Storm and Steel

by Jon Sprunk

  Off in the distance two flying ships floated above the desert plain, one to the south and the other eastward. Though it was difficult to tell at this distance, each appeared to be gigantic and lavishly decorated, recalling the classic style of imperial war barges.

  Finally, the priest led them to a sprawling pavilion at the center of the vast camp. The “outer palace” was not as grand as its name, although it was quite large. The canvas rooftop sagged in several places, and the walls were spattered with mud. A pole holding up a limp flag was planted near the entrance, sporting the colors of three cities: Nisus, Chiresh, and Hirak.

  The structure was surrounded by a cordon of Nisusi White Sphinxes, standing at strict attention as befitted the proudest cadre in the western empire. Their armor and weapons gleamed with polish. Abdiel nodded with appreciation for their devotion as the procession was escorted inside.

  They were brought into a large room that was decorated like a feast hall. A variety of people sat on cushions around a massive round table. Some looked to be military officers, but most of them wore civilian clothing. And very rich garb at that.

  Three large thrones stood at the far side of the table. The chair on the left was occupied by an old man wrapped in a robe of pale-green silk. Abdiel guessed this was King Sumuel of Chiresh. Despite the king's apparent frailty, it was said he ruled his city with a firm hand. In the right-hand throne sat a monarch with a roguish cast to his gaze. Young and handsome with a full head of lustrous black hair, this could only be King Ramsu of Hirak. Apparently he had a roving eye, despite having just married his sixth wife. Abdiel took an instant dislike to the young king, but his attention was pulled to the center seat occupied by a large man with a ponderous belly. His robe, so vast it looked like a tent itself, was deep burgundy with gold trim at the collar and cuffs. His receding hair was pulled back into an oiled queue. Abdiel remembered him from that long-ago tour. King Moloch of Nisus hadn't changed much in the intervening years, except to grow fatter and balder.

  Shabra-Amur stopped halfway to the table and bowed low. “Great Rulers, I bring before you Lord Mebishnu of Ceasa, ambassador from the Greater Temple of Amur.”

  Mebishnu stepped past the priest and bowed. Abdiel noted that it was not a full obeisance as was customary when a subject met a monarch, much less three kings all together, but instead the less formal genuflection required when meeting persons of slightly higher rank.

  “Emissary!” King Moloch shouted. The piper in the corner ceased his play, and every head in the room turned as the obese king of Nisus raised a golden cup. “You are a most welcome sight! Enter and join our table.”

  Abdiel followed Mebishnu and stood behind him as he was offered a stool at the king's left hand. Slaves appeared with wine and food. Abdiel took each plate and decanter from their hands to inspect its contents before personally serving it to his master, though he knew Mebishnu would eat none of it.

  The rest of the delegation remained at the doorway, stiff-backed with arms by their sides as if they were standing for review on a parade ground.

  King Moloch put a pheasant leg in his mouth and slurped as he pulled the bone out, stripped of all its meat and gristle. Then he chewed on the denuded bone. “What about your brother priests? We have enough food and wine for all, unless they find our company distasteful?”

  “Not at all, Majesty,” Mebishnu said. “But they are sworn to holy oaths. Neither food nor drink shall pass their lips until after evening vespers, in the privacy of their quarters.”

  With a sharp crack, the king split open the bone and proceeded to suck out the marrow. “As they will. Never let it be said that we impugned upon the customs of the Sun Temple.”

  “Your hospitality is legendary, Majesty. I thank you.”

  “So, what news do you bring from Ceasa, Lord Mebishnu? Has the emperor decided to join our righteous cause and drag that upstart bitch Byleth from her throne?”

  Fists thumped the table as the other guests showed their agreement. King Sumuel watched the assembly with a wary eye as he sipped from a small cup, carefully tended by his own body-slave. King Ramsu was too busy eating dates from the hands of a comely slave girl to pay attention.

  “I'm afraid not, Majesty,” Mebishnu answered. “Though the emperor sends His regards to all His faithful servants.”

  King Moloch's eyes narrowed to mere slits in his corpulent face. And now we see a glimmer of that renowned irritability.

