The Walking Gods Trilogy Omnibus

By Ty Johnston

For eons they have wandered the world with little purpose, hiding from their own past and the monstrosities which created them, only coming together once every thousands of years for the Gathering, a time of meeting, a time of conflict.

Now one has propped himself up as the ruler of a city, the only city, and when one of his brothers comes calling, it is a sign a Gathering is imminent.

This time, however, there are outside players, some mortal, some not. And there are the Weapons of the Gods which sometimes seem to have their own agendas.

It is time for The Walking Gods to come together, and the future of the World of Ursia will be challenged and changed forever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ty Johnston
• Release date: Feb 10, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370363346

Ty Johnston

Originally from Kentucky, Ty Johnston is a former newspaper journalist. He lives in North Carolina with loving memories of his late wife.Blog: tyjohnston.blogspot.com

Book preview

Where Gather the Gods

Approximately 8,000 years Before Ashal (B.A.)

Chapter 1

It was not the fire which convinced Itidal they were civilized men. Any fool could rub two sticks together and build a fire, followed by rising smoke much as he now witnessed streaming above the never-ceasing horizon of rolling dunes.

It was the sun’s glint off their weapons, their bronze weapons, short hooked swords. These were what told him the four men camped ahead came from civilized folk.

They should not have been civilized men, for no such thing existed. Men did not forge weapons nor grow crops. Men did not subjugate animals nor suppress running waters for their own ends. Men did not gather in villages and towns and cities. It was not in their nature.

Unless someone had shown them different.

And Itidal could think of a few who might very well have done so.

Cursing, he shifted the heavy steel sword hanging over one shoulder and tromped forward, his boots of cracked lizard skin crunching atop yellow sands as he made his way up the incline toward the four men.

As he neared them, two of the four stood facing him, their hands nervous as they rested upon the hilts of their swords tucked into their thick leather belts. Behind the two standing, the others poked at their fire with hooked rods of black iron, their short, triangular tent of canvas flapping in the desert’s wind.

Itidal cursed again, this time under his breath. Far too many signs of civilization for his liking. The four even wore armor of a sorts, what appeared to be hardened reeds laced together.

When he was only a dozen steps away from the top of the ridge, the nearest gestured with a slash of his hand, a sign to halt.

Itidal halted. Standing there with animal skins covering his shoulders and thighs, he could feel the sweat dripping down his bronzed skin as the sun ate away at him.

You do not from the city, the nearest man said to the newcomer.

Itidal did not recognize their language. The words were new to him. Yet he understood them perfectly well, could even speak them. Such was one of his many talents.

He nodded, but voiced nothing.

The man in front grinned, showing several missing teeth inside his curled beard of black. Atop his head his helmet bounced as he glanced around at his companions.

Seems we’ve got a desert nomad here, he said, then looked back to Itidal. That right? You a piece of desert scum come in for a taste of the good life?

Though understand the words he did, Itidal did not know the references. The city? The good life? There were no cities. Hadn’t been in millions of years.

He kept his thoughts and his words to himself but stared ahead with only a gentle shrug as a sign of having heard the speaker.

The closest man chuckled. Probably don’t speak a word, do you, desert rat?

Staring at their similarity of dress and their weapons, it dawned on Itidal that these were soldiers, trained men. Obviously not trained well, not with their scrubby look, and not enough to impress any Zarroc general, but still trained.

As if he need be worried.

The next nearest soldier took a step ahead. Hey, look at this on his back. Is that a sword? The man reached out.

Itidal shrank back from him.

The soldier stopped, lowering his hand, glaring. Stand still there, desert frog, or you’ll regret it.

Are you sure that’s a sword? another asked. Doesn’t look like any kind of khopesh I’ve ever seen.

The two back at the fire suddenly stood, their interest drawn, and they moved around their comrades to stare at the stranger among them.

Answer us, damn you! one of the soldiers shouted. Is that a sword on your back?

