important respect.
It was dying.
The imaginary observer, peering closer, would make out a world in flux. A bubble of acrid waters and fouled air.
Its surface was one of extremes. Much was still blue-green, but tendrils of aridity patterned the globe. White masses were spreading from the poles, like cream trickling down a pudding, and the atmosphere was tinted by an unhealthy miasma.
There were four continents. The largest, once temperate, now included swathes of semi-tropical terrain. At its core a dustbowl had formed, and previously fertile land was drifting to desert.
A group of militia, fifty strong, made its way across the wilderness. In their midst, two men struggled to keep up on foot. Each was led by a horse to which they were roped. Their hands were tied.
The soldiers bore the crest of a tyrant on their russet tunics. The prisoners were civilians, their clothes stained with sweat and dust.
It was hot. With midday approaching it would get much hotter, but neither man had been allowed water. Their lips were cracked, and their mouths were so dry it was hard for them to speak. They laboured on blistered feet.
There was little between them in age. The slightly older of the two had the look of someone who enjoyed a soft life. His waist was beginning to thicken, and his reddening skin was pasty. He had quick, some would say shifty, blue eyes, and a bloodless slash of a mouth framed by a skinny goatee. His black hair showed a hint of grey and was thinning, revealing the start of a tonsure.
The younger of the pair was fitter and taller. His build was strapping. He had a full head of blond hair and he was clean-shaven, bar a couple of days' growth. His eyes were brown, and his flesh tone healthy. The filthy clothes he wore had been much cheaper to start with than his companion's.
The older man shot the younger a sour, anxious look. 'When are you going to do something?' he hissed.
'What do you expect me to do?'
'Show some respect, for a start.'
'What do you expect me to do, sir?'
'Your duties include my protection. So far you've made a complete — '
' Keep it down! ' an officer barked. Several other riders directed hostile glances their way.
'… a complete cock-up of it,' the older man continued in a coarse whisper. 'You did precious little to stop us being captured, and now you' re — '
'You got yourself into this,' the younger returned in an undertone, 'not me.'
' Us. We're in it together, if you hadn't noticed.'
'So it's you when times are good and us when you're in the shit. As usual.'
'That insubordinate tongue of yours is going to get itself cut out.' His face was growing redder. 'Just you wait 'til I — '
'Until you what? Not exactly a free agent at the moment, are you?'
The older man wiped the back of a manicured hand across his forehead. 'You know what's going to happen when they get us to Hammrik, don't you?'
'I can guess what's going to happen to you.'
'What's good for the master's good for the servant.'
'That's as maybe.' He nodded at what was coming into view. 'We'll find out soon enough.'
The towers of a fortress could be seen, wavering in the heat haze like a mirage.
As they drew nearer they saw that it was constructed of a yellowish, sandy stone, not dissimilar to the colour the surrounding landscape was turning to. And it was massive, with walls that looked thick enough to resist an earthquake. Close to, the structure bore signs of conflict. Fresh pockmarks, nicks and cracks told of a recent onslaught.
A ramshackle township mushroomed at the fortress' base. A muddle of shacks and tents stood in its shadow, and lean-tos hugged the ramparts. People and livestock were everywhere. Water carriers, hawkers, nomads, farmers, mercenaries, prostitutes, robed priests and plenty of soldiers. Mangy dogs ran loose. Hens scratched and piglets ate garbage. There was a sickly odour of sewage and incense.
The riders barged through the crowd, dragging their captives. They passed heckling street urchins, hard-eyed guardsmen and merchants leading strings of overloaded donkeys. People stared, and a few flung insults.
They went by vendors' stalls heaped with bread, goat's cheese, spices, meat and limp vegetables. Some offered wine, hogsheads of brandy or pails of beer. The prisoners turned particularly envious eyes on these wares. All they got was a half-hearted pelting with rotten fruit, each piece raising a little puff of dust when it struck their backs.
The fortress gates were suitably imposing, their surrounds frothing with epic statuary and heraldic symbols. But old and faded. Inside was a large inner courtyard. There was noise and bustle here too, though of an ordered, soldierly kind.
Greetings were exchanged. The prisoners were glared at or ignored. Everyone dismounted. Grooms came forward and led the horses to troughs, which was more than the captives were allowed. Left with their wrists bound, they sank exhausted to the warm paving slabs. Nobody rebuked them.
They slumped next to a small garden enclosed by a low wall. It dated from earlier, more verdant times, and had long dried out. The soil was like powder, and the pair of trees at its centre were desiccated and skeletal.
Most of the prisoners' escort dispersed. Four remained, eyeing them from a distance while they conferred with an officer.
The elder prisoner turned his face from them and whispered, 'Let's make a run for it.'
'Bad idea,' his companion judged. 'We've no allies here. That crowd wouldn't be a haven.'
'It's a better chance than waiting on our fate like cattle, isn't it?'
'Not unless you want an arrow in your back.' He indicated the battlements. Several archers were looking down at them.
'They aren't going to kill us. Hammrik would be furious if they denied him that pleasure.'
'But I doubt they're under orders not to wound. If you fancy a couple of bolts through your legs, go ahead. Master.'
The older man glowered at the fresh impertinence, then returned to sulking.
A minute later the guards were rousing them with cusses and kicks. He asked if there was any chance of a drink.
'Favours are my lord's privilege, not mine,' the highest-ranking replied, jerking them to their feet.
The brief rest had made their aches more noticeable now they were moving again. They were stiff, and their muscles were knotted. But their captors treated them no more gently for it. Stinging blows from leather riding crops hurried along their progress.
They were driven to a set of double doors opening into the castle proper. The interior was gloomy to their dazzled eyes, and it was cooler, which was a mercy.
Like many fortresses that had been added to and built on over the years, there was a warren of passages, corridors and stairways to be negotiated. They passed through checkpoints and locked doors, but saw few windows, save arrow slits.
Finally they arrived at a sizeable hall. It was wood panelled and high-ceilinged, and its drapes were drawn to keep out the heat. Light came from oil lamps and candles, and the air was stuffy. High up, where the panelling ended and a stone wall began, there had been coats of arms. But they were freshly defaced, their features smashed, revealing whiter granite beneath.
The guards in attendance wore the livery of a personal bodyguard. A handful of civilian officials were also present.
There was no furniture except an oak throne on a dais at one end of the room. It, too, had been vandalised; someone had hacked away the device on its tall backrest. The prisoners were made to stand in front of it.
A minute passed, glacially. They exchanged bleak glances.
Behind the throne was a cleverly concealed door, set flush to the panelling. It opened, and someone entered.
Rulers come in a variety of guises. Those who inherit leadership can be unprepossessing. Those who seize it
