He drew off his helmet and tucked it under an arm. Its bright chain camail rattled and hissed as he walked. The Warleader’s guards at the entrance nodded their acknowledgement — the deepest gesture of respect any of the Adwami could expect from these foreign mercenaries, who reserved their salutes for the Warleader himself.
He pushed aside the cloth hangings and entered into a yelling match. His fellow representatives lay on pillows and carpets about the tent shouting and cursing one another. Across the way, the Warleader sat accoutred as was his habit in his long mail coat, cross-legged, chin in one fist, his face flushed and rigid with control. The ligaments of his neck stood out as taut as bowstrings. Jatal found Princess Andanii sitting back on a pillow, idly stroking a jewelled dagger at her hip. She offered him a quick veiled glance.
Now aware of Jatal’s entrance, several of the minor families most closely allied with the Hafinaj sought to enlist him in support of their cause. He raised his hands, helpless. ‘Please! Jher-ef, Waress! Not all at once, if you would be so kind.’ He sat, sweeping out his robes, and extended a hand to the Warleader. ‘Let us hear the opinion of our hired expert.’
‘Bah!’ scoffed Ganell from where he sat. ‘That one is only interested in seizing all the best spoils for himself.’
Jatal arched a brow, inviting the Warleader to respond.
The man drew a heavy grating breath. ‘It only makes sense, my prince,’ he began, his voice almost fracturing in the effort to remain civil. ‘My troops should storm the Thaumaturgs’ precincts while your lancers patrol the streets to control the city and outlying grounds.’
Jatal swung his gaze to Ganell. ‘Sounds reasonable to me.’
The big man waved his arms. ‘The real treasure will be with the damned Thaumaturgs!’
Jatal made a show of considering this. ‘Yet … are we not agreed to share all spoils?’
‘What little will be left of it,’ Ganell grumbled darkly, shifting uncomfortably.
Jatal pursed his lips. He turned to the Warleader. ‘Perhaps a force of Adwami men-at-arms may accompany you, Warleader? Some thousand soldiers, perhaps? Drawn from a number of the families?’
The Warleader’s severe lined face, held as immobile as a stone mask, gave no hint of what he thought of the suggestion, but he did finally incline his head in assent. His ropy iron-grey hair fell forward, hanging as long as his wiry beard. ‘I have no objection, my lords.’
‘And who is to command this force?’ Sher’ Tal, Horsemaster of the Saar, called out. He thrust a finger at Ganell. ‘Not him!’
‘Buffalo …’ Ganell murmured, baring his teeth at the man.
Jatal raised a hand to quiet the rising tension. ‘I admit to some curiosity regarding the practices of these infernal Thaumaturgs. Perhaps I may command this force — with the permission of the council.’
‘I too wish to witness the evils of these magi!’ Princess Andanii announced quickly. ‘Perhaps command should be shared.’
Jher-ef, elderly head of the Fal’esh, waved a curt dismissal. ‘Such distasteful sights should not be for your eyes, my princess.’
Her mouth hardening, Andanii eased herself upright. ‘Perhaps we should face one another at a hundred paces armed with bows — then we shall see who comes away with eyes to see.’
The old man’s jowls reddened behind his grey beard. He glared about, puffing. ‘Unheard-of insolence … it was agreed … no challenges during the concord!’
‘And be thankful for it, Jher-ef,’ Jatal murmured to his old family ally, aside. Then, to the room as a whole, he said: ‘I propose we now vote upon it …’
But Jatal’s motion for a vote had to wait. Further counter-proposals were introduced. Alternative strategies were thrown up at the last moment and the entire process of whittling down had to begin again. It was close to dawn before consensus was reached; and that, Jatal imagined, only out of pure exhaustion.
So it was reluctantly granted that the Warleader would rush straight for the Thaumaturgs’ main ritual centre and residences to secure them, while the lancers and other Adwami mounted troops would control and pacify the city proper. Accompanying the Warleader would be an Adwami force co-commanded by Prince Jatal and Princess Andanii. The impatient Warleader was loudly reminded that as a mere hireling, he, too, would be under their joint command.
This the Warleader took with his long lined face held as rigid as a stone sculpture close to fracturing. His lieutenant however, reclining at his side, chuckled silently at the man’s mortification, all the while wolfing down a giant’s share of the roast goat and lamb. As it was already dawn, the attack was scheduled for that night.
After the council was formally dismissed most of the family heads mumbled their bleary farewells and headed to their own tents to sleep. Jatal remained. He had a few questions for the Warleader. As the man rose, rather stiff-legged, he asked, ‘What of intelligence? You seem remarkably unconcerned regarding troop numbers and such.’
The Warleader adjusted the old leather belt about his mail coat and peered down at Jatal with his flinty grey eyes. Dead flat eyes — the most dismissive eyes I have ever encountered.
‘I have sent agents ahead into the city. They have long been reporting back.