The King had taken her immediately to the dead Vizier’s bed chamber, and she had lain with him. She was disgusted by his hands on her, his mouth, his penis, but it was necessary for the spell. She suffered his touch. She imagined Ahmed, the boy she had loved so passionately who had gone off to sea with her brothers. Tamza felt emboldened by her successful performance. She wanted to tell Edgar to bark like a dog and stab himself in the heart. But she didn’t. Her mother had cautioned that enchanted men can only be pushed so far, before they snap, and it was best not to test their limits. Tamza had never used her powers to enchant a man, and now she had this one ensnared. The man at the top, who commanded the others, who had ordered the destruction and slaughter. She had realised, at the point that Dabecki felt Edgar’s sword at his neck, that Dabecki was under the rule of the King. Captain Zhaz was his own man, but an ally of Edgar. She would cut off the snake’s head and see the body squirm and wither away. And once the King was gone, she’d pursue Dabecki and Captain Zhaz, and all the damn men responsible for the fall of Vaasar. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

King Edgar snored gently next to her. His hairy chest rising and falling. She studied him. His red beard crept down his neck and met the hair on his collarbone. This body fur spread over his shoulders and down his back. All the same colour as the hair on his head. His broad chest and shoulders narrowed into a lean, rippled stomach, large buttocks and muscular, squat legs. A fighter. A body honed for violence.

Tamza had never taken another being’s life. It was just not the Vaasarian way, they were peaceful, they valued and respected others. No fibre of her being wanted to harm another. But the image of her father, stabbed by order of this man, of Yaseena clutching her dead sons to her, murdered by order of this man, of Yaseena dragged away by the reeking warriors, by order of this man, hardened her resolve.

He had left his long sword and short swords outside the room with the soldier posted there. She doubted she’d ever have the chance to take one. Edgar snorted in his sleep and his chin jutted, his hot breath grazing her cheek.

She grabbed a pillow, and placed it gently over his face, increasing the pressure.

His hand shot up and grabbed her wrist, the other pulled away the pillow and cinched around her neck. His eyes narrowed and hardened. Not the glazed look he had given her earlier. His grip tightened and her breath hitched in her throat. Tamza panicked. I have snapped the spell!

His lips tightened and he started to sit up, glaring at her.

She pressed slightly on his chest and forced an amused snort. It was the only thing she could think to do. He paused, his grip slackened

“Oh, that woke you didn’t it, sleepy,” she whispered seductively. His glare softened, his back sinking into the mattress. “I’ve been trying to wake you for a long time now. I’m ravenous, and only you can satisfy my craving.” She tweaked his nipples.

He released her neck and started to kiss the scar on her cheek tenderly, he was fascinated by it. “Happy to oblige,” he mumbled into her hair. Hand creeping between her legs. A few hours later, they were sat in a smaller room off the dining hall. The Vaasarian carpenter who had been kept alive had hastily made chairs and a tall table. Tamza settled on floor cushions to one side, so the King’s eyes could always see her. They had entered last, the men rose from their chairs and dipped their heads at Edgar as he passed, Dabecki scrambled to follow their lead. Captain Zhaz didn’t stand. He picked his fingernails with his sword.

One of the King’s gruff men had joked as Edgar passed, indicating Tamza, “Hadn’t you better keep your new dog on a leash?”

So fast that Tamza barely saw what happened, Edgar smashed his forehead into the man’s nose, shattering it with a sharp crack. Blood rushed down the man’s lips and soaked his beard, slowly dripping through the coarse hair and onto his chest. Edgar had carried on walking to his seat, without saying a word. He had flicked his hand at the servants, pointed to Tamza and then to a spot on the floor.

Dabecki had glared at Tamza as servants brought her cushions to sit on, his mouth hanging more open than usual. Another servant pulled out the roughly made chair at the head of the table, and Edgar sat. The others took their seats. There were ten men, including the traitorous Vaasarian, Burrington and the Xayan warrior captain. And several men who Tamza recognised from the dining hall the night before. The man whose nose was now broken sat as if it hadn’t happened, lips puckered but not moving a hand to staunch the flow or to reset his nose. Tamza guessed to do so would be weakness.

