to wake up, he had to know of whom was this voice, that had saved him from death three times already...or was this the end? Was this Archangel Gabriel, coming to take him to heaven?...Who?...
-Who are you, messere?
To be asked his name and addressed with an Italian "Sir" shocked this face, this marvelous, angelic face...
-My name is Karteleigos, your highness, but the men call me...
-Kurt... –Efendim? -Karteleigos was the family name, but the german mercenaries called him Kurt Hummel, so they could dispense with the greek pronuntiation. He was a crossbowman in the central wall, were i had disposed my command. It was...hard fighting, to say the least. –And you know the man how..? -He saved my life, and stopped a particularly brutal assault on the walls...and...well. He was quite a sight indeed...
Fighting for the cause of an Empire long in decline against unsurmountable odds...and yet he couldn't have been less than 17 years of age.
-Is he...?
-His lover died in the siege.
-How many have not met the same fate?...How do we get to him? -Well, there are different options: We can blow the floor... –Subtle.. –Yes, i thought the same, or we can speak to him directly, whilst endangering him and whoever else lives there. –Not helpful... –And, my least favorite one: kidnapping. –Hmmph... I say we blow the floor. –And the guardsmen? -Put them to sleep.
-And him? Can you persuade him that after blowing his floor in the middle of the night, invading his workplace and home and getting secretly into his room...we are not going to kill him.
-I think i can handle it
A third voice interrupts what had been thought a private conversation.
-And you are?
-Blaine Anderson, sir.
He looks at him twice, and after about 2 minutes he asks one thing:
-Are you good with knives? -Don't know, sir. Would have to ask the five jannisaries i dispensed with sir?
-Hmmpphhh...Well, let's wake up the prince, shall we?
End Second Chapter.