Blood and Iron: The Book of the Black Earth (Part One)

by Jon Sprunk

  By the time they reached the grand atrium, the entire temple sounded like it was coming down. Alyra pulled him out the tall doors. The sky was pitch-black. Stinging rain pelted their faces as they ran toward the main gate of the complex. Stones fell all around them, massive chunks of masonry that smashed through the pavestones and lodged deep in the earth. Horace's eyes had just started to adjust to the gloom when a bolt of vivid green lightning traced a jagged path across the sky. Thunder boomed right behind it, almost knocking them over. Horace hunched as a jolt shot through his body. It took him a moment to realize the ground was trembling. Alyra stumbled against him, and they held onto each other for balance as fist-sized stones whistled past their heads. He looked upward and wished he hadn't. The upper stories of the temple were tilted askew. Pieces of the architecture sheared away as the entire structure swayed. Biting down on his tongue, Horace moved as fast as Alyra and his legs could carry him.

  We're not going to make it. We're not going to—

  Horace exhaled a prayer as they reached the gate, which had been left ajar. They staggered out onto the street and turned to look behind them. The temple's upper half had sloughed away, spilling across the courtyard in a long pile of rubble that reached to the outer boundary walls of the complex. He couldn't believe his eyes, nor the fact that he had been responsible for such destruction. He thought of the pits beneath the temple's foundation and wondered how many unfortunate souls were trapped down there, but there was nothing he could do for them.

  “We should go,” Alyra said.

  With a nod, Horace started toward the palace with her. Lightning crackled above the city, showing with every illuminating flash that they were the only ones insane enough to be out in the storm.

  The white expanse of the desert undulated in an endless sea, shimmering silver and gold with the first rays of dawn. It reminded Jirom of the grass fields of the Zaral, which also seemed to run without end, framed only by the bowl of the boundless sky. He sat atop a pile of boulders, holding the kapikul's sword across his lap.

  The rebels had marched most of the night to reach this place, which Emanon called “a safe harbor.” A small cave mouth led down to a hollow den beneath the boulders. Jirom had tried to lie down inside, but it had been too much like a tomb, and so he came out for some air while the grateful sentry left on guard duty retired inside.

  As he watched the sun come up, Jirom wondered about the things beyond his sight. He wondered about the men he'd lost at Omikur, whether they'd be buried with funeral rites or be left to the jackals. He wondered about the defenders and how many of them had died in that hellhole. Mostly he wondered about a man still back in the queen's city.

  I swore I would get him out, but now I'm farther away than ever and getting farther with every step I take.

  He heard the footsteps before he saw Emanon's head pop up from the cave. The captain climbed up beside him on the rocks. Jirom could feel the warmth of the man's arm against his own. Emanon smelled of sweat and leather, and the new beard accentuated his devilish good looks. Jirom was tempted to speak first, to say something witty or ironic, but he held his peace. Silence had always worked best for him when it came to men.

  “I thought I'd find you out here.” Emanon gestured to the rising sun. “It's pretty, eh?”

  Jirom gazed at the sky. He'd spent the past couple hours thinking about what to say to this man, but now he was unsure how to begin.

  Emanon gestured to the assurana sword. “That's blood-steel, a mixture of zoahadin and red gold. There's only a handful of smiths in all the empire who know that recipe. That blade is worth a small kingdom.”

  Jirom looked him in the eye. “So what happened to your secret army?”

  “They're out there.” Emanon turned to survey the barren landscape. “Waiting for the next phase.”

  “And what's that? Or is that a secret?”

  Emanon turned to face him. “I think you already know.”

  “I suspect I do. The queen's legions were bloodied, but not crushed. Isn't that right? And there will be more dog-soldiers to replace us. So what's left but to hide out here?”

  “You think we're running,” Emanon said.

  “Aren't you?”

  “There's more than sand and scorpions out here, Jirom. The desert is freedom. The desert is shelter from our enemies.”