Edgar placed his elbows on the table and rested his chin on his knuckles, his bushy beard bunching either side. The men were silent. He looked around the table, but not one man could look him in the eye. Even Captain Zhaz continued to study his fingernails. Edgar flicked his eyes to Tamza, checking she was still there, before staring intently at Burrington, who sat to his left.

Burrington felt the powerful man’s gaze on him and looked up. An imperceptible raise of Edgar’s eyebrow and Burrington spoke.

“This is the first council session since taking Vaasar. We have a few things to discuss.” Burrington scratched at his patchy beard. “Let’s start with an update on the town…”

A gruff voice cut in from down the table. The man had the same bushy beard and hair to the shoulders as Edgar, but his was speckled with grey. “The only town men and women left alive are in the Useful prison, at the Xayan camp or here.” He shot a quick glance at Tamza, but continued. “One hundred in the Useful prison. Captain Zhaz and his warriors ably hunted down and sniffed out any remaining yesterday. A few had taken to their boats, but we let them go. The sea will eat them soon enough. It was looking hungry last night. Men are stationed around the town walls, as pathetic as they are, on the lookout for any retaliation from… what’s this country’s capital called again, Da… Dab…”

“Dabecki,” said the traitor with an obsequious nod. “This country is called Drome and the capital is Parchad.”

The gruff man grunted.

“Parchad is a five or six-week camel ride away, depending on the changeable desert weather. The falcon that we saw leave the town yesterday carried a message of Vaasar’s seizure. There was one falcon, and that was its sole purpose. I don’t know who released it, no doubt one of the scribes, but all were killed before I got to ask.” Dabecki looked pointedly at Captain Zhaz. The warrior looked bored.

Dabecki continued. “However, there is a camel train expected in two weeks or so, due to take water and goods back to the capital. It will come into the unloading area just outside the walls from the desert. There is only one way through the dunes, it is obvious enough for the lookouts to keep an eye on.”

A surge of hope flooded Tamza’s chest. Parchad will come to our rescue! The capital had fighters, the leading Wakrime clan had trained men to quell the various clan uprisings there. Vaasar had been formed by the same nomadic desert people as the crater city of Parchad, hundreds of seasons earlier. The Vaasarians were from the Khumarah clan, and a group had gone north to discover the monstrous, dangerous dunes giving way to barren flatlands before raising up to looming mountains. At the flatlands, they had decided to go east. The land looked greener that way.

It was a wise choice as they reached fertile land, the sea, and a natural harbour. The sea touched the mountainous dunes to the south, and to the north it touched steep, treacherous cliffs that led into the mountains. The clan settled by the river, and the town of Vaasar was born. The Wakrime clan went south and discovered a giant crater, blasted into the sand, with a water source at the centre, and settled there, naming it Parchad. Most of the smaller clans, and the remaining Khumarah clan members, had followed the Wakrimes to Parchad. There had been many clan wars over rule, but the Wakrimes held out. Tamza had heard stories from the workers running the camel caravan trains that a tentative peace had been agreed, one the Wakrimes kept in check using violence when necessary.

Parchad will send fighters, they cannot afford to lose the town. Vaasar was important to the ruler in Drome, huge camel trains trudged back and forth through the desert taking water from the Gharak River to the crater city. Ruler Wahakbi el Wakrime had visited once, when Tamza was a child, and had demanded a statue of him be built in the market square. Vizier Khalled had agreed wholeheartedly, but the statue was never built. The Vizier considered himself as an equal to Ruler Wahakbi, but not to his face. Parchad sent glass trinkets, baubles and jewellery back in exchange for the water. The Parchaders had found a way to melt sand and form it into a precious substance they called glass, and Vizier Khalled, and his son Hannijad, desired it.

Parchad will not allow Drome to be split in half like this, we are from the same people. The Dromedars were desert people, the nomadic clans who roamed the desert still having huge back humps. Although Vaasarian humps had slowly shrunk as there was ample water, they were still prominent.

