1. Damon

1

DAMON

A nother 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.

The raucous soldiers sound like a pack of dogs. The men in the hall are mostly Atticul's but there are some of Endrew's and Damon's mixed amongst them. Damon knows all his men by sight, but even if he didn't, he could pick them out here.

It's no secret that Damon's battalions are drilled harder than the others. Damon scans the room and notes his men standing straighter and behaving better in the noisy hall.

"These veiled creatures in white, brother," says Atticul, pointing down at a group of women in fine robes and veils, "are King Ramel's most favoured pleasure slaves. Shall we share them between us? The most succulent women of Pellex."

Endrew takes a drink from his flask, "What will we do with them?" He sounds distinctly tipsy.

"These are the king's women, too good for those dogs of soldiers. We will share them amongst us. I will even be generous. Bastard Damon, you can take one. Choose."

Damon gives Atticul a sour look. "No, thank you. I don't want any slave women from this place."

"So noble," Atticul says, hiding his anger with a nasty laugh. "Your own mother was an enslaved whore and yet you think you are too good to take one of these as part of your spoils from the fall of Pellex. But I will tempt you, Bastard." He raises his voice and calls out to the men at the walls. "Shall we have them stripped so we can see what we have?"

Some of the men cheer. Damon lets out a huff of breath at the tedious display. The sight is sickening, but there's nothing he can do for these women. Atticul outranks him as General Paramount. A title to reflect his status as second in line to the throne of the empire .

If Damon had any doubts about the sort of Emperor Atticul will be one day, this display makes it horribly clear. But here in the hall of Blackstone Castle, General Paramount Atticul's word is law. Damon would risk his life by challenging him — no matter how personally revolting he finds his half-brother's behaviour.

So Damon watches as Atticul's men follow orders and begin to strip the women of their robes. Some of them bark out orders in sloppy Juran, most of them simply shout in Artemian, as if the women will understand them if they bellow. Damon insisted that all his men learn at least some words of Juran in preparation for their conquest of Jur-Mattan. But few of the other battalions know any words at all.

The women don't resist. Some of them are sobbing, others are defiant, standing tall and not even trying to cover their bodies. A horrible spectacle. Around half the women are naked when one of the men cries, "This one's a male."

"It's what?" says Atticul, standing up to get a better look. "Put him on his feet. Let me see."

From the centre of the group of whimpering women, a whore stands up. His veil is gone and he's holding a torn white robe around his body. But he is quite clearly a man. He has dark hair, long to his broad shoulders, and a pleasant face. Bright eyes and a soft mouth. A mouth that promises pleasure. He is slender, not very tall. The build of a male whore. His bare skin looks so delicate and unprotected in this room full of armed men. There are some strange scars on his arms and thighs.

He seems to shake a little as he glances at Damon with bright, white fear in his eyes, before looking at Atticul.

Beneath the fear, Damon thinks he can see something else in the man's expression. A strange fire, a clear determination. He looks like no man Damon has ever seen before. Unusual. Beautiful.

Damon feels an unmistakable thump low in his body. A sick feeling. A feeling he loathes.

Desire.

Atticul looks the whore up and down. "So, King Ramel had male whores?" he says in Juran. Damon is no expert, but Atticul's Juran, to his ear, is awkward and mispronounced.

"Just me, Sire," the whore replies, voice shaky, but loud enough to be heard clearly in the room.

"Just you? And what did he want with you?" Atticul says, still stumbling to find the Juran words. "Did he suck your cock?" Most of the men in the hall might not speak Juran, but they seem to understand these crudities. They laugh at the suggestion.

The whore shakes his head. "No, Sire." He still looks scared, but he's answering clearly and as best he can. His eyes stay on Atticul's. He has a little spark to him, this male whore. Damon has witnessed many heroic acts in his career as a soldier, but this…, this man, shaky and defenceless, standing half-naked in a room full of baying soldiers, with his back straight and his chin lifted, might be the bravest he has ever seen.

"Really," Atticul drawls back at the man. He switches to Artemian. "Tell you what, Bastard, you said you didn't want any women, so this one's yours."

The men in the hall break out into jeers and more mocking laughter.

Damon bristles, rising anger. He looks at Atticul. He's smirking. "Fuck you," he says, his voice a low growl. Another round of cackling and cat calls spread around the hall.

"Fine," says Atticul, brightly. "Kill the sly whore. If even the bastard won't take him, he's useless to anyone else."

Damon watches as two of Atticul's men step up. The male whore is pulled from the group of half-naked women and dragged up before the dais. Damon stays where he is.

The whore is forced onto his knees. He's shaking in the face of death.

He's going to die right here.