Sensing the growing tension, Itidal gave a curt nod. There was no need for bloodshed here. Besides, he had many questions, and slaying these men would not provide him with answers.

One of the men decided to step closer. He pointed at the weapon strapped against the furs covering Itidal’s shoulders. Looks too big to be sword. And it’s straight as an arrow.

Can’t be bronze, another opined. Bronze wouldn’t hold up to that length.

What kind of sword you got there, boy? the first who had spoken asked.

Steel, Itidal answered, his voice croaking from decades of disuse.

Steel?

The four looked at one another, then back to the stranger.

"What the hell is steel?" one of them asked.

So, their city wasn’t all that civilized after all. But he would answer.

A mixture of iron with other elements, Itidal said.

Confused looks were traded again.

So you a smithy? Is that it? one asked.

Again, Itidal nodded.

Don’t look like a smith, a soldier said, glancing past Itidal into the desert. And there’s nothing out there. Everybody knows that. So where did you come from?

It was a good question, and Itidal was not sure he could provide a good answer. Where did he come from? The desert, of course. That was the obvious answer. But before that? He was not sure. His memory was so long, the years and centuries so vast, it was sometimes difficult to remember places and names and faces and events. He had swam within the desert a period equal to the lifetimes of many mortal men. Before that had been ... what? Had there been a coast, a rocky shoal next to an ocean? Or had he been at a Zarroc city, one of the ancient, forgotten places? Or perhaps there had been a place too small to even be called a village, a few huts strung together for protection of those within?

No, he could not remember exactly where he had been before the desert. He could not answer. So he shrugged.

One of the soldiers chuckled. This one, I think he has been beneath the desert sun for too long. His brains are addled.

Maybe, another said, licking his lips, but I’d like to take a look at that weapon of his.

The man stepped forward.

Once more, Itidal skirted away from the soldiers.

Four swords came out, their hooked, yellow blades glinting beneath the brightness of the day.

Now we don’t want any trouble, the closest of the soldiers said, shifting his sword around, so why don’t you just drop your sword. Then you can be on your way.

Itidal looked from man to man, specifically in their eyes. The one closest to him seemed to be in charge, a leader by words if nothing else, a man only doing a job but determined to see it done. The next soldier, the man licking his lips once more, he showed signs of greed, and he seemed more than willing to harm another to satisfy that greed. The two in back near the fire, they were reluctant, only going through the motions.

A vision sprang into the lone traveler’s mind. It was an image of the future. There was no magic here, only his inner senses informing him of how the next few seconds would play out, and it was not a pretty sight.

Itidal let out a sorrowful sigh and dropped his shoulders, then he dropped the sack covered in tattered wolf’s fur he had carried for more than a century. The bag landed in the sand, sifting up yellow dust, inside his few personal belongings clattering against one another.

That’s it, the greedy man said, leaning forward, his eyes hungry, his empty hand a claw stretching forth.

Itidal positioned himself into a fighting stance, one foot slightly behind the other at an angle, his left side slightly ahead of his right. In truth he had nothing to fear from these men and he did not wish to destroy them, such being not his nature, but he would not allow himself to be robbed and manhandled by such villains. Soldiers or not, from a city or not, they showed a lack of civility.

Right away the four armored figures saw their opponent squaring himself for combat.

Drop the sword and you might walk away with all your limbs, one of the soldiers said.

Enough.

In a whirlwind of motion, Itidal came alive, his sword seemingly springing of its own accord from the makeshift scabbard of hardened leather strapped to his back. He twisted around, the long blade’s handle appearing in his right hand.

His enemies could only blink, the movements were so swift.

Before a soldier could react, Itidal was among them. His steel slashed to his right, knocking a khopesh out of a hand, then flipped over to stab to the left, snapping against a wrist hard enough to crack it and to drop another sword. The last two soldiers with weapons in hand had a moment of awareness before their foe flung himself between them, tromping amidst their small camping fire as his limbs proceeded to swing and jab and punch and kick.

