slaves.

"Who are you?" one shouted in the Eloesian tongue.

These slaves were from Eloesus. "Claudio-Valens, Grand Legate," he answered. "Where are you from?"

"Imperiopoli!" a woman shouted in reply.

Claudio nodded grimly. After Archamenes' sack of the city, this group had been sold as slaves. Who knows where the men of Sur would have taken them? To slave markets in the South Seas? To some sweltering jungle? "You are free," he said. "Come with me."

From the slavers' coffers Claudio confiscated several chests worth of gold, a few silver dragon idols and a handful of ruby amulets. If the slavers meant to take the Imperiopolans to Sur, it would be another several weeks of journeying. The southlands were vast, and Seshán—far though it was from the Empire—was only the northernmost tip.

The journeythat took an hour on horses took much longer on foot, thanks to the Imperiopolans' slow walk. The sun's rays were just beginning to spread over the plains when they reached the Imperial soldiers—and there, in the light of new day—Claudio comprehended the carnage.

The bodies of the three-thousand Fharese had been gathered in many piles and now charred on an open flame. Imperial citizens traditionally bury their dead—with the exception of the emperors—but in Fharas, fire was sacred. If the soldiers intended to disrespect the corpses, they made a cultural error. If, in fact, they meant to accord them honor in the Fharese way, they succeeded; and good for them.

The carnage was not limited to the Fharese—not by any means. The charred corpses of soldiers, devoured by the