  “A lot of men die in the desert.”

  “Aye. That they do, but others grow stronger. Like a certain former gladiator I know. We'll stay here and gather our strength, and then go out to find some friends.”

  “Why not just go?” Jirom pointed to the far horizon. “Leave Akeshia for good. You're free.”

  “Because Omikur wasn't the end, Jirom. It was the beginning. All across the empire, slaves are gathering in secret. Waiting for a sign. We will be that beacon, calling them to throw off their iron chains and reclaim their liberty.”

  Jirom looked out over the rolling sands and imagined how many graves were hidden under the shimmering facade. “I have to go back to Erugash.”

  Emanon spat over the side of the boulder and shifted his sheathed sword. “You really want to die that badly? You may as well dig yourself a hole right here and let the desert swallow you up. It'd be a lot less painful.”

  “I can't abandon Horace. From what little we've heard…”

  “Aye. It sounds like Her Fucking Majesty has her claws sunk into him deep. You know, he's probably already dead, too.”

  “Mayhap. But I couldn't live with myself if I didn't try to help him.”

  “Jirom, why is this man so important to you? Is he…? Dammit!”

  Before Jirom could react, Emanon's lips were pressed against his mouth. He remained still at first, not trusting his feelings after a lifetime of pain and disappointment. Now they rushed back to him like an ocean of longing, all the fiercer for having been denied for so long. He opened his mouth and wrapped his arms around Emanon's broad shoulders.

  When they parted, the breath rushed from Jirom's lips like a sigh. He braced himself for another rejection, but there was only softness in Emanon's eyes and something else he had rarely seen. Understanding.

  “I'm sorry if that was sudden,” Emanon said. “But I couldn't let you leave without telling you…or showing you…how I felt. Do you love him?”

  Jirom almost laughed to hear the jealousy in his voice. “No. We went through a lot together. You understand what that does.”

  “Stay with us. We'll get your friend out. I haven't forgotten my promise.”

  “When?”

  “The time will come, and we'll be there to make it happen. But going back alone is crazy. I don't care how good-looking you are, our former masters don't have a sense of humor when it comes to escaped slaves.”

  “I have to try.”

  “All right.” Emanon started to get up. “Then I'm going with you.”

  Jirom put a hand on the captain's forearm. “No. You have an army to lead. These people are relying on you.”

  “And I need your help for that to succeed. I didn't get these men out by myself. You're a big part of this operation, Jirom. I can't do it without you.”

  Jirom sighed. He didn't want to leave, especially now with the way Emanon was looking at him. “You promise you'll make every effort to free Horace?”

  Emanon tapped his chest over his heart. “I swear it.”

  Jirom held out his hand, and they shook. The captain's grip was firm and comforting. “Then if I'm staying,” Jirom said, “I have a few ideas.”

  Emanon's smile faded. “Ideas? Like what?”

  “Like some changes that need to be made around here. Starting with unit discipline. These men are too soft.”

  “Too soft? They survived the training camp, didn't they?”

  “Surviving isn't enough.” Jirom held Emanon's gaze for a moment, and then they both laughed.

  “Come inside,” the captain said. “I'll show you what I'm planning. There's an old spice road that runs through the desert. If we follo
w that to…”

  Jirom half-listened as he followed Emanon down to the cave entrance. He looked again to the east. The rising sun burned like a ball of fire over the desert. Was this the right choice? He didn't know, but it felt right.

  Swallowing his apprehension, he ducked into the dark confines of the hideout.

  The sun rose through a crystal-blue sky, searing away all traces of the rain from the previous night. Horace stood on the balcony of his bedchamber and gazed across the cityscape. Reminders of the storm remained in the burned-out homes and devastated gardens, some of them littered with stony debris from collapsed retaining walls and fallen buildings. Yet the streets were already bustling with people—merchants and workers, silk-curtained palanquins and servants in fine livery.