A cloud of dust sprang up around the action, veiling any sight of the goings on. Grunts and groans and none too few cries rang out in the air, and the sound of metal slapping or cracking against wood or leather caught in the air more than once.

Then silence rolled out across the desert.

Slowly, gradually, the whirling sands began to drift away, to dissipate on the heated desert wind. When the last of the grit hung upon the air, the fire was out, flattened, and four men in reed armor lay unconscious upon the ground, their bronze helmets and swords at their sides. Standing in the middle of them was the muscled figure of Itidal, his chest heaving, his sword hidden in its scabbard once more, his eyes hooded as he stared out across the waste.

And landed upon a pool of water little more than a pond, a single tree to one side sprouting palm leaves and dates near its apex. Tied to the tree and sipping from the oasis were four camels, each wearing a saddle and harness. On the opposite side of the water, the animals’ trail showed the way they had come through the sands.

Itidal blinked. He now faced the opposite direction of that which he had come. He had not remembered there being an oasis here, but then he had not traversed this particular region in probably thousands of years. Which explained why he had not known of the city.

The city.

The soldiers had come from the city, and the soldiers had ridden the camels, which left tracks going back to the city.

Staring about at his downed opponents and seeing none of them would be rising soon to offer him challenge, he returned to his dropped bag and retrieved it, tossing it over a shoulder.

Then he proceeded down the other side of the ridge to the camels. He had walked forever, and it was time to ride for a while.

Besides, none of the riders would have need of their animals for some time.

Chapter 2

It was not impossible the four soldiers could cause him further trouble once they woke and returned along their path, but Itidal did not dwell on the possibility. He would deal with such when and if it occurred. Of more concern to him was trying to remember how to ride a beast; it had been centuries since he had saddled and ridden an animal, and he was finding the sensation more jarring than relieving, almost to the point he preferred walking instead of sitting astride the camel.

But sit he did, and ride. Why not? His feet and their tattered coverings could use a rest.

The trail was easy enough to follow. The winds here were weak at best, and it could take months or even years to hide furrows in the sands left behind by travelers. Such was the case with the four soldiers and their camels. Itidal had no trouble backtracking the way the men had come, the path meandering some at first but eventually straightening and heading toward a horizon.

Riding into the night, he eventually brought his animal to a stop beneath the desert moon near a gathering of dead brush, the first signs of plant life he had seen in some years other than that of the oasis. He halted the way forward not because of his own weariness, which was practically nonexistent, but because of that of his ride. The camel could not troop forward forever, so Itidal allowed it several hours of rest before they moved on.

Once the sun began to make itself known the next morning, Itidal discovered something new. The terrain had changed before him during the night. Still riding through desert, it was no longer the sea of shifting sands he had known for nearly as long as he could remember; the earth here was hardened, packed, cracked with rock and stone of gray and brown protruding here and there. Also, there was some life to be found, smaller plants little more than scrub and the occasional tiny lizard as well as insects abuzz.

His world had changed, and for the first time in perhaps decades, or even centuries.

Even more interesting to him was the appearance of a small pool of murky water surrounded by rocks of various size, some even as large as boulders. Moss lay around the edges of the pool, and here and there bubbles rose to show signs of life beneath the surface.

His stomach grumbled and his mouth felt dry, unusual trends for him. It had been so long since he had eaten, he had forgotten what it felt like to be hungry. And thirst had been foreign to him for as far as his memory reached back. Yet now such experiences returned. He did not need food and water for survival, but they were pleasurable and could build upon his already ripe constitution.

Still, he did not stop but rode past the pond, following a narrow creek bed feeding into the pool. The creek was nearly dry, its sides hardened dirt and stone, but a snakelike finger of clear water rambled down from some higher elevation. Water meant life, and life was of interest to Itidal at the moment.