“Wall,” said Edgar. In such a way that Tamza wasn’t sure if it was a question or not.

Burrington replied, “We’ll start building the wall today. As with the small holdings, villages and towns we’ve taken before, we’ll put it four hundred paces out from the furthest edge of the town to give the place room to grow in the future. The Fert masons will start with the stone they’ve carted from Fertilian and then will seek out suitable from the nearby mountains.”

“This wall needs to be like nothing we’ve ever built before. Thicker, higher, impenetrable. The bastards in Parchad will not give up this place easily. They’ll be on their way. If not now, soon. They’ll try to take this place back again and again. Mark my words. We want the sea, and all the opportunities that brings. They need the water. Tell the masons, Burrington, if that wall isn’t a giant, I’ll personally take their heads.”

This man is evil, he even threatens to kill his own kind. Tamza’s body involuntarily shuddered, but no one paid her any attention. The sooner he is gone, the better.

Captain Zhaz stood, stretched his arms above his head and grunted. “I go to see my men.” He walked out of the room.

Burrington’s eyes shadowed him, annoyed. He ran his fingers through his lank hair. “He can’t just walk out on a council meeting!”

Edgar shrugged. “He’s served his purpose, as he’s served his purpose many times before. The Xayans are the advance warriors who storm the target, they thrive on death and bloodshed and get restless when that’s done. We’ve captured all of Fertilian, with their help, and now we’ve captured this little stronghold and have a link to the sea. We should think about paying them off and sending them on their way.”

A gurgling voice came from the mouth under the shattered nose. “But we need them here a little longer, to fight the Drome army when it comes.”

“Aye,” said Edgar, the earlier altercation forgotten. “Find them something to keep them entertained until then, Orpey.”

“How about a bear fight?” Dabecki piped up, sneering at Tamza.

“No!” Tamza blurted.

Edgar glanced at her and then his weighty stare found Dabecki. “We keep the bears for fighting enemies, not each other. I gave the order to Orpey, not you.”

Dabecki shrivelled from Edgar, eyes down.

Edgar looked at Burrington, who couldn’t hold the King’s gaze. “Have the messengers gone back to my brother?”

“Aye, early this morning. And a messenger arrived from Horace. He says all is well, he is holding the country, there’s been no more uprisings. People are adjusting to the idea of one chief. One King. And if they’re not, Horace says he’s dealing with them. Also, he notes the stone building you ordered is progressing well, we’ll soon be living in grand structures fit for the King of the country and his court. No more huts for us.”

Edgar grunted. “I’m impressed with the buildings here. These people were more advanced than I was expecting.”

The grey-haired man said, “Aye, but they don’t have metal, they don’t know how to make bronze. They have no weapons.”

A few voices spoke at once. Burrington coughed to get their attention. He was ignored until Edgar thumped the table.

Picking at his doleful beard, Burrington said, “We need to decide what we’re calling this place, now it belongs to the country of Fertilian.”

“Lian-by-Sea,” Edgar said, without hesitation.

A ripple of agreement. The King stood, his chair scraping back. The men around the table stood hastily. “I’m going to look at my new town, my Lian-by-Sea. Tamza.” He stalked from the room, not looking back at the men around the table. Tamza rose to follow. As did Dabecki.

The traitor beat her to the monster’s side, in the hallway.

“My King,” Dabecki slimed.

Edgar turned to him.

Dabecki flinched, but pressed on, “When will I be taking over from Burrington? As warden of the town, as promised?”

Edgar’s thick hand shot out and pinned Dabecki awkwardly to the wall, the skin of his bare hump slapped against the mudbrick.

“There’s something you should know about me, you snivelling rat, I don’t always keep my promises. You’ve served your purpose, you got us into this maze of a town. Now you’re my translator, nothing more.” Edgar released his hand and Dabecki slid down the wall into a blubbering heap. Edgar patted his creased forehead. “Enjoy the women, be thankful I’ve kept you alive.”

The King took Tamza’s hand and stomped from the building.