Prologue I was born a cripple. My mother was the Heruli princess Ildiko, my father, I think, was Ellac the Hun, the firstborn son of the great khan, Attila. I grew up in Moravia on the Amber Road, the lands controlled by my grandsire Abdarakos, war leader of the feared Heruli. I was raised by Atakam the shaman, Sigizan the Hun and Leodis the Greek. When I was but ten summers old, the gods chose to change the course of my life. I was abducted from the lands of the Heruli and carried off to the faraway shores of the Island of Scandza, the lands of the Svear. By a miracle of the gods, my cripple foot healed. I lived with the Svear for six years and fell in love with a girl named Unni. An Isaurian, Trokondas, a refugee from the City of Constantine, taught me the way of the warrior. But my skill helped me naught when I was captured in a slave raid and taken back to the lands of my birth. Barely sixteen, I fought on the side of my people in the greatest battle of our age. Defeated, the remnants of our army scattered. I fell into the hands of Theodemir, the king of the Goths. But a Hun, Kursik, saved my life. We were captured by the men of the master of soldiers of Thrace, a general of the Eastern Roman Empire. This man, Zeno, also happened to be the cousin of my mentor, Trokondas. Zeno gave me refuge. Kursik and I accompanied the army back to its base at Hadrianople, the capital of the Diocese of Thrace. Zeno the Isaurian, consul of the Eastern Empire, and son-in-law of Emperor Leo, would decide my fate. Chapter 1 – Messenger (October 469 AD) “The consul wishes to speak with the savage”, the tribune said in Latin, the official language of the East. The burly Isaurian guarding the entrance to the quarters of the master of soldiers studied us with undisguised contempt. His dark eyes narrowed with suspicion, and his knuckles turned white as he tightened his grip around the wood and iron haft of his bearded axe. I knew that these mountain men were a law unto themselves, loyal only to their own and the emperor. He eyed us for long, as if trying to find some measure of deceit in the officer’s words. The sinews rippled on his veined forearms – a clear indication that he contemplated violence. The tribune displayed his discomfort by swallowing nervously and licking his dry lips. “Wait”, the guard grunted in accented Greek and disappeared inside, closing the door behind him. The tribune slowly sighed with relief. The Isaurian reappeared moments later. The bearded giant stepped to the side and nodded. The officer took a step forward, but the Isaurian placed his bear-like palm on the tribune’s chest, halting him in his tracks. “Only the Herulian will pass”, he growled. I entered the plush quarters of the consul. The hurried steps of the tribune faded down the hallway, then disappeared altogether as the guard gently closed the door behind me. Zeno, who was reclining on his couch, extended his hand to accept a proffered silver goblet from a pouring slave. He lifted the index finger of his left hand in a near imperceptible gesture and another rushed to give effect to his wish. The master of soldiers waited patiently until I held the brimming vessel in my hand, then waved the servants from the room. “Thracian wine”, he explained, savouring the aroma of the dark purple liquid. “Since the West has allowed the barbarians to overrun Gaul, this is the best we are able to source”, he sighed. He picked up an opened scroll bearing the intricate seal of the emperor of the East. “Do you know of a Hun called Dengizich?” he asked. “He is the second son of Attila, lord”, I replied. I mentioned not that the Hun king was my uncle. “I have heard you speak the tongue of the Huns”, he said. “But you do not look like a Hun and you bear the markings of the Heruli.” “I take after my mother, lord”, I answered. “It matters not”, he said, waving his hand in a sign of dismissal. “I have come to a decision.” Rather than to elaborate on my fate, he drank deeply. “I value the bond that you have with my kinsman, Trokondas”, he said, “but you must still prove your loyalty to me.” “I do not understand, lord”, I replied. “Good”, Zeno said nodding his approval. “A man who is not scared to admit to his shortcomings.” He drank again and continued. “The Huns under Dengizich are amassing north of the Danube. They have requested the emperor to allocate them a marketplace south of the river to trade for food and necessities. Their demands have been rejected, of course”, he concluded. I must have frowned then. “You have much to learn, Ragnar the Herulian”, Zeno sighed. “The Empire has no need of trade with the Huns. Why would the emperor allow them this indulgence? What benefit would he derive?” He smiled, drank again and continued. “My father-in-law and I are embroiled in a war”, he revealed. “The enemy is in our midst – it is the snake called Aspar.” I nodded, as Trokondas had told me how he had fled to Scandza to escape the wrath of the powerful General Aspar. “Much of Aspar’s support comes from the Goths living in the Diocese of Thrace. Their leader is a man called Theodoric the Squinter. His sister is married to Aspar.” A sly smile played on his lips. “The emperor wishes for Dengizich to bow the knee to him. Then he will allow the Huns to settle south of the Danube.” “The Huns are wolves, they cannot be tamed. If they are allowed into the Empire they will not live in peace with the Goths. They will raid Gothic farms and be a thorn in the side of Aspar and his henchman, the Squinter.” He wetted his throat and continued. “But there is a problem. The Roman generals to whom the defence of Thrace have been entrusted, are of Gothic descent. General Anagastes leads them, and he hates the Huns. I need someone whom I trust to take a message to Dengizich. That someone, Ragnar, is you.” He studied me intently while he spoke the words, no doubt trying to discern whether his trust was misplaced. “If you serve me well”, he continued, “you will be rewarded. I will accept you into the ranks of the excubitors. The men of Isauria will make you a man as hard as iron. You will be respected and feared. Your purse will bulge with gold.” Zeno was no fool. Again, he studied me while he spoke and must have noticed the lack of enthusiasm on my part. “And when the time is right”, he added, “I will send you north to bring my cousin home.” “I will serve you, lord”, I replied, and a hint of a smile played around the corners of his mouth when he realised that he had found my weakness. * * * Kursik meticulously inspected his horn bow. Noticing no visible damage, he hooked the lower limb behind his ankle, grunted with effort, and slipped the loop of the bowstring into the notch. Three times the Hun pulled the string to his ear. Again he inspected the weapon for cracks while steering his horse with his knees. Finally, satisfied that the weapon was undamaged, he hung the strung bow over his shoulder. I took my bearded axe from its holder and felt the edge, which was still sharp enough to shave with. “It is good to care for you weapons as if they were your children, lord”, Kursik said while nodding his approval. “But you need to find a bow, lord”, he added. “A Hun needs a horn bow.” “I am a Heruli, Kursik”, I countered, and proudly gestured to the tattoos adorning my cheeks. My companion grunted with amusement. “None who has the blood of the Great Khan can be a Heruli, lord”, he stated as a fact. “You are still a Hun, lord.” I nodded, knowing that it was futile to argue. Kursik pointed towards the distant walls of Philippopolis. “We should not enter the city of the Romans”, he said. I tapped my saddlebag. “I carry the written orders of the master of soldiers of Thrace”, I replied. Kursik sneered. “The words of the Romans mean little”, he said, and spat in the road. “Better to put trust in your horse and your weapons, lord.” I lifted both my palms in surrender. “We will do as you wish, Kursik.” “It is a wise decision, lord”, he said. Following the advice of my companion, we skirted the walls of Philippopolis under cover of darkness. Leodis, my Greek tutor, told me that the Goths had sacked and burned the city two hundred years before, but it had since been restored. We made our way east along the Roman road and camped within the woods. Two days later we traversed the treacherous passes of the Haemus Mountains, passing into the province of Moesia. Small farms and minor settlements lined the Roman road leading north. There was little traffic, as it was close to the middle of winter. From time to time we passed peasants or traders on their way to some unknown destination. Most appeared to be of barbarian descent, which was confirmed when they greeted us in the tongue of the Goths.