The tracks of the soldiers had become less visible upon the hardened surface, but it was obvious they had not been concerned with hiding their travels, making it easy to see they had trailed along next to the creek. Their purpose for traveling out into the desert was beyond Itidal, but in truth he did not much care since he was more interested in their source than their destination.

Another night came on, followed as always by the sun rising in the east the next morning.

Itidal rode on, walking occasionally to give his beast rest.

By then the ground had risen higher and had become rockier near the creek while swards of thin grass had appeared beyond. Here and there stunted trees could be seen in the distance. The further Itidal traveled, his direction being north, the land became more green, the trees growing nearer the creek bed, the signs of life generally more pleasant though a gray pall continued to lay upon everything.

In the afternoon he came open the first signs of civilization since leaving the soldiers. Once more the first of those signs was black smoke rising above the ground, in this case a pair of black tendrils twirling about and reaching to the heavens in the distance. He could not see the source of the fire as tall spires of red stone rose up before him like forgotten columns of some ancient temple. Here, too, the creek widened and became more shallow, its waters slowing.

It was into these waters he rode, as the trail of liquid squirmed around between the tall stones and vanished within them.

Once among the stones, shadows hung over him to block much of the day’s brightness and heat, and if he had been a man with worries, he might have considered this an opportune spot for an ambush. But he was not such a man and no ambush had been laid for him.

Coming out on the other side of the stones, the water now widening further and laying before him as a shallow pond, came a familiar sight he had not witnessed in many a century.

It was a village. In truth not much of a village, only four hovels, but still a village. The short, squat buildings appeared to be made of some kind of reeds or tubes not unlike those of the soldiers’ armor though wider and not as hardened. The outer walls were smeared with mud to hold them together, and the roofs were sheaves of dried grass held in place by sizable rocks placed here and there. Each building appeared to hold a single exit and entrance, a rough doorway chopped from the reeds and left open except for a hide of leather tacked to the inside and hanging down. The huts huddled together on the western shore of the pond, a stream continuing beyond and flowing down from a higher elevation, mountains easy to see in the distance. Around the huts were signs of life, footprints stomped into soggy mud, a rough cart of two wheels and filled with black corn, the occasional farming tool, usually carved from wood or tipped with chipped flints.

Of the inhabitants there was no sign other than the smoke rising up from holes in the centers of two of the roofs.

Showing their faces or not, Itidal expected little. These were not overly civilized creatures, he was sure, their way of life seeming little above that of the other humans he had known in the last centuries. He also expected they would not be as civilized as the soldiers, who had been little more than brutes with shiny toys. From where those toys had come was a mystery he planned to solve, but only in due time, Itidal not being one to rush into anything.

Dropping down next to his camel, he held onto the animal’s leather straps and headed along the water into the village.

He did not make it far before a figure scampered from behind one of the leather curtains that was a door. The person was small with short hair covered in mud and filth that stuck out at all angles. Layering the figure were scraps of various skins, mostly animals with short fur, though here and there were patches made of scales.

The little figure darted into the middle of the four houses, then spun around as if insane, for a moment a wild smile full of crooked teeth flashing behind smudged lips.

A boy, Itidal decided. A boy at play.

The boy twirled around again as if not a care in the world, but then his eyes caught sight of the stranger with the weird riding animal.

The boy snapped to a stop in his mad whirling, his eyes going wide and round and staring at Itidal.

Then the boy darted back into a house.

The stranger could not help but chuckle.

He heard shouting then, the words mostly muffled, though obviously filled with fear.

A moment later a squat, broad figure wearing dark furs over his shoulders and thighs made an appearance from the hut where the child had sought shelter. His head was a shaggy mess of long hair matted together, a beard below much the same. Despite his bedraggled look, his eyes were serious as he hefted a stout, knotted club and sauntered toward the newcomer.

