Final Throne / Season 1, Episode 10
Blade of the Storm
The blade caught the torchlight, a sliver of fire in the dim hollow of the tower. Constantine’s hand trembled as he pressed the edge against the whetstone, the grind of steel on rock a low growl beneath the distant thunder of cannon. Sweat stung his eyes, though the air in the chamber was cold, damp with the breath of stone walls that hadn’t seen sunlight in centuries. His purple cloak lay crumpled on a stool, the gold embroidery dull with dust. He didn’t look at it. Didn’t need to. The weight of it was in his bones, heavier than the sword. “Basileus,” a voice rasped from the doorway. Theodoros, his captain, stood hunched, one hand braced against the frame, the other clutching a bloodied rag to his side. His helmet was gone, his gray-streaked hair matted with grime. “They’re coming again. East of the breach. Ladders this time, and more than before.” Constantine didn’t lift his eyes from the blade. The whetstone scraped once, twice, a rhythm like a heartbeat. “How many?” “Too many.” Theodoros coughed, a wet sound that made Constantine’s gut twist. “Janissaries leading. They’ve got shields up, archers behind. We’ve got maybe thirty men left on that stretch. Not enough to—” “Enough.” Constantine’s voice cut through, hard as the steel in his grip. He set the whetstone...