The Dark Lord

mailed armor, swords, spears, daggers, scorpion engines, axes, bows, mangonels, shovels, picks, iron helms, shields, sheaves of javelins, bales of tunics, boots, barrels of hobnailed sandals, cornicens in copper and bronze, bucinas, even a water organ built on a wagon... He laughed aloud, filled with furious exaltation. My army is stronger every day. Every day!

'Clear the gate,' he shouted and the Sahaban sergeants trying to control traffic turned. Seeing him looking down from an eager horse, his dark face silhouetted against the brassy sky, they redoubled their efforts. Khalid was restless and each grain while the teamsters strained to get their wagons through the portal was an eternity.

—|—

Outside the city, the dappled mare stretched herself, galloping along a broad military road arrowing up into the hills. A mile beyond the dusty white walls of the city, a huge camp sprawled on either side of the road among scrub and salt trees. Dozens of banners snapped in the offshore wind and Khalid cantered down a broad lane lined with tents on either side. Persians and Huns looked up as he passed and the swarthy-faced nomads shouted their appreciation of his horse. Khalid flashed a grin, then rode on.

The arrival of the fleet in Caesarea had found not only the Sahaban garrison Khalid expected but fresh regiments of Persian troops. While the armies of Persia, Avaristan and the Decapolis struggled before Constantinople, the King of King's empire—still weak, but gathering strength—amassed a new army and sent it west. Al'Walid knew the faces of men better than most and he kenned the Persian numbers were greatly swollen by mercenaries. Beside the long-mustached Huns, there were Bactrians with their silk banners and huge-chested stallions; countless numbers of Arabs from the eastern fringes of the great desert; thousands of hill-men— Kushans?—with brocaded tabards and leaf-bladed spears; even Indian knights from the hot lands beyond the great sea. Seeing the vast tent of the shahanshah rising above the lesser tents of the diquans and the feudal lords, Khalid slowed the mare, ignoring her whuffling protests and prancing hooves. The day was hot and al'Walid thought she had sweated enough.

Shahr-Baraz's tent rose three stories high, a monstrous confection of silk and canvas and colored banners. A great gate stood open at the front, revealing a vast interior space filled with muted light and endless numbers of thick rugs. Khalid swung down from his horse, tossing the reins to a groom—one of a huge crowd of servants loitering around outside, jockeying for shade near the door. The entrance itself was empty, save for—just within— two dark shapes, one on either side.

Khalid strode past the Shanzdah, ignoring the unsettling emptiness of their helms, suppressing a shudder as he felt some nameless, cold effluvium wash over his exposed skin. He slowed his pace, letting his eyes adjust to the filtered, golden light falling from translucent panels set into the upper storeys. Shahr-Baraz might be a man of action, a king ruling from the saddle, but his empire had a vigorous bureaucracy and court that rushed here and there, trying to find the Boar and pen him safely in elegance and luxury.

A throne of sandalwood and mother-of-pearl glowed in the falling light. Khalid passed through knots of men—nobles, soldiers, merchants, great lords and small—to approach the center of power. He slowed, watching the faces of those he passed with careful eyes. He schooled his expression to a calm smile, eyes glinting with secrets. He stopped, stepping in front of the hulking swordsman, Shadin. The grizzled, white-bearded Sahaba looked aside and nodded in greeting. Khalid's eyes flicked across the tableau before him and he was forced to suppress a snarl.

How has this happened? She was leaving, a penitent on a long journey into emptiness!

Shahr-Baraz, the Royal Boar, Emperor of the Persians and the Medes, stood beside the throne, one booted foot lodged carelessly against the precious wood. His massive torso was girded in mail, his long salt-and-pepper hair tied behind a thick neck with rawhide.

'Within the week,' Shahr-Baraz boomed, his voice a little less than a roar, 'the fleet will have completed unloading our men and goods. Within two weeks, our wagons will be filled, our regiments ordered. I say, my friends, in four weeks we shall move south in full array.'