Itidal did not say a word as the man came to a stop in front of him. Instead, the stranger dropped to a knee and studied the ground beneath his feet, finding plenty of clay in the local soil. Then Itidal stood and held out the reins to his animal.

For you, he said in the language used by the soldiers. I have no further need for it.

When the fur-clad fellow did not immediately accept the gift, Itidal dropped the leathers so they hung in place, the camel standing without confinement. Then Itidal turned to one side and strode toward the pond where again he took to a knee.

One of his hands reached out and splashed in the water.

This will do fine, he said more to himself than his new friend. Yes, this will do just fine.

He stood and turned around, discovering his camel had been claimed by the man with the club, the man’s back now to Itidal as the fellow pulled the creature away.

It was enough to make Itidal chuckle.

Then again he squatted in the dirt and grass, swinging around his shoulder bag and tugging it open. He reached within and pulled out a pair of black iron tongs older than anyone alive within the village. He stared at the tool for a moment, then shrugged and reached within the sack for his other tools.

He had much to do.

Chapter 3

The gold blade plunged down, slicing into the gray bird’s breast, splattering blood and spilling entrails. The juices of life felt cold as they streamed down High Priest Sadhe Teth’s wrists and onto his forearms, especially with the heat of the sun beating down in full strength upon his elevated position. Too, the tiny spark of soul which had rested within the small animal sifted outward before being pulled down within the priest himself to be stored for his later use.

With a grin showing all teeth, Sadhe Teth lowered the pigeon from overhead until he nestled it against his chest where he could spy down upon the dead thing. Blood smeared the front of his robes and the jeweled ceremonial discs attached to gold chains about his neck, but such menial items could be cleansed at another time. Now his concern was the power growing within him, the gathering of small, lesser souls for his magic. Many birds would have to be slain ritually for Teth’s strength to reach a usable level, but such was the life of a high priest of Onbx, the Teacher of Man, and such was the life of one who could use magic to fill an insatiable hunger for knowledge and power. Larger, stronger beasts could be used, as could men themselves, but such were saved for special occasions, mainly holy days. Besides, men and the more powerful animals were needed for lesser tasks, and a full slaughter of them would frighten the masses to the point of insanity.

Enough on such thoughts, the wizard priest told himself.

He allowed the bird to flop out of his hands. It landed with a splatter upon the red stones beneath Teth’s sandals, then momentum rolled the animal over to where it dropped down a single step. From there the poor thing continued to flop and roll until it had covered nearly a dozen steps leading to the top of the pyramid where the priest stood beneath the sun.

An auspicious sign, said one of three lesser priests huddled behind Sadhe Teth. The man rushed forward to the edge of the pyramid’s flat top and bent down next to the high priest. He pointed to where the pigeon had come to a stop.

Yes, yes, one of the others said, the two then making their way around Teth to stare.

Teth himself ignored them, as was his right. He twirled away from their gawking and walked straight to a pedestal upon which had been placed a large copper bowl filled with clear water. He dropped the blooded dagger at his side and dipped his hands into the water, feeling the coolness wash over his fingers as he washed away the scarlet.

Once his hands had been cleansed he turned about to watch the three fools chattering amongst themselves, their attention still upon the dead bird. A sign? No. A dead animal flopping around was not a sign, and Sadhe Teth did not believe in signs. It was Onbx himself who would create any unnatural signs, and the high priest would know if Onbx had done so, for Sadhe Teth was the lone figure allowed to care for the god personally.

The last of the water dripping from the ends of his fingers, Teth walked forward, brushing aside his acolytes as he made his way down the one hundreds steps that made up the temple pyramid. Until that moment Sadhe Teth had been focused upon the morning ritual, the same he attended to each day as the sun rose in honor of the life Onbx allowed to those worthy, but after descending several steps the high priest’s senses opened fully to his surroundings. The typical sounds and stenches of a city assaulted him, the looing of herd beasts, the gossipings of men and women, the tatterings of children, the smells of bread baking and wood burning and the copper tint of meat being slaughtered.