  When they had reached the palace last night, a contingent of soldiers escorted him and Alyra to the queen's chambers where he received effusive thanks from Byleth and even begrudged nods from Xantu, who refused to leave her side. There was no sign of Lord Astaptah, and no one mentioned him either. As the royal physicians looked Horace over, the queen had made him an offer.

  “Nothing can convey the depths of my gratitude, Lord Horace,” she said while perched beside him on a fur-covered settee. “But there is one thing in my power that means as much to you. Your freedom. You can leave Erugash at any time and take with you a document in my own hand giving you permission to travel wherever you want. There is an invader stronghold on the Etonian border. You could be there in a couple weeks.”

  Horace hadn't known what to say, so he'd said nothing at all. After the doctors finished stitching him up, he and Alyra went back to his manor house. The servants and guards who had survived the attack welcomed them home with broad smiles. After sleeping like a dead man, he awoke in the early morning hours to feelings of emptiness. He wandered out to the terrace to think. If the queen could be believed, he could go back to Arnos or rejoin the crusade. With what he had learned over the past couple months, he could give his people a fighting chance.

  But a chance to do what? Conquer these lands? Sack Erugash? And then what? People will die, a few rich men will become richer, and the Akeshians will have to rebuild. Is that what these powers were meant for?

  In the past he might have turned to prayer when wrestling with a weighty problem, but the idea of going down on his knees right now seemed…wrong. Had the Almighty saved him from the sea and the wrath of the Akeshians, or had he saved himself? Was this magic a gift or a curse? And where did he really want to be? Who did he want to be with?

  The bedroom door opened, and soft footsteps crossed the carpet. Alyra joined him with a covered tray in her hands. “Hungry?”

  “Let's eat out here,” he suggested.

  Alyra brought out chairs and placed the tray on a table between them. The dish was a blend of eggs and goat cheese cooked into a funnel shape and stuffed with vegetables from the garden. Despite being hampered by an injured shoulder, Horace surprised himself by eating his half in three big bites, and then took a bit of her portion when she insisted.

  “Do you want to talk about last night?” she asked.

  “I feel a hundred years older this morning. I'm exhausted, but I can't sleep another wink. There's so much spinning around in my head.”

  “Like what?”

  He looked over the city as he considered his words. “I had a dream that we left Mulcibar entombed down in those pits under the temple.”

  “You did what you could, Horace.”

  Did I? I brought down an entire temple on top of him. He was a good man, and now he's buried under a mountain of stone.

  Alyra touched his hand. “Horace, Lord Mulcibar played a very dangerous game. He knew the risks, but he followed his conscience. You are not to blame for what happened. You didn't start this war, but you did as much as anyone could do to end it.”

  He didn't want to be mollified, but her words seeped into his mind, soothing away the sharp edges of his guilt.

  “What else?” Alyra asked.

  “What?”

  “You said you had a lot of things on your mind. What else?”

  “Well.” He hesitated, not sure how to broach the subject that had plagued his mind since he woke up without her. He decided to plunge forward and take his lumps. “Us. You and I. Do we have a future together?”

  “Is that what you want?”

  “Yes. There's nothing for me back in Arnos. This is my home now. I'm still the queen's First Sword. A man with ambition could go far.”

  “Or end up in an early grave.”

  “A man might be willing to risk that, if he had the right woman by his side.”

  She blinked, looking back down at her lap. “Horace, I don't—”

  “I lost my wife and son in a fire.”

  The words came out in a rush. Horace closed his eyes as the pain rose up inside him. He had to let it out. “Tines had been hit with the plague. Everyone was panicking. I got us passage out on a boat, but there was fighting and a fire broke out and I saw them die right in front of me. I saw them…”

  A cool touch lifted his hands and pressed against the scars on his palms. “That's where you got these,” she whispered.

  He opened his eyes and found her watching him. Her eyebrows had come together in a frown as tears rolled down her cheeks. Horace wanted to pull her close and crush her against his chest. “I've been lost, Alyra. For so long. It's like I've been sailing across an ocean with no land in sight.”

