The Lair of Bones

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When Raj Ahten’s caravan approached the Palace of the Elephant at Maygassa, all the stars in heaven seemed to be falling, raining down in shades of red and gold.

In the still night air, the scent of spices from nearby markets hung near the ground: whole black pepper from Deyazz, cinnamon bark from the isles off Aven, and fresh cardamom. It was a welcome relief from the scent of death that hung like a pall over Raj Ahten’s troops. His men, princes and lords of Indhopal dressed in their finest thick silken armor, wore rubies in their turbans and kept their heads high, swords held out in salute. Drummers and trumpeters acted as heralds.

The army rode as victors from the south, through the blasted lands that had been decimated by reaver’s spells. The reavers, who spoke in odors, left their curses clinging to the soldiers and their mounts: “Rot, O children of men. Become as dry as dust. Breathe no more.”

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