Ghassan stared up in wonder. Although his whole life he had heard the merchants in M’Dahz talk of the glorious city of Calphoris as though it made his home town look like a desert hovel, he’d not been truly prepared for what he saw now.
It had been so long since he had set off in the dark moonless night from the walls of M’Dahz with visions of a quick run and then a five day ride along the coast to the capital of the province that he had lost count of the sunrises and sunsets he had seen.
What had begun easily had soon been complicated beyond belief. He had run through the night and had hoped to come early the next morning to the trade station where he would buy a horse or possibly a camel for his ongoing journey.
The light had gradually grown with that first dawn and he had approached the trade post with some caution. Even though the chances were that, even if the rope had been found, the Pelasian military would hardly expend men on a manhunt unless someone important was found to be missing, there was no reason to tempt the lady of fate.
The station had been quiet and, as he’d approached, he had realised just how quiet. No trading post was that silent, let alone one that specialised in animals. Obviously the place was still used, since the smell of dung had been fresh and pungent enough to assail him as he reached even a hundred yards’ distance. Perhaps, now that there were so few traders on the roads, this place was only maintained by nomads who would need to stay there occasionally.
Biting his lip, he had approached slowly and in a crouched, tense manner. Somehow he hadn’t believed his rationalisations. Something had been wrong with the place and, as he’d reached the boundary wall that formed part of the horse corral, he had spotted the first signs of trouble. A broken blade lay partially covered by the sand. Once again he had found himself thanking the Gods for the gift of sharp eyes.
Ten minutes he had waited, obscured by that wall, listening for any sign of movement, before he had ventured within the post. Formed of three buildings and two tents with four separate corrals and an enclosing wall, the trade station had clearly been occupied continuously by a number of men and a great many animals of different sorts, up to a matter of days or even hours before. Equally clearly, the peaceful occupation of this mercantile centre had ended quickly and violently.
Not a single animal was to be found at the site and no bodies had been in evidence, though Ghassan had found a number of ripped fragments of garments and shards of metal belonging to weapons and armour.
Most disturbing had been the gobbets of fresh blood on the floor of the main building, clearly where the fighting or, more likely, the executions had taken place.
Despite the lack of corroborating evidence, he had become convinced almost immediately that this was the work of the Pelasian invaders, probably in some form of revenge for the attempted coup in the town.
Whatever the reason, he had now been faced with several weeks’ walk to the city of Calphoris, a walk along the coast, down near the shore and away from the road where patrols might find him.
Sighing, Ghassan had set off and headed east once again.
Later that afternoon, he had almost walked to his own demise.
A whole day of repetitive terrain and the quiet lapping of waves on the sand had become like a mantra, driving the young man into a stupor as he plodded ever on. It was almost soporific and he had his head lowered and his thumbs tucked into his belt as he’d rounded that headland. As he thought back on it now, he became certain that he’d even been whistling a childhood ditty as he went.
And there, on the beach beyond the headland, had been a patrol of black-clad Pelasian light cavalry, cooking freshly-caught fish for their lunch. He had been so surprised, shocked out of his mental haze, that he’d stood there like some sort of practice target, silhouetted against the sapphire sky, as the first rider had spotted him.
Ghassan was far from a stupid young man and years of having to keep up with the mercurial thought processes of his clever brother had honed his instincts. Shaking his head slightly, he had turned and run up the slope toward the road inland, making sure he moved far enough back west as he went so that he’d disappeared from their view.
As soon as he’d done so, he had then ducked back the way he came and dropped to the ground to peer over the headland. Sure enough, the riders had clambered onto their horses and ridden towards the road. With a smile, Ghassan had then run down onto the gravelly shore. Briefly he’d considered stealing the fragrant baked fish, but quickly rid himself of such dangerous ideas. Keeping his eyes darting around the periphery for warnings of the scouts coming back this way, he had carefully run across the beach to the opposite headland, making sure to keep to the hard, stony part of the shoreline and stay off the sand that would betray signs of his passing.
After that incident, he had travelled much more slowly and very carefully. It would take the best part of a month at that rate for him to reach the city, but he would be more likely to arrive unharmed. Besides, he could catch and cook fish as he went, which would prevent him from starving, and fresh water could be supplied using an arrangement of three pots to boil sea water and then collect the dripping steam, a trick any desert-coast dweller quickly learned.
Many times over the next three weeks of travel, he had considered alternative routes. The road would have been so much quicker but, several times, he had spotted Pelasian scouts or patrols, so the idea had been quickly shelved. The only other possibility had been deeper into the southern desert but, while he was almost guaranteed to see no Pelasians there, the desert held its own perils.
He knew where the oases were supposed to be and, in principal at least, knew how to extract water from succulents he might find. But it was very easy to lose your way in the desert and the chances were that he’d be walking to his death. Besides, if you were not a native of the dunes, there was every chance the sand devils would catch you, and Ghassan had no intention, at this pivotal point in his life, of being eaten and left a stripped carcass in the deep sands.