Halfway down the city’s lone temple, Teth paused to stare out over the city. As designed, the roof of the pyramid was the highest elevation within the city itself, though higher mountains rose to the east and west and further to the north, surrounding the thousands of citizens within a valley of natural walls. Though he no longer stood upon the temple’s apex, he still was higher than every other building to be seen, all of them of red stone and dark lumber.

Below him a road of tan bricks awaited, as did six soldiers in bronze armor, his personal guards. The road was narrow, running the periphery of the pyramid’s ground level, and beyond that rows of high bushes and then an outer wall to the complex. From the other side of this wall came the typical sounds, smells and sites of the city.

Passing by on the streets surrounding the temple grounds were bricklayers in their dusty gray kilts, slaves bald and wearing little more than loin cloths, bakers and leather workers and smiths in their tunics and aprons, cooks and sewers and farmers and thieves and murderers and everything and everyone that could make up a city.

Sadhe Teth smiled down upon them all. They were his, each and every one, even if they did not know it. True, Onbx himself was technically the ruler over all, but it was Teth who kept the city and its inhabitants going from day to day. Without him, there would be chaos. No replacement could run things as smoothly as Sadhe Teth.

Or so he believed.

Coming to the bottom of the steps, he saw the captain of his personal guard wore a frown.

What has you displeased? Teth asked, approaching the officer.

The four men you had me send south to the desert, the captain said, his brow sweating beneath his high helmet of bronze, they have returned this morning.

It was now Sadhe Teth who frowned. They are far too early. They should not have been back for weeks.

They did not make it very far, the officer explained, apparently only barely into the desert itself.

What brought them back?

A stranger. They say he walked out of the sands.

Was he not another of the occasional nomads we experience?

No, your high holiness, the officer said, or at least the four did not believe so, though they did agree the stranger dressed much like some of those from the wilder clans.

Sadhe Teth shook his head. I still do not understand. What about this man made them return early?

He bested them in combat, the officer said.

All four of them?

Yes, your high holiness, yet he slew not a one. Knocked them all unconscious and stole one of their camels, is my understanding.

This seems unlikely.

I agree, which is why I had the four men tortured in order to discover whether or not they told the truth. It seems they did not lie.

A grin slid across the high priest’s lips. He enjoyed a bit of torture from time to time, and could only imagine what the four poor souls had faced earlier that day. Besides, the four deserved their pains for having failed Sadhe Teth. And for having failed the Great Onbx, too, of course.

Do the four still live? he asked.

They do, the officer said. They are being held within a cell north of the city, awaiting your word on their fate.

It still seems odd one man could best four of our soldiers, and not kill a one of them.

Yes, your high holiness, especially as these were four of my best trained and most trusted.

Did they say anything else about this stranger?

Only that he carried an unusual sword.

Sadhe Teth looked up into the hooded eyes of the officer. What was so unusual about it?

The size, for one thing. Apparently it was quite big, and its blade was straight, like that of a dagger.

Sounds unwieldy, and weak.

That is what I thought, too, your high holiness, the officer said, but these four, they said they questioned the man about his blade, and apparently he informed them it was of a kind of metal known as steel.

Did you say ‘steel?’

Yes, your high holiness.

I have never heard of it.

Apparently it is an alloy made with iron.

The man told them this?

According to their words, yes, your high holiness.

Steel. An alloy of iron. Could any of this be true? Could some desert tribesman have stumbled upon a secret of metal which had not been divulged by Onbx himself? Such seemed not likely, but Onbx had been known to dole out his secrets on only rare occasions. Perhaps the god simply had never gotten around to revealing this particular secret, or perhaps he had considered it not worth his effort? But a sword of size with strength? It would be worth much, and the knowledge to make such a weapon would be worth even more.

Do they know what happened to this stranger? Teth asked.

They informed me the man had set up shop as a smithy within one of the lower villages, the officer said.