  Abdiel knew his master saw it as well. A ruler who could not control his temper, especially in front of his peers and subjects, was a dangerous creature. Such a trait also made him too volatile to trust.

  “However,” Mebishnu continued, “I was not sent to carry messages but to hear answers.”

  “Answers? To what?”

  “The first question concerns this army's lack of progress. By our reports, you have been camped here outside the walls of your city for the better part of a month. Why the delay?”

  King Moloch's cup rang with a dull clank as it bounced off the table and rolled to the far side. “Does the Primarch think we are dragging our feet? Is that it, eh? Does he not believe that we want that bitch's head for the murder of our dear son? What proof can we give, Emissary? What proof would satisfy the Temple of our sincerity? Is it blood he desires?”

  “If your slave sins against you, better to slay him and lose a single servant than to stay your hand and lose them all,” Mebishnu quoted. It was one of Abdiel's favorite lines from the holy scripts.

  A man stood up from the table. Younger than most of the assembled nobles, yet he exuded an aura of authority. His silk robe was parted to reveal a heavy gold amulet on his hairless chest. “I do not like the tone you use, Emissary. I think you ought to apologize to our royal hosts before something unfortunate happens to you and your acolytes.”

  The others sat still, their gazes darting back and forth between the two men. Mebishnu lifted a single finger. The young man's left hand, wrapped in a fiery nimbus, shot forward to attack. But the flames sputtered and died before they could fly forth. Mebishnu hardly looked over as the young noble toppled to the carpeted floor, his body pierced by a dozen long spears of solid stone.

  Mebishnu wiped a trickle of blood from his left nostril. “His Divine Radiance only desires faithful obedience, as any father wishes from his sons.”

  The three kings shifted in their wooden thrones but said nothing. King Moloch grunted and called for another goblet. “Of course, as it should be.”

  Abdiel poured his master some wine and didn't spill a drop despite the slight shaking of his hands.

  “The Primarch,” Mebishnu said, “still awaits an answer. Why has this army not marched for Erugash?”

  King Moloch leaned forward on his throne. “I will tell you why we wait. My brother kings prefer to remain under the shadow of my walls, feasting and drinking in safety instead of marching to seek vengeance for my murdered son!”

  “Preposterous,” King Ramsu said with a mouth full of date. “Because you insisted on merging our forces here at Nisus, my soldiers only arrived three days ago after a long and dusty trek. They require rest before we start for Erugash.”

  “Why didn't you send them by river then?” King Moloch demanded.

  “In winter?” Ramsu asked. “Don't be daft. I would have lost half my ships in the flooding water.”

  King Sumuel wagged a finger at Moloch. “Your vengeance is your own affair. Hirak and Chiresh only agreed to join your little war for our share of the spoils. But so far Nisus has refused to agree to a fair division of the captured territories.” He shrugged to Mebishnu. “And so we wait until our demands are met. It matters little to me whether we leave tomorrow or a month from now. Erugash will fall to us in time, and we shall have our due rewards.”

  Mebishnu took a sip from his cup. “Those matters will be finalized this very day, under my authority as the Temple representative. Does anyone challenge my right?”

  When no one spoke, Mebishnu nodded. “Good. My seco
nd question concerns a disturbing tale we heard during our journey. It seems an attempt was made on Queen Byleth's life. Very messy and ill-advised. Worst of all, it failed.”

  Of the three kings, only Moloch could meet Mebishnu's gaze, and his royal face was flushed with blood. “You may be the legate of the Holy Sun, Lord Mebishnu. But take care not to rise too high, lest you get burned.”

  Abdiel stepped back as his master stood up. This was the delicate moment. Remain calm, Master. Use prudence.

  “You still do not understand,” Mebishnu said. “I am not here to advise you but to take command.”

  Abdiel retrieved the scrolls from the satchel he wore, and Mebishnu presented them to King Moloch. “These are signed by the hands of the emperor and the Primarch. They grant me authority over this army and all persons attached to it. Your Royal Persons may, of course, retire to your home cities for the duration of the campaign, but you will have to trust us to make the proper distributions of any assets seized.”

