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DAMON

Another city is burning. And Damon the Bastard is done with war.

He walks through the ruins. A foreign city in a foreign land. Pellex, the capital of Jur-Mattan. A long-sought trophy for the Azurian Empire. But all cities look the same when they’re defeated. When they're full of invading soldiers looting and killing. When their buildings are rubble and the air is choked with dust.

The vicious Juran sun beats down on Damon’s shoulders. His whole body aches. Carrion birds circle overhead, dark shapes against the boiling sky. The streets stink of blood and shit. The air is full of the screams and shouts of the people of Pellex, as they are dragged from their homes to be enslaved or killed.

All of this is a familiar sight. Another victory for the brutal Imperial Army of Azuria.

Pellex, a ruin, and General Damon Darekul, king of the dirt. The soldiers of the Imperial Army swarm around, thrilled with their freedom. After a moon’s turn of siege and fighting, the city is theirs. They have taken Blackstone Castle. They have executed King Ramel. They have killed or enslaved every noble they have managed to find.

Jur-Mattan is fallen. The gateway to Sofilio and Ik-Sundal and The Cradle, and all the lands to the east, belongs to the Azurian Empire now.

Bloodshed is nothing new to Damon. The signs of another victory. He is a General in the Imperial Army. He has been rising through the ranks for over a dozen years. He was an infantry man for years before that. He has seen over twenty years of indentured service, with little more rights than a slave soldier. He has taken many cities. He has killed more men than he can remember.

There’s nothing special about this one, about Pellex. Except that it is his last fallen city.

Damon finds his younger brother Endrew lounging on the dusty steps of Blackstone Castle. His thin face is ruddy from exertion, relief and, certainly, alcohol. Endrew is merrily drunk and beaming. “Damon,” he cries, raising his flask with a skinny arm, “General Damon, come drink with me. The hero of Pellex. Once more The One Man Army leads us to victory.”

Damon nods, sitting himself down on the castle steps. “The victory belongs to all of us, Endrew.”

Endrew takes a long drink and passes the flask to Damon. “You are modest, brother. You know very well that each of your men is worth a dozen of mine and Atticul’s. You are the greatest General the Imperial Army has. I cannot believe this is your last battle.” He digs Damon in the ribs. “Do you really want to retire? Surely today has changed your mind. There are more lands to the south. Wealthy lands with gemstone mines and beautiful women.”

Damon takes a drink from the flask. The pearl tonic is mixed with calcis the way Endrew likes it. It’s honey-sweet, but it is still strong and the familiar bitterness of the pearl tonic bites the edges of his tongue. He’d prefer some ale really. Bitter argent, foaming and cold. Pearl tonic is a drink for high-born nobles.

Damon might be part of the Darek family, part of the ruling family of the Azurian Empire, but he’ll never truly be a noble. He should be drinking ale with his men. It’s only a strange twist of fate, a dead whore mother and a guilty father that has led him to a place in life where he sits on the steps of the castle, with Prince Endrew, Duke of Vashti, calling him brother and sharing his flask of a liquor reserved for the high born.

“Won’t you stay another year?” Endrew continues in a pleading tone. “You will be a wealthy man if you lead us to victory beyond Jur-Mattan. Help us take Ik-Sundal. It won’t be the same without you.”

Damon hands the flask of tonic back to Endrew. His head already feels fluffy from it. The aching in his back and his knees has eased a little now he is sitting down. But he has been awake for days. He loves his little brother, but he has no more stomach for war, and pearl tonic can’t fix that. He can think of nothing less appealing than spending another year crushing cities for Emperor Selim and his War God.

“I have been a soldier since I could hold a sword, Endrew,” he says. Damon is not one for chatter, but Endrew can often bring it out of him. Much more than most people. “I have my new wife waiting for me in Sanglora Manor. You won’t see me in battle again.”

“Ah, yes,” Endrew laughs and swigs from his flask. “The fair Inez. You are still sweet for your young wife? At your wedding, I heard it said there had never been a finer-looking couple on the steps of the Rose Palace. And I have heard Inez is quite devoted to her handsome hero.” Endrew sighs with over-dramatic flair.

Damon can barely remember his wedding to Inez. It had been a rushed affair. Two years ago. He had only had one night of leave from the campaign to drive Azuria’s territory ever eastwards. He had worn his ceremonial uniform of green and gold. He had done his duty that night with the help of a strengthening draught from his father containing herb tinctures and a small dose of foribunda. No fault of Inez’s that his cock would not respond to her without it.

“At least come and take your spoils,” says Endrew. “Atticul is in the castle hall already. He has ordered the whores from Prince Ramel’s harem be displayed for him. Don’t you want to choose some of them for your retirement?”

Damon takes the flask and drinks another mouthful of the sweetened pearl tonic. “I don’t think so,” he says. “I don’t think Inez would be happy if I returned to her in Sanglora with a hold full of foreign whores.”

Endrew looks at Damon with a guileless expression on his face that Damon finds hard to resist. “Will you come anyway? You know how Atticul gets sometimes. You’re the only one who can calm our brother when his blood is high.”

Damon doesn’t think he has more skills than anyone else when it comes to curbing Atticul’s excesses, but if Atticul is dividing up some poor women he has conquered, Damon should at least see if he can make their situation a little better.

He stands up and walks with Endrew into the castle.

The hall of Blackstone Castle is dark. The only windows are set high in the walls and those are not much more than small slits that let in precious little light. Damon knows there is a strong Hevelikar influence in Jur-Mattan. Many of the Hevelikar fled east in the Great Sarelik Revolution. But this hall’s design is not Hevelikar-influenced. Blackstone Castle was built long before the Dareks drove the Hevelikar out of Azuria.

General Paramount Prince Atticul lolls on the throne of dead King Ramel. He’s the same build as his brother Endrew, thin and wiry. He wears his dark hair short and has a wispy black moustache. His cheeks and chin are shaded with dark stubble. His men crowd the walls. They jostle and jeer, drunk and battle-crazed. A crowd of whores and assorted castle servants cower on the stone floor below the throne. When Endrew and Damon walk in, Atticul greets Endrew first with a cry of, “Little brother. Come, join me to share these spoils.” Noticing Damon, he adds, “Oh, I see you have brought the bastard with you.”

Damon is close enough that he can hear Endrew’s pained sigh, before he says, “Atticul, please, Damon is our brother and the great One Man Army of Azuria. Do not address him so when we owe our victory today to him and his men.”

Atticul makes a scoffing noise. “We would have taken this city of shit with or without him.” He looks at Damon, “But come, whore-son brother. Sit with us if you must.”

Damon follows Endrew up the steps to the raised dais and the thrones. Endrew takes his seat where Atticul directed. On the smaller, lower throne next to him. There’s no other seat, so Damon sits on the steps. He’s tired now and his back is starting to ache again. But he knows there will be another night of drinking and fucking to celebrate their victory before he can take his ship and return home to his freedom.