Free Blood and Iron: The Book of the Black Earth (Part One) by Jon Sprunk

hours, despite the brutal heat, and long into the evening before a halt was called. While the soldiersmade camp, the prisoners were herded together. The guards brought out wooden mallets and spiked the coffle chain to the ground. Then one sentry kept watch while the rest of the guards ate and relaxed.
    Horace collapsed. The smells of cooking were intoxicating, but he couldn't even summon the energy to sit up when a servant brought their evening meal. He sucked down the two ladles of water he was allowed and ate lying on his back. It was more of the flavorless mush, but he hardly cared. He longed for the solace of sleep, for a few sweet hours when he could forget he was alive at all.
    As he closed his eyes, a soft voice whispered in his ear. “I am Gaz.”
    Hearing the words spoken in stilted Arnossi made Horace bolt upright. Beside him sat the short, bald target of the guard's abuse, with his legs folded under him. His head gleamed in the firelight.
    After a glance at the guard, who was busy eating his supper, Horace replied, “I'm Horace. You speak Arnossi?”
    “Yes, a little. Good to mat you, Sire Horace.”
    “Huh?” Then Horace understood what the man had meant. “Oh, yes. Good to meet you, too. Are you Akeshian?”
    The small man scratched under his armpit as he bowed from the waist. “Indeed. I am born in J'gunna. You will please tell about your land? I am very want to know.”
    “Ah, sure.” Horace rubbed his forehead. After days without anyone to talk to, he had a hundred questions. “But first, where are they taking us?”
    “We are on road to Nisus. We are….” Gaz pursed his lips and looked up at the purple sky. “Gift. Yes? We are gift.”
    Horace didn't like the sound of that. “A gift for who?”
    Gaz said a word that sounded like amanamatturi , but Horace didn't catch it all. “Is that another lord?” he asked.
    “No, no. Is the god son.” Gaz pointed up to the sky. “Son, yes?”
    It took Horace a moment to understand. “The sun! The sun god.”
    Gaz nodded while Horace tried to put the pieces together. They were being taken to a place where they would be given to a cult of sun-worshippers. It wasn't as shocking as he might have guessed. The pagans’ worship of false gods was the driving force behind the Great Crusade. He had listened to theArchpriest of Avice deliver a sermon on the front steps of the basilica the day they set sail. The words still rang in his head.
    “The pagan masses of the East are beyond our Prophet's redemption. Their souls cannot be saved by the staff, and so their existence must be ended by the sword. This Great Crusade is the instrument of the Almighty. Go forth, my sons, and suffer no heathen to live.”
    “If you're Akeshian,” Horace asked, “why are you a captive?”
    “Yes, yes. I am Akeshai. I am slave.”
    After several attempts, Horace finally got the man to comprehend his question. “I am very poor,” Gaz said. “You understand? Sell ox. Sell farm. Then nothing left to sell. Must sell self.”
    That made no sense at all. “Wait. You sold yourself?”
    Gaz wore a dejected look as he nodded. “Yes. Master demanded it, or take my life.” He touched his collar. “Better than death, yes?”
    Horace wasn't sure he agreed, but he kept that to himself. He spotted a copper disc hanging from Gaz's wrist by a thin leather cord. The disc had squiggly lines drawn on its flat surface. “What's that?”
    The man held up the talisman. “ Gigim'libbu. A charm against spirits. You get one. Very good protect your qa from night-demons.”
    Night demons? “What kind of hell is this place?”
    “Yes, you are man of the gods. But we Akeshai see this as the natural way. The zoanii rule from heights, and rest must suffer in this life. If we serve well, we be birthed again after our long resting. You understand?”
    Horace didn't, but he was getting the sense that there were a great many things about this land he didn't understand. He was about to ask what a