  “I know how that feels. I was lost, too. Then I became an agent and things seemed to get better. But that fear never really went away. I can still feel it. Maybe we could…”

  A soft knock rapped at the door. Before Horace could yell for them to go away, Alyra hurried to the door, wiping her eyes with the backs of her hands.

  One of his guards, Gurita, stood in the doorway. “There is a message, my lord.”

  The guard held out a wooden tube, both ends capped with wax plugs. “It came by courier. No name was given.”

  Alyra brought the tube to Horace. He broke off one of the endcaps and slid out a rolled tube of papyrus. It was crisp as if freshly pressed. He glanced at Alyra as he unrolled it.

  Horace's heart beat harder as he read the fine, precise script in Arnossi.

  My friend Horace,

  I hope you will permit me to think of you as a friend, for I have few these days and I think that you and I have much in common. We are both men out of our natural element, thrust into positions of power we never desired. You, I think, adapted better than I have. Certainly better than anyone expected.

  This message will reach you sometime after my death or disappearance, and I'm afraid it contains few words of hope. By now you must have some sense of the troubled waters you are navigating. I fear that an old enemy has come prowling at the empire's gates. The queen will need your strength, for though she is a goddess in the flesh, she is not infallible—may the gods not punish an old man too harshly for writing such blasphemy.

  But as your influence grows, so too will the list of powerful people who wish for your downfall. The ear of the queen comes with a high cost. Guard yourself always and learn whom you can trust. Be faithful and steadfast and never fear to tell her the truth. I will pray for your longevity and your success.

  Your friend, Mulcibar Pharitoun et'Alulu

  And forgive Lady Alyra. Despite her mixed loyalties, she has always been the very model of grace and constancy.

  Alyra gasped as she read over his shoulder. “That…that…faker! All this time, he knew!”

  Horace considered the message. If he was really staying in Erugash, then things were going to get more dangerous, not less.

  Thank you for everything, old man. I wish we'd had more time together, and I hope you find contentment in whatever heaven your gods have made for you.

  “So,” he said. “You were saying something about the two of us.”

  “I was?”

  Horace let out a deep breath, exhaling all his anxieties for t
he moment. “I'm just going to say this. You can stay here as long as you like, but I won't hold you back if you want to leave.”

  She smiled over the top of the papyrus. “I'd like that.”

  “Well, it's decided then.”

  “All right.”

  Horace went back out to the balcony and leaned against the railing, taking in the sights and smells of the city. It was his home now. Alyra came up beside him, and they looked out over the rooftops together, watching the shadows vanish as the sun rose higher in the bright Akeshian sky. Horace knew what he needed to do now. Taking a deep breath, he began.

  “My father was a shipwright for the crown. After I graduated from the University at Altiva, I followed in his footsteps, working first at the company of Lagford and Sons, and later forming my own shipbuilding business. I met Sari and we married within a year, and Josef came along soon after that…”

  She leaned on his shoulder and listened.

  The glowing orb in the center of the ceiling flickered with a pale light, giving off just enough illumination to show the four walls of the small cell. He lay naked on a stone slab except for a breechclout, strapped down with zoahadin bands and unable to move. He reached for his zoana for the hundredth time since he'd awakened here—a little more than a day ago by his best reckoning—and felt nothing.

  No, that wasn't completely true. Although he was cut off from his power, there was something above him, beyond in the ceiling. A raw, throbbing sensation that made his neck skin crawl like a hundred zoanii were embracing their power at the same time.

  He tried to swallow, but his throat was too dry to form any moisture. He'd seen no one else since he woke up bound in this manner, but he anticipated that would soon change. If his captors had wanted him dead, he would already be so.

  The creak of the cell's door announced a visitor. He craned his neck and fought to keep his expression from showing the cold ropes of dread uncoiling in his stomach.