Standing on the other side of the throne, her hair combed back in a glossy wave, stood Zoe, queen of Palmyra. She eschewed the Boar's martial display, her neck framed with gold and electrum, smooth arms kissed with silver circlets. Khalid hid a sneer, seeing her brilliant blue eyes enhanced with powdered pearl and antimony. Even her gown, clinging like a skin to her young, lithe body was opulent—a golden-hued silk, like the sky at dawn, cinched with supple kidskin. The Queen was smiling, watching Shahr-Baraz declaim. Beside her, the Palmyrene prince Odenathus leaned on a staff. Khalid tried to catch his friend's eye, but the Palmyrene's attention was focused on the King of Kings.

'Our goal is this,' the Boar said, voice settling into a basso rumble. 'To strike down upon Roman Egypt like a storm, overpower her defenses and seize the great port of Alexandria. We do not aim to capture the whole of the country, not yet, but we must secure the port of Pelusium—the first barrier we will encounter—and then Alexandria. With both harbors under our control, we choke off the flow of grain to Rome.' Shahr-Baraz smiled, showing fine white teeth amid the thicket of his beard.

Khalid nodded absently, turning his head a little. Where was—a cold shock made him flinch. Behind the king, hidden in shadow, surrounded by four more of the Shanzdah, stood a slim, dark figure.

Prince... Rustam. Khalid's heart hammered, then slowed. He licked his lips. My... ally.

The prince was watching the King of Kings as well, standing at ease, hands clasped behind his back. Khalid's eyelid twitched. A gleam passed across the prince, making his skin shimmer and twist, as if scales caught the light of a candle. Al'Walid forced himself to remain upright, though a terrible, pressing desire to kneel came over him. He swayed and Shadin—his gruff face pinched in disapproval—caught his arm and held him upright. Khalid wrenched his attention back to Shahr-Baraz.

'The fleet,' Shahr-Baraz continued, 'under the command of the noble Odenathus, will parallel our course. I expect—no, I know—the Roman fleet has regrouped. They will come against us as soon as we show our intent. Odenathus, you will have to fight, and perhaps you will have to flee.'

The Palmyrene was surprised by the shahanshah's sober tone and he shook his head. 'My lord, we will not abandon you!'

'You will,' Shahr-Baraz said, raising a hand to forestall further protest. 'The fleet is our only advantage; it must be preserved. Because of this, the army will march on land with all supplies necessary to cross the desert to Pelusium. Once we are within the Nile delta, we will forage for what we need. But while we engage the Romans ashore, the fleet must keep out of danger.'

'Very well.' Odenathus nodded dubiously.

'Good!' Shahr-Baraz beamed at the assembly, tugging at the ends of his mustaches. 'Now, the rest of you... the lands between here and Pelusium are harsh, with little water, no feed, no browse for our horses. Therefore we must march swiftly, taking advantage of the fine Roman road along the coast. We must reach and take Pelusium before we starve.' The King of Kings smiled broadly.

Khalid frowned at the various commanders around him. These fat Persians make such a bold march? I think not... my Sahaba have been tempered on the An'Nefud, the anvil of the lord! The Huns are canny men and used to long days in the saddle with few rations—they will pass the test. Even the men of the Decapolis are hardy and used to the sun... but these diquans from their fat, well-watered land? He stifled a derisive laugh.

'You will be ready in three weeks and your men will keep up. If they do not, they will be left behind, without wine or grain.' Shahr-Baraz drew a long knife from his belt. He considered his profile in the mirror-bright blade. 'A man might live a day without water, perhaps two, under this sun. His death will be slow and agonizing as his skin burns black and ants consume his eyes. This pleases me—I would not want to sully my steel with the blood of a fool or a coward!'

Off to Khalid's left, a tall, broad-shouldered Persian stepped out of the crowd. 'Great king,' the man declared, sweeping the assembly with a fierce gaze. 'We will reach Pelusium at your side and we will crush the Romans as your lightning arm! Nothing will stop us!'

'Well spoken, Lord Piruz.' Shahr-Baraz smiled at the man. Khalid looked closer, disturbed by the gaunt features of the Persian lord. There was a brittle spark in the noble's eyes and the Arab found his attention drawn to a flash of black silk at the man's throat. Ah, one of Purandokht's suitors... then he is mad, and