Damon has seen so many men killed. He's seen Atticul order casual executions like this so often. But this one makes Damon feel dizzy.

One of the men draws his sword.

The whore looks over at Damon, eyes wide with fear. He is pleading. He knows Damon can stop this.

Damon stands up.

"Fine," he says. "Fine. I'll take him." And then he's said it. "Don't kill him." The words are out of his mouth and he can't take them back. The men whoop and cheer and whistle.

Atticul turns to Damon with an amused expression. "I knew you would, you sly whore's son," he says softly.

Damon can't move as he watches the whore being helped to his feet and brought over to where Damon stands. He tries to look placid, simple and stern, but his gut is churning.

He doesn't know what's got into him, really.

What's one more dead whore?

Why should he care?

The whore kneels at Damon's feet. "Thank you, Sire," he says.

Damon looks down into those big eyes and his breath catches. Close up, the whore is even more beautiful. There's no denying it. Damon can see the sweet lines of his face. His wide eyes are bright blue. His dark hair vivid against his pale gold skin. There is a light shading of stubble over his jaw. His colouring and bone structure do not look Juran. Where is he from? "What's your name?" Damon says in Juran.

"Lyr," says the whore, voice quavering. And he smiles a smile that makes Damon's stomach flutter.

Most of the whore's body is covered by the torn robe he holds around himself, but Damon can see the scars on his upper arms more clearly. Intricate swirls that must have been placed deliberately, ritualistically.

The swirls vanish under his robe.

Damon would like to see how far those scars go. Do they extend to his shoulders? Further? He'd like to find out. He'd like to strip this whore of that tattered robe. He'd like to see every part of his skin. And more than that. He'd like to see how those rose-petal lips look stretched around his cock. Heat pools low in his belly at the thought.

For a moment, Damon seems to forget where he is.

"As you have chosen your whore from the selection, brother," Atticul calls, startling Damon out of his thoughts. "Why don't you take him?"

Damon looks over Lyr's head at Atticul. "What?"

"We are men of war, celebrating our victory. A General should show his men how that is done. Take him now. Enjoy our victory and cover him. Prove to me you truly want him."

"I will do no such thing," Damon says tightly.

"Oh, come now," Atticul says in a sweet, playful tone. "Why be so reticent? You have already declared your desire to all present. You want him over all the women on offer. Take him now. Enjoy our victory and cover him."

"I took him simply to prevent more needless bloodshed," Damon says, "Jur-Mattan is ours."

Atticul laughs. "Oh, please. Come on, Bastard. Put your cock in his mouth. Or in his shit hole or whatever your sort likes to do. You need not fear the wrath of Zai. We are not on Azurian soil. The things men do in war are no sin."

Damon looks at his brother. "I will do no such thing," he growls. "How dare you make such a command of me."

"Oh, but I do command it," says Atticul in a low, dangerous tone. "This is a celebration. We will all be taking pleasure to mark our victory. Why should you be any exception? I command that you fuck your new whore. Here. Now. Before all. Every man here knows what you are. Luxorite. "

"No," says Damon. Ignoring the sea of expectant eyes in the hall.

Atticul stands up from his throne. "Don't be so churlish," he says, walking towards him. "Damon Darekul. Brother. Bastard . You will do as I command or I will charge you with oathbreaking. I will sentence you to a flogging and dishonourable discharge. You will lose all your spoils from this campaign, perhaps more." He reaches Damon and stands before him.

Atticul is half a head shorter than Damon and probably not much more than half his weight. But legally all the power in this room is his. If he ordered it, the men in here, even those who called Damon their General, would be bound to obey.

Atticul's hand is on the hilt of his sword. "Well? What is it to be? You will entertain us one way or another. Fuck your new whore, something we all know you are desperate to do. Or lose your skin and more besides?"

Damon looks Atticul in the eye and says, "When my sentence of indenture ended two years ago, I made a promise to Emperor Selim. That promise was to serve in the Imperial Army until Pellex fell. Pellex is fallen." He reaches up to the front of his leather jerkin. Above his breastplate he wears the badge he's worn almost daily for twenty-two years. The badge he was given when he took his oath at fourteen. The twelve-pointed mark of Zai, gold in a silver circle. Every man in the room wears one the same. He tears it off, the pin ripping through the black leather of his jerkin. Above it sits the curved General's badge, three connected gold circles. He pulls that away too. He drops both badges on the floor between his boots and Atticul's. "Pellex is fallen," he says. "And I am done. I am discharged by the Emperor's command, a free man and I will be taking my spoils from this campaign home to Azuria at first light."

He doesn't look at Atticul. He doesn't wait for a reply. He turns and walks from the room. Pausing only to say, "You, come with me," to the whore, still kneeling on the floor.