The Bread of Koban Gorge

@khazi

Snowflakes drift down the narrow throat of Koban Gorge, settling on the shoulders of forty men who stand between two worlds. Khazbi has not drawn his sword; instead, he holds out a torn loaf of black bread to the young imperial officer climbing the last few steps toward him. The cold has a smell to it — iron, pine resin, and the distant smoke of Luka's village.