  Abdiel watched King Moloch's ruddy face, waiting for the explosion. Yet the Nisusi king remained in control of his emotions, for once.

  “We leave tomorrow, my kings,” Mebishnu said. Then, looking at Sumuel, he added, “Because when Erugash falls does matter to the Primarch.”

  “By all means.” King Moloch accepted another gold cup from a slave. “Let us toast to our assured success!”

  Abdiel clucked his tongue silently. Nothing is assured, King. A bloated pig like you should know that. Do not tempt the gods. See my master, standing so calm before you. So commanding. That is the model you should seek to emulate. Alas, there are far too few good men in this empire and far too many slovenly leeches.

  As Mebishnu toasted with them, a lady near the head of the table spoke up. She was young and quite beautiful, but Abdiel thought she might be related to King Ramsu, as they had similar features. “Emissary, we've heard stories here, too. Most terrible news coming out of Erugash. First, the queen tore down the sacred temple, and now she has slain all the members of the Order stationed there. Is this really true?”

  All eyes turned to Mebishnu. He coughed into his fist and took a slow, deep breath. “I'm afraid the rumors are true. Her Majesty's forces seized the Chapter House and put everyone inside to the sword. Not a single life was spared.” He thumped the knuckles of his left hand on the table as his gaze swept around the chamber. “But know that this is why I have been sent. To exact justice on this most unrighteous queen. Blood will be answered with blood. This I swear to you all.”

  “And I as well!” King Moloch roared, raising his goblet. “We shall have vengeance on the whore-queen of Erugash!”

  Mebishnu left the table, heading for the door. Abdiel spared a glance for the young noble on the floor. His blood had created a wide pool on the carpet. The folly of youth, that they do not appreciate the gifts they have been given until it is too late.

  “Eminence!” King Moloch called after him. “Will you not stay and take your ease with us after such a long journey?”

  “Forgive me, Majesty. The day wanes and I must find my peace in meditation, to prepare for the great task we undertake. Fear not. I shall attend you all—” Mebishnu glanced at each of the three kings in turn. “—tomorrow.”

  The three kings all nodded as if dismissing a common petitioner, but Abdiel kept his ire to himself as he followed his master out of the feasting hall and then out of the tent palace. The fools should be cleaning his sandals with their royal tongues. Ah, well. Perhaps some fortunate arrows or spears will find their necks during the battle to come and put us out of our misery.

  They made their way back through the camp. The waning afternoon sun threw long shadows across the rows of tents. Abdiel crossed his arms over his chest as a cool zephyr ruffled his robe and wished he'd brought a cloak.

  When they reached the river, the ship was tied down with two sailors standing at the bottom of the landing ramp. Abdiel hurried ahead. His master would want complete privacy for his meditation, followed by a light supper once the sun had gone down. He had almost reached the ramp when a slave boy, no older than thirteen or fourteen, darted out from the nearest tents toward their party. Fearing some kind of attack, Abdiel moved to intercept but was too slow.

  The slave knelt directly in front of Mebishnu with his forehead pressed to the ground.

  “What is it, boy?” Mebishnu asked.

  “Greetings, Great Lord of the Sun.”

  His accent was terrible. Thick and tongue-heavy. That and his sun-browned skin made Abdiel guess he was from one of the southern kingdoms beyond the Great Desert.

  “Lord Mebishnu,” the slave continued. “My master invites you to dine with him this evening.”

  Abdiel was moving forward to shoe the slave away when Mebishnu halted him with a gesture. “Who is your master?”

  “Lord Pumash of House Luradessus, Great Lord.”

  The name stoked something in the back of Abdiel's mind. The House of Luradessus was a minor one, but he had heard of this Lord Pumash. The man was supposedly well-connected in mercantile interests across the empire, which lent him influence in many circles. Not a man to ignore, for certain.

  Fortunately, Mebishnu recognized this without his servant's advice. “Tell your master I will be happy to dine with him.”

  “He said to tell you he will expect you at sunset, if it please you.”

  “That will do.”

  The slave bowed, and Mebishnu continued onward to the ship. Abdiel hurried ahead, irritated by the interruption, to prepare his master's private room with the proper candles and incense and the rug situated before the portable fane of the Sun Lord. When all was ready, he left his master alone.

