The sprawling, chaotic city of Kaukasu, with high roofs and bulbous towers, is surrounded by fields, great forests, white mountains and purple sky. The central castle is on a terraced hill, each terrace heavily walled in ancient stone. Natives throng. Air is cold.
In the castle, vaulted halls lead to a monstrous audience chamber, its roof dusky with height, its narrow windows throwing bloody light onto thick rugs, gold, jewels, banners and tapestries. Guards line walls. Slaves prostrate. The Arkulan and his nobles are enthroned. Trumpets blow. Kettledrums thunder.
The human conquerors, former Nomads, have gained a world and lost their souls.
See earlier posts On Erulan.
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