Free Dark Empress by S. J. A. Turney Page B

posed such a great threat. He was tall, dressed in fine, though understated, clothes and armoured only with a shirt of interconnected steel leaves. A black scarf wound around his head and neck and covered the lower half of his face against the abrasive sands. A long, curved sword hung at his side.
    Though he had several men with him armed with great shields, he rode alone into arrow range, apparently unconcerned, and finally stopped ten yards from the gate, his horse snorting and prancing impatiently. The impressive satrap looked up at the defences. For a long time there was a tense and uncomfortable silence and then, finally, he unwound the black scarf and leaned back in his saddle, rubbing his smooth, clean-shaven chin.
“Boys!” he called out in a strong, surprisingly light and almost musical voice.
“Boys, old men and merchants!”
There was another uncomfortable silence.
    “I have claimed M’Dahz and its surrounding lands as part of my demesne in the name of Pelasia and the God-King. I care not what you think or call yourself, but you and your land and possessions are now Pelasian.”
    There was a low rumble of dissent among the defenders, but with no identifiable source or audible words. The satrap nodded as though answering some internal question.
    “I give you a very clear choice. You many fight to defend your precious hive, though if you choose to do so, you will all die; I will take no prisoners. Then your women and children… those few of you old enough to have children…” a condescending smile crossed his face. “Will have to face a life without you, poor and alone until they die unremembered.”
    He drew a dagger from his robe and threw it point first into the sand before him.
    “Or you can surrender the walls of your town, open your gate, accept your satrap willingly, and you may return to your life.”
    He allowed his horse to prance dramatically for a moment as his words sank in, and then settled to stillness once again and lifted his face.
    “I know that your town is dying a slow death since the Empire left you. Pelasia offers rebirth. We bring trade, peace and prosperity once again.”
    He grasped the loose end of the scarf and began to wind it once more around his neck.
    “Or we bring death, fire and oblivion; the choice is yours. You have five minutes.”
    Without waiting for an answer and apparently unconcerned for his safety, the satrap turned his horse and walked slowly away from the walls. Ghassan and Samir watched as the man approached a low pavilion that was in the advanced stages of construction at the near periphery of the Pelasian army. Food and drink was being unloaded and delivered into the heavy-framed tent and the satrap dismounted and entered, brushing aside the hanging door and disappearing from view.
    Ghassan continued to stare at the enemy, conflicting emotions and thoughts battling in his mind. He hardly noticed as Samir dashed over to the rear edge of the tower.
    “Ghassan!”
    He turned at Samir’s hissed whisper and joined his brother at the parapet. Down in the shadows behind the gate, commander Cronus was standing at attention, with three of his senior men alongside him. Along the street from the centre of the town a small party was approaching. The boys had rarely ever seen the governor’s guard; a hand-picked mercenary unit from the northeast, they were resplendent in silver and white, with plumed conical helmets and banners flying from their pikes. And in their midst came the governor. None of them were mounted; it was simply impractical in the streets of M’Dahz.
    ”What will he do, d’you think?” Samir asked quietly. His brother shrugged.
    “What can he do? He must surrender or join us on the walls.”
    The Imperial party stopped below the gate and, while the white guards stood stiff and proud, the governor strode out forward to meet the militia commander. For some reason he looked ludicrous to the boys; an overweight man of more than middle years, used to