And so the days had dragged on and on. He had begun by keeping a rough track of the time but, towards the end of the first week, he had given up such meaningless ideas and merely settled for whether it was morning, afternoon or night. By the end of the second week he’d given up trying to remember what day it was and had vowed that, when he finally reached his destination, whether he became a soldier or a mercenary, whether he was rich or poor or somewhere in between, he would make sure that he never ate another chunk of baked bream or boiled seaweed again as long as he lived.
And now here he was. With a sigh of relief, Ghassan let his pack fall to the floor beside his leg. His legs ached a little, but the constant daily exercise had built up his muscles enough that he hardly noticed it any more.
And he was finally safe from Pelasian patrols, standing before the great white marble gates of Calphoris. The massive arch rose up above him, to a height of perhaps a hundred feet. The sides of the gatehouse had once been great cylindrical white towers, though in more troubled times some governor had given them a great dark, square, buttressed stone casing that covered the lower half.
The top of the gate, resplendent in its white marble battlements, was surmounted by five great golden figures. As he examined them, it occurred to Ghassan’s jaded mind that the chances of them being anything but highly-burnished bronze was tiny. No amount of guards in the world would stop a good thief from taking pieces off the statues if they were really gold.
The walls of Calphoris made M’Dahz look like a poorly-protected village. Inside, the tips of a multitude of white and bronze towers rose toward the azure heavens. The great gates themselves were clearly bronze-plated, and heavy enough to stop the hardiest of battering rams. Calphoris had money; glory; a past. He smiled. A future.
Approaching, he took careful note of the two men in uniform standing in a bored fashion to either side of the gate, They were not members of the Imperial army, certainly. Ghassan had seen enough of the Empire’s soldiers in his youth in M’Dahz that he knew not only the insignia for the southern Marshal’s army, but also of half a dozen of the specific units based in the south, their rank insignias and their armour standards.
While these two were clearly professional soldiers, their tunics and cloaks clean and pressed, their armour polished and correct, the insignia and some of the equipment was different. Ghassan was immediately impressed. These were obviously the militia as it existed in Calphoris. Certainly a step up on that of M’Dahz. Clearly, then, Imperial support had pulled out of the provincial capital too.
Taking a deep breath, Ghassan straightened and tried to look as adult and serious as possible. The guard to the left of the gateway watched as he approached, his expression carefully neutral. Ghassan swallowed as he came to a halt, his pack over his back and the sheathed sword hanging conspicuously from the bundle.
“Excuse me. I need to know where I would go to sign up?”
The guard blinked, clearly surprised at the question, though his composure never faltered.
“How old are you, lad?”
For a moment, Ghassan wondered about lying. Would it stand him in any better stead? But the only real way forward if he was going to commit to this properly would be honestly.
“I am almost thirteen, sir.” A slight exaggeration, but basically true.
The guard nodded. Ghassan had truly expected the man to laugh and was further impressed by these men as the soldier looked him up and down with a professional eye.
“You might be better coming back in a few years, to be honest, lad. If you sign on now, you’ll have seniority when you hit sixteen and we get the new recruits, but it means you’ll have three years of getting the shitty end of the stick; all the nasty jobs.”
Ghassan shrugged as professionally as he could manage and almost lost control of the heavy pack on his shoulder.
“I’m willing to do whatever comes my way. I just want to sign up.”
The guard nodded again.
“Fair enough, lad. Go through the gate and head up the street until you pass through the arch of the old walls. You can’t miss it. The next street on the right after that leads to the military compound.”
He laughed.
“And the spice market, but I’m guessing you’ll be able to work out which is which.”
Ghassan smiled.
“Thank you, sir.”
“Why so determined?” asked the soldier as Ghassan shouldered his pack once more, preparing to set off.
“I’m from M’Dahz. I’ve watched the place collapse under the Pelasians and I want to protect the Empire and make sure M’Dahz is as far as they get.”
“I heard things in M’Dahz were pretty dire. If you’re hoping for revenge, this isn’t the way though.”
Ghassan frowned and the guard shrugged.
“This isn’t the Imperial army any more, lad. We don’t go conquering enemies now. This is the army of Calphoris and we fight to protect our city, our lord and our territory, whether it be from Pelasians, desert nomads, pirates or even other Imperial cities. You might as well know that before you sign your life away as a scout in the cavalry or a skivvy in the navy.”
Ghassan smiled. There was no humour about his feral look and for a moment it even shook the guard at the gate.
“Sir, I will do whatever is required of me for now, but I can assure you that some day I will march back into M’Dahz and I will kill any Pelasian who gets in my way.”
He gave a small bow, his teeth still clenched in that non-smile.
“Thank you for your assistance.”
Taking a deep breath, Ghassan straightened once more and strode purposefully through the gates of Calphoris toward his future, whatever it may hold.