Free Dark Empress by S. J. A. Turney

yet, many times in my mind I have stood on the walls and watched the Pelasians come. It no longer frightens me.”
    He grasped Ghassan’s wrist.
    “Let the Pelasians come.”
     
    In which M’Dahz changes
     
    The last twenty four hours had been frantic for most folk. At Samir’s estimate, a third of the town’s population had left through the east gate for Calphoris. The road between the two places must be thronging with refugees. A few of the hardier folk had found weapons and joined the remains of the militia where they gathered at the great market to plan the next step.
    The commander of the M’Dahz militia was a man named Cronus, a mercenary from the northern lands who had settled in the town over a decade ago. He had proved to be a strong and intelligent commander and had, as soon as the militia had mustered, gone to see the town’s governor, only to find that the palace compound’s gate had been shut and barred. No amount of cajoling had drawn a response from within. The governor had withdrawn in solitude; the militia were on their own.
    And so Cronus had found himself and his men in sole charge of the defence of M’Dahz. No questions had been asked of anyone who joined them and no one, regardless of age or ability, had been turned away.
    By the time the sun had set last night, every body the militia could muster had been given a position on a wall or tower or in one of the makeshift temporary redoubts in the port. No one returned home now. Should it be days waiting, the men of M’Dahz would wait in place on the walls, huddled in blankets against the cold desert night and sweating through the heat of the day.
    But the wait would not be long. Outlying scouts had returned around dawn to report a Pelasian army on the move and already in Imperial lands. The desperate and wild-eyed rider had reported a veritable sea of black-swathed bodies on the move and, when the commander had asked how many the army numbered, the scout had merely replied “all of them” and gathered his own gear to flee the town.
    There had been a few desertions during the night. In fact, from their current position, the boys could see gaps that had opened in the line of defence. Even now, some of the men on the defensive circuit glanced wistfully over their shoulder at the dubious safety of the narrow streets.
    It seemed curiously fitting that the brothers found themselves stationed with five other men on the very tower where uncle Faraj had begun their sword training those months ago. Now, though, as they glanced left and right, the wall was clear of obstructions and, where there had been open land before, there was now a new gate and a hastily-constructed wall, all with their own guards.
    “Do you think their navy will attack the port at the same time?”
    Samir shrugged at his brother’s question.
    “Who knows? They’d be stupid not to, but that’s if they have a navy. I heard Cronus talking about them. There are three satraps around the border area, but only one of them rules coastal land, so what we’re facing depends on who it is that’s coming. It might be one satrap, or two, or possibly all three.”
    He sighed.
    “The one thing the commander said is that this must have been started without the consent of the Pelasian crown. Apparently their God-King is an ally of the Emperor.”
    “Was an ally,” the taller brother corrected. “There is no Emperor now. As they say in the gambling pits at the port, ‘all bets are off’.”
    The boys fell silent. Indeed, no man on the walls spoke in the eerie and oppressive morning light. The only sound that accompanied their tense anticipation was the gentle rumble of the wind blowing over the sand dunes and through the empty ways of the city. Samir shuddered.
“The dunes are noisy.”
Ghassan frowned.
“Too noisy. That’s not just the wind.”
    As Samir fell silent and held his breath, the taller brother shaded his eyes and gazed into the distance. In their current position, they were