The Black Queen's Grave

(This story is the prequel to "The Red Sword's Lover")

In Anshan, the ancient city at the heart of Aru, the palace was lit by a thousand lanterns, and the scent of myrrh laced the air. Nitocris, only daughter of King Uresh, was to wed this night, and the city was dressed in its greatest finery. Kings of far lands, allies and foes, had all sent gifts to bless the marriage. There were fine silks from distant Gandara, gold and rich spices and resins from Maracanda. From Tyra came the famous blue dye, and from the Emperor in the north came a herd of six hundred fine white horses.

In her chamber, the dark-eyed princess was the center of a maelstrom of slaves and maidens. They hung her with silks and draped her with gold, and jewels gleamed in her hair and at her throat. The work of goldsmiths and jewelers crowned and bedecked her, and she looked lovely as a fever dream.

Her father came to see her as the sun lowered in the sky, dressed in his great robe of many colors. His hair was white and his beard rich and curled. He looked upon his daughter and smiled. “You are a vision of beauty,” he said. “The Goddess herself shall be envious, and Artabanus shall be lucky if Bal himself does not descend and carry you off.”

She looked on herself in the long, gold-rimmed mirror. Her dark hair was wrought into serpentine coils; her kohl-darkened eyes looked enormous. She was tall, with golden ornaments on her wrists and ankles. She was a strong girl.

Nitocris smiled at him. “My only regret is that mother did not live to see me wed.” She looked out over the city as it glowed in the sunset, the towers and domes lit golden as the sun lowered, shining on the river. “I would trade any or all of my fine rich gifts if she could be here for just this day.”

Uresh smiled and touched his daughter’s hair, his only child. “I would as well, my beloved. I would trade all.” He folded his hands behind him and looked out the window at his city. “I know this is not easy for you. You are of an independent mind.”

“I have chosen Artabanus,” she said. “He has respect, and grace. He will make a good husband, and a good king.” She looked at herself again, the mirror distorting her features just a little, so that she did not seem to be herself.

The Next Chapter

So the first year of New iron Age is drawing to a close.  I think the stories have been good, and even if the success of my Patreon has not been as good as I hoped, it's not bad.  There will be room for 4 more stories this year, and then I have to decide where to go from there.

I have concerns about burning out, about my stories starting to become formulaic or too much like one another.  24 stories in a year is a lot, and I don't want the quality and variety to drop off.  I have tried really hard to make all the stories different - settings, plots, characters - and not just fall back on the same tropes.  As the year has gone on, I have had some characters I wanted to return to, and see more of, so I have done a few sequels.

But I am thinking about next year.  Should I just keep on in 2017 or should I try something new?  Specifically, I have been thinking about doing a novel-length story next year, spread out over the 12 months.  2 chapters a month at the similar word length as the stories will yield me a novel-sized manuscript by the end of the year.  I have a good idea for it, and I think it could be cool.

So what do you guys think?  My readers?  I know there are people who come here every week to read the articles and the stories.  The articles will continue, but how about a longer-form story?  Tell me what you think.

And if you have not yet joined my Patreon, then this is a great time to show your appreciation.  Every dollar helps, and next year I intend to come up with some stronger perks.  Thanks so much to my donors!

The City of Gold and Fire

The sandstorm blew like a devil for three days, and then on the third the winds died and the sun rose and Mansa emerged from the cave where he had taken shelter. The sky was a hard, cruel blue overhead, the horizon hazed with the last remnant of the storm, and all around him were drifts of sand and the bare rocks of this desolate place. He had the clothes he wore, a half skin of water, and his sword, and that was all.

Hungry and wiping grit from his eyes beneath his turban, he climbed out of the half-buried cave and waded through the sand until he could climb onto a spur of rock to try to see where he was. The storm had come on so suddenly, there had been no time for the caravan to find shelter. The men and horses and camels and the wagons all scattered, hunting for shelter, trying to stay together even as wind and blinding sand forced them apart.

He saw nothing. The ground here was rocky, pillars of it rising up into the clean sky, the stones cut by many ages of wind and sand into strange, suggestive shapes. There was no trail in the sand, and no sign of any other living thing. The many rocks made this like a labyrinth, and he could not see very far in any direction.

The sun told him which way was east, and so he would go that way. He took the time to unwind his turban, shake the sand from the cloth, and then rewind it about his head. He rubbed the small gold amulet he wore and muttered a prayer to the warrior goddess who guarded his people in times of danger, then turned his face to the sun and began to walk.

He passed among the rocks, walking in and out of shadows cast by the monolithic stones, and then he stopped when he saw what lay before him. Two of the pillars of rock, hewn over aeons by wind, had been also worked by a more mortal hand, and he saw in them the shapes of towering warriors, decked in scaled armor and great shields. They held swords close to their sides, and their faces, while blurred by time, were both fierce and grave. They stood many times higher than a man, and they had an aura of waiting.

Beyond them he saw a valley of red stone and piled sands, with nothing to give any sign of habitation. Yet the stone giants had an air of guard, as though they kept an eternal watch over this place. Mansa stared at them, wondering what civilization could have raised such things in the waste. So far as he knew there had never been any city or nation in this place.