CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
Suleyman and several thousand Janissary troops left Istanbul in the middle of that night. The Grand Vizier, Ibrahim Pasha, rode at the Sultan’s side. Davud marched amongst the score of Itchoglans that would personally service him during the campaign to the north. They rode through the dark—no conversation breaching the solemn clatter of armor, the chomp of horse, the grind of g*n-wagon wheels. The file of military maintained an obedient silence as they marched north through the strengthening rays of the sun, as it crept above the horizon and rose toward the meridian. By mid-morning Ibrahim dared broach the silence incurred since meeting the Sultan the previous evening.
“My lord?”
The Sultan glared at him, dug his heels into Tugra’s flanks, and galloped on ahead to the
