Hey, Prime members, you can listen to Tides of History add free on Amazon Music.

Download the app today.

Rain began to fall from a steel gray sky, bringing with each drop the centiposal.

It mixed and competed with the sulfur-estentia-burnt gunpowder, the wreak of thousands of unwashed

bodies, and just a hint of blood on the air.

Thunder rolled, drowning out the occasional crackle of cannon, handguns, and the twanging of

bowstrings in the distance.

Some of the droplets fell onto a prominent white turban.

It crowned a salo, lined, exhausted, and unhealthy looking face.

Featuring a sharp, prominent nose above a red beer.

The face's owner did not seem well, and appeared far older than his actual age, which was

in the mid-40s.

Years of strain and toil had worn him down.

He grimaced at a pain in his look.

The effort of remaining upright on his magnificent gray horse was almost more than he could

bear.

But his eyes retained their fire and spark, an unrelenting intensity and will.

Their owner's name was Migmund, and by now, he had ruled the Ottoman Empire for nearly

three decades.

His eyes, hard and narrowed, drank in the sights in front of him.

His Janissaries, professional slave soldiers loyal to the Sultan, hurted a gaggle of defeated

prisoners toward their master.

...