It’s silent across the Empire, the land steeped in late summer heat. Nowhere is there movement, the dusty roads are empty for the time of year. Along the far coasts, villages lie in charred ruins, abandoned ahead of raiders and soldiers for the fourth year running. Hunger tightens its grip.
Tension hangs in the air, an uneasy strain creeping further inland. Doors remain barred, windows shuttered. Not a soul can be seen. The birds have stopped singing. Nothing moves, nothing stirs. Nothing to do but watch, wait and listen…
For the growing sound of horses’ hooves.
In the darkness of a hut, a peasant woman clutches her baby to her, stifling its cries for food. Opposite her, across the hearth, seamed faces freeze, listening. The thunder grows. With a roar, the cavalcade pours by, shaking the timbers of the wooden hovels. Huge imperial horses and their riders stream through the tiny village, dust caked, deafening. Torn pennants flap, their black insignia stark as they race southwards. Then they are gone.
Slowly, the mother removes a trembling hand from the baby’s mouth. No one says a word.
In the far southeast corner of the Empire, the last charred planks of an outer gate topple to join the conflagration surrounding them. A city is burning.
PART I
I
Shaking with rage, I kicked my legs and swung higher on the orchard swing. My unbound hair streamed back as I flew through the air, summer kirtle blown heavy around my bare feet, billowing as the wind caught it. Breeze cooled my skin in the hot sweet blanket of late afternoon heat, rich with the musky scent of hay piled high in the stores […]