Storm and Steel by Jon Sprunk Page A

presentable to wear.”
    Horace looked down at the cut in his side. Blood soaked his ragged tunic, and he'd hardly noticed it. He could only shake his head as Mezim led him away.

Gray dunes rolled across the plains below like waves of sooty ice on a frozen sea. Eight days aboard this flying boat, and most of it had offered no better view than this barren ocean seemingly devoid of life. The dunes continued south to become the Great Desert. Or, as some Akeshian scholars called it, the Southern Bulwark. For centuries it had kept the empire safe from invasion. And, like the ocean, it possessed a lure for certain intrepid souls. The empire's history was littered with noble attempts to tame the desert, to build great cities amid its shifting sands, each eventually succumbing to the inevitable.
    Or so Abdiel had heard. He had never felt any great desire to see a desert, much less live in one. He wasn't overly fond of sand, and there was the oppressive heat to consider. He imagined himself lying atop a sand mound, dying of thirst, and then banished the image from his mind.
    He had seen the ocean once, the real ocean, many years ago on a tour of the western empire. Abdiel looked up to the front of the flying ship where his master, Lord Mebishnu, spoke with the vessel's captain. His master's rise through the ranks of the Order of the Crimson Flame had been swift and certain. Oh, yes. Lord Mebishnu was a man who took what he wanted. Now, if only he would set his eyes on a proper wife, things would be so much better.
    That was the reason Abdiel had visited the Temple of Amur to make a special donation when he learned of this trip. The women of the imperial court at Ceasa, for all their impeccable breeding, were a clutch of asps, in his opinion. He was hoping his master would find a better selection of good, upstanding ladies out here. Nisus, he'd heard, was a center of piety and forthrightness, exactly the kind of place to find his master a bride.
    Abdiel approached to see if his master had need of him.
    â€œThe desert is beautiful from this height, isn't it?” the ship's captain asked. Abdiel hadn't bothered to learn the man's name. Why bother? What was a sailor but just another servant?
    Mebishnu glanced over the railing before returning his gaze to the far horizon. “How long before we reach Nisus?”
    â€œWithin the hour, your lordship.”
    â€œYour Eminence ,” Abdiel hissed under his breath. How dare the man not use the proper title when addressing an official envoy of the Greater Temple?
    â€œPardon me, Your Eminence!” the captain hurried to say and added a short bow. “I meant no offense.”
    Mebishnu passed it off with a wave of his hand. “I'm sure you have duties to attend to, Captain. I'll take up no more of your valuable time.”
    The captain bowed again as he backed away. “Thank you, Your Eminence. It is a pleasure to have you aboard.”
    Abdiel gave a small sigh to show his disapproval at such meaningless flatteries. The captain's face turned dark in a scowl, but Abdiel turned his back on the man. “Master, would you like a cool drink? Lemon juice, perhaps?”
    â€œNo, Abdiel. I'm not thirsty.”
    Not thirsty for drink, but for something else, eh?
    â€œOf course, Master.”
    The deck tilted as the flying barge turned in a wide arc, descending slowly over the swollen waters of the Typhon River. High walls appeared on the horizon, growing swiftly as they approached. The city walls were built from yellow stone, but its square towers were black like iron teeth protruding from a jaundiced jaw. The city sat in an oxbow of the river so that it was surrounded on three sides by water. A magnificent yellow-stone bridge spanned to the southern bank, its long arch supported by massive piers. A multitude of tents were pitched along that far shore.
    As the barge descended nearer, Abdiel could make out men moving among the makeshift shelters. Soldiers in armor and