Blood and Iron: The Book of the Black Earth (Part One) by Jon Sprunk Page B

Horace accompanied them to the pavilion. The door flaps were held open by soldiers wearing deep indigo tabards over fine-mesh chain mail. Horace saw more soldiers in the same livery on the other side of the oasis setting up tents against the cool white of the moonlit dunes. A score of horses were being fed and watered inside a new, roped-off paddock.
    Inside the pavilion, Lord Isiratu reclined on a bed of cushions. Both of the nobleman's arms were wrapped in bandages. A long gash, stitched closed, ran from his left temple down to the corner of his mouth. Lord Ubar and Nasir bowed as they entered and took seats to the left of Isiratu. To the noble's right was an old man who sat with a hunch as if his spine couldn't support his slender frame. The stranger wore a long robe of purple so dark it lookedalmost black. Thick gold bracelets adorned his wrists that, if real, must have weighed half a stone each. His head was shaved bald like Isiratu's.
    No cushion was provided for Horace, so he stood while Isiratu talked with the new arrival. Ubar and Nasir sat attentively but said nothing. Purple Robe's voice was deep but breathy, as if he had trouble speaking more than a few words at a time. After several minutes of standing and listening to their jabbering, Horace began to get irritated. He was about to demand that Nasir tell him what was being said when the conversation stopped. The old man stood up with assistance from one of his soldiers. As he turned to the exit, Horace saw a huge scar of twisting brown and gray lines dominating the right side of his face. Horace was so disturbed by the sight he didn't notice the old man's limp until he was out the door.
    “Who was that?” Horace couldn't help from asking.
    Nasir replied, “That was Lord Mulcibar, High Vizier of Erugash.”
    “What is Erugash?”
    But Nasir wasn't paying attention. Instead, he watched as Lord Isiratu leaned over to his son and began a long speech punctuated by violent hand gestures, most of them directed out the pavilion door. Horace asked what they were saying, but Nasir waved him away like an annoying insect. Eventually Isiratu ended his harangue. Nasir hesitated, a stunned expression on his face. Then he bowed his head. “Lord Isiratu has decided that we shall go to Erugash instead of Nisus.”
    Horace could tell that none of the three men were happy about this development. Even Ubar appeared perturbed—a faint sheen of sweat had formed on his forehead. “So Erugash is a place?” Horace asked.
    Nasir smoothed his silken stole. “Erugash is the city of Queen Byleth. In your society, she would be Lord Isiratu's liege lord.”
    “Why the sudden change of plans? Is it because of the new lord? What was his name?”
    “Lord Mulcibar,” Nasir said, “shall accompany us on the journey.”
    Isiratu clapped, and a pair of soldiers escorted Horace out of the pavilion. As he departed, it occurred to Horace that no one had thanked him for saving their lives.

Oxen bleated as they were fed and watered by sleepy drovers. The sentries on duty stretched and rubbed their eyes while their brethren crawled out of their blankets looking for something to eat. Soon, the smells of beer and cooking wheat cakes floated through the camp.
    Horace sat cross-legged on the sand, watching people move around as he broke his fast with water and unleavened bread. The sun climbed a clear azure vault. A faint breeze rustled the sand around him, but otherwise there was no weather to speak of. Not a single cloud to mar the heavens.
    Another morning on the march. By evening we'll be ten leagues farther from the coast. Farther from any chance of getting home.
    He still hoped to find some way to Etonia, and from there back to Arnos, but that hope grew fainter each day. Part of him was desperate to get back, but another part—the side of him that loved the wild capriciousness of the sea—was intrigued by this new land. He had already seen things beyond his most daring dreams. What else