And they did not attempt to confront him again?

They did not, your high holiness. Apparently they believed it best to return to the city to inform his lordship of the stranger and the events.

In other words, they were cowards, Teth said.

There is truth to your words, your high holiness.

Turning away, the high priest glared up the pyramid to where the three fools still huddled around the dead pigeon. It seemed he was surrounded by fools. Still, even fools served a purpose.

He looked back to the officer. Your words trouble me, and thus I will speak with the Great Onbx, if he will have me this morning.

As you wish, your high holiness, the officer said, then gave out orders to the other five soldiers.

Within seconds Sadhe Teth marched along with the soldiers, two at his front, two behind, and one at either side. They made their way around to the northern side of the temple where an opening in the greenery revealed a heavy double door of wood and bronze which was just then being opened from the outside by a pair of other soldiers.

As he was taken through the streets of packed earth, the crowds milling out of his way as they knew they should, Sadhe Teth kept thinking about this stranger with the strange sword. Was it coincidence the man had come from the desert? Perhaps the god would have some answers.

Chapter 4

Though the desert began a little more than a score of miles to the south of the city, its presence could still be felt in strength within the confines of the sandstone walls and the surrounding mountains. A grit-like dust lay upon everything that was still for longer than a few moments, and a constant auburn haze hung upon the air, coloring everything as if looking through a dull gem.

The desert’s touch was why nearly all the city’s crops were grown in the extension of the valley to the north where a powerful stream of cool water stretched down from the mountains. Simplistic irrigation had been utilized to extend the water’s reach, allowing the stretch of land north of the city to become quite plentiful in grains and vegetables and some few fruits.

All of this had taken several centuries to reach its current level, and all of it had been done at the bequest of the Great Onbx. Being that Sadhe Teth was the seventh high priest of Onbx, he was well aware of the city’s history stretching back more than three hundred years, but he was not content with that history.

The world was older than three hundred years, and it harbored secrets of its own. This much Sadhe Teth knew, and over his years as high priest he had attempted to wheedle further information from his god, for of course Onbx knew much more than he had told in the past.

Such thoughts rolled around in the high priest’s brain as he tromped along with his retinue through the narrow streets of the city, one and two-story buildings the color of sandstone all around, the stench of enclosed humans reaching his nose and causing him to sniff.

Their destination was the palace, for Onbx was not only a god, but also king. The god preferred the palace over the temple, as it provided much more luxury.

Marching onto the open yard of flat white stones, Sadhe Teth could not help but appreciate the simplicity and the extravagance of the palace before him. The building itself was not overly large compared to the gigantic pyramid that was the temple, yet it was still the largest residence within the city and one of the larger buildings. Fronting it was a porch with an overhang of red tiles, the roof all around the structure held up by plain columns of white marble carved from the not-so-distant mountains.

In front of the entrance, a pair of monstrous bronze doors now standing open, four soldiers stood two to a side, their spears at their sides.

As Sadhe Teth and his crew approached, the foremost of the four stepped forward.

Good morning, officer, Teth said. Will the Great Onbx see me today?

A shining helmet nodded. Yes, your high holiness, he has agreed to visitations this day.

Good, then take me to him.

Motioning for his personal guards to wait for him at the entrance, Teth followed the palace officer through the doors and into the front room, a sizable atrium with a mosaic floor showing events from the city’s history and an opening in the ceiling above to shed the sun’s light on the scene.

The officer did not stop here, but brushed aside several slaves sweeping the floor before leading Sadhe Teth deeper into the palace. They passed openings to the left and right and crossed a short hallway before more sunlight spilled down in front of them.

They paused at an entrance to a garden surrounding a square pool of water the color of crystal. The flooring here was made up of pale tiles with a pattern in azure around the room’s edges. On the opposite side of the pool within the shadow of an overhang rested a couch with an armrest on its back, the couch itself made of wood layered in gold though heaps of pillows covered the piece of furniture.

Upon this couch lay a figure looking like little more than a skeleton. His flesh appeared fresh, healthy, but stretched taught over bones so thin they looked as if they could be broken by the merest touch. Atop his head was a short mass of straight, black hair. His eyes were small and dark, like coals, his chin angular and pointed. He wore a simple tunic dyed red, golden threads embroidered into the hem.

Behind him stood three women dressed only in thin gold chains about their hips, ankles and wrists. Unlike their pale master, each of these was darker of skin like the desert tribes, their flesh the color of burnt almonds. The one at the reclining figure’s head waved a large palm leaf in his direction, fanning the air about him. The one near his feet poured light oil from a small silver chalice into the palm of one of her hands, then rubbed the oil between his toes. The middle slave stood motionless, a golden platter outstretched in one hand, her other hand held in stasis over the platter, ready to pluck one of the many berries found there in case her master should have the need. Each of these three was most beautiful and nearly identical with their long, curly locks. Even Sadhe Teth felt his loins stir at sight of them.

The figure on the couch waved a hand at the approaching newcomers. Sadhe Teth, I presume you have good reason to disturb my rest. The voice was like oil on cracked parchment.

The high priest wound his way around the pool, stopping along with the palace officer when a dozen yards from the reclining figure.

Sadhe Teth gave a curt bow. Oh, Great Onbx, I come to you on a matter of unusual concern. Here his eyes shifted to the captain, then to the three slave women.

The god took the hint. He gestured for the others to leave, and they did.

When finally alone, the reclined Onbx raised his chin slowly, as if tired. What is it you will have of me now, Teth? More boredom about these ruins you believe exist in the south, I presume?

The high priest nodded. A related matter, oh, great one.

Closing his eyes, the god leaned back, his head against the high, cushioned end of his couch. Then speak with me so we may be done and I can return to my rest.

Four of our soldiers were sent into the desert to search for the ruins. They did not achieve their goal --

As expected.

-- but they did find something else.

The god opened one eye and stared at his high priest. And this was?

A man, Sadhe Teth said. He appeared to be a desert wanderer, perhaps one of the barbaric tribes.

What was so special about this man that you had to bother me today?

Two things, the priest said. First, he bested my four men in combat, yet he did not slay a one of them, but beat them senseless.

Here the god rose an eyelid.

Second, Teth went on, he carried with him a sword of unusual might. He supposedly told our soldiers the weapon was made of some metal known as steel.

Onbx opened his other eye and turned his head slightly to stare fully into the face of his worshiper. His visage remained blank, yet his interest being raised told stories in and of itself. Nothing interested Onbx except his slothful ways, not usually.

Being no fool, Sadhe Teth took note of this interest. I think it no coincidence this stranger arrives with his sword just as I’m sending forth an expedition to search for the ruins.

It is coincidence, the god said. Nothing more.

Even if true, there is still much needing explained. This weapon, for instance, if we could harness its powers, our soldiers would be unbeatable against the tribes and bandits.

"Our soldiers are already unbeatable against them, at least when gathered in force."

So you know nothing of this metal called steel? Teth asked.

I did not say that.

Then why not admit to it and tell me its secrets?

Now the god’s eyes narrowed nearly to slits, giving him a look not unlike that of a snake. "Sadhe Teth, you are bordering on impudence. What gifts I provide men are exactly that, gifts. I do not owe men anything, nor can such be pulled from me. You do understand this, do you not?"

I do, oh, great one, Sadhe Teth said with a curt nod, but I also realize the strength of your people reflects upon yourself, and it allows you the luxuries you so desire and deserve.

Smirking, the god closed his eyes once more and placed his head back upon a cushion. Then what is it you want of me? This secret of steel?

That would prove most helpful, great one.

Why not ask this stranger himself? Perhaps he would be willing to share this ... secret, you call it.

Teth nodded again. "I have considered the notion,