  An hour later, Abdiel entered with a jug of water and a clean glass. He found his master seated at the cabin's small table in a fresh robe, this one vibrant scarlet with white borders, looking refreshed as he read a scroll by candlelight. He looked up as Abdiel filled the glass and set it on the table. “Did you eat something, Abdiel?”

  “No, Master. You know me. I don't have much of an appetite.”

  “Still, you should eat to keep up your strength.”

  Abdiel nodded his head. “It is time for your meeting with Lord Pumash. The brothers of your Order are prepared to escort you.”

  “Not all of them, Abdiel.” There was a sparkle in his master's eyes that hadn't been there before his mediation. A twinkle that bespoke, perhaps, of renewed conviction. “I'll just be bringing Brother Opiru. The rest shall remain onboard until I return.”

  Abdiel was tempted to question this decision, but he held his tongue. “Yes, Master. We shall await you on the deck.”

  When Mebishnu exited the cabin, Abdiel and Brother Opiru followed him off the ship. Brother Opiru spoke seldom, and when he did it was with a soft voice that nevertheless possessed the strength of conviction. As such, Abdiel treated the warrior-priest with a large measure of respect, even beyond what he was due because of his rank.

  Their search for Lord Pumash's dwelling did not take as long as Abdiel had feared. Lord Pumash was a well-known figure in camp. Following the directions given by a corporal in King Sumuel's army, they found a small pavilion of plain cloth amid a cluster of more colorful tents. No sentries or attendants stood at the door flap, which hung down over the entrance.

  Abdiel rushed forward to scratch on the cloth door. A moment later, the same slave boy who had extended the invitation poked his head out. With a deep bow, he stepped aside and held open the flap. Abdiel followed his master inside while Brother Opiru remained without.

  The large tent consisted of only a single chamber, which evidently served as reception chamber, dining room, kitchen, and bedchamber, all in one. A second slave, a pretty girl barely out of her teen years, stood near the far wall next to a tall, broad-shouldered man with his back to the entrance. As Mebishnu entered, the man turned around. Abdiel was impressed by his first sight of Lord Pumash. The nobleman was powerfully built with the light-bronze complexion of the
upper castes. His short beard was combed and oiled. By his appearance, he could fit into any royal court in the empire.

  “Please enter and be welcome!” Lord Pumash said, holding out his hands in greeting. “I apologize for the meanness of my home.”

  Mebishnu met him at the center of the room. “No need to apologize. I'm sure it is not easy to maintain a lavish lifestyle when traveling with an army.”

  “Most true. Please sit. May I offer you wine? It is an Altaian vintage. Quite good for relaxing the palate.”

  Mebishnu took the seat offered to him at a small table. Only two places had been set. Although the tent's furnishings were sparse, the dinnerware was fine porcelain and crystal glass. The female slave poured wine for them both, and this time Abdiel did not interfere.

  Lord Pumash raised his glass in a toast. “To new acquaintances and the opportunities they bring.”

  “An interesting toast,” Mebishnu said after he had tried the wine.

  “I'm always keen on meeting new people. After all, mutual advantage is the lifeblood of a vibrant trade practice.”

  “I would be interested in hearing more about your practice, Lord Pumash. I admit I know very little about you save your reputation for honest dealings.”

  The nobleman placed a hand on his chest and dropped his chin in a deep nod. “Your words honor me. In my line of trade, a man's good name is more precious than gold. I deal mainly in exotic goods, such as precious metals, expert crafts, rare spices, and specialty slaves.”

  “Specialty slaves?”

  “Yes. Such as Lena here, for instance.” Lord Pumash looked to the slave woman. “She was brought from Etonia.”

  “She's a crusader's woman?”

  “Precisely. That alone lends her a special value. But she has also been trained to be a court companion. She's an exquisite dancer. She sings and plays several instruments. She even composes poetry in three languages.”

  “Remarkable.”

  “Yes, quite. She has a keen mind, which allows for the highest level of training. Thus, she is worth much, much more. You would not believe some of the offers I've received for her, just in this camp alone.”