Blood and Iron: The Book of the Black Earth (Part One) (45 page)

The glowing orb in the center of the ceiling flickered with a pale light, giving off just enough illumination to show the four walls of the small cell. He lay naked on a stone slab except for a breechclout, strapped down with
zoahadin
bands and unable to move. He reached for his
zoana
for the hundredth time since he'd awakened here—a little more than a day ago by his best reckoning—and felt nothing.

No, that wasn't completely true. Although he was cut off from his power, there was something above him, beyond in the ceiling. A raw, throbbing sensation that made his neck skin crawl like a hundred
zoanii
were embracing their power at the same time.

He tried to swallow, but his throat was too dry to form any moisture. He'd seen no one else since he woke up bound in this manner, but he anticipated that would soon change. If his captors had wanted him dead, he would already be so.

The creak of the cell's door announced a visitor. He craned his neck and fought to keep his expression from showing the cold ropes of dread uncoiling in his stomach.

“Greetings, Lord Mulcibar,” the vizier said as he entered and closed the door behind him. Mulcibar got a glimpse of a rough stone corridor outside, but nothing else.

“Is the queen alive?” he asked. The rasp in his voice was almost a croak.

“Indeed, Her Majesty is in fine health, thanks to myself and your apprentice.”

Apprentice? Does he mean Lord Horace?

“So the menarch's plot failed?”

“Was there ever any doubt?” Astaptah went to a metal shelf beside the head of the stone table and fiddled with something. “It is not yet time for the lovely Byleth to leave the throne. But don't fret.”

Astaptah came over to the slab with a long, metal hose in his hand. It was
segmented like an earthworm and flexible. Three steel prongs jutted from the open end. The vizier leaned over him. “I will keep the queen safe until it is her time to experience my creation in a more personal way.”

“If you—!”

Mulcibar's words were cut off as Astaptah placed the pronged end of the hose against his forehead. A gurgling scream started in his chest and raced up to burst from his mouth. The pain was excruciating, as if the hose was sucking out his brain matter. No, not his brains. His
zoana
. He felt the power flowing out of him into the mouth of the hose. It was obscene. At the same time, the throbbing sensation from above grew stronger, so strong he couldn't believe it.

His eyes darted to Astaptah as another scream was wrung from his throat, but the vizier was leaving. “No! Come…back!”

Astaptah turned. “I have other clients to attend to, my lord. You are part of a glorious enterprise. One that will elevate a humble soul—” he placed a hand on his chest “—to such heights of power that even the gods will watch on with envy.”

Mulcibar shouted as the vizier went out and closed the door behind him once again. His shouts went on for a long time before his voice gave out, but the machine never stopped.

H
ERE ENDS THE FIRST PART OF
T
HE
B
OOK OF THE
B
LACK
E
ARTH
.

As with any work of this size and scope, there are many people besides the author who made it happen. I would like to thank the following people: the staff of Pyr Books and Prometheus Books for all their hard work; Lou Anders, who continues to make dreams come true; Eddie Schneider for his friendship and his faith in me; Jeff, Fred, Channon, and Justin for their expertise; my family for their never-ending support; and all my readers, who inspire me on a daily basis. I am truly not worthy. Up the Irons!

Jon Sprunk is the author of the Shadow Saga—
Shadow's Son
,
Shadow's Lure
, and
Shadow's Master
—which has been published in seven languages worldwide. An avid adventurer in his spare time, he lives in central Pennsylvania with his family. Visit him online at
http://www.jonsprunk.com
or at
http://www.facebook.com/JonSprunkAuthor
. Follow Jon's Twitter feed
@JonSprunk
.

Author photo by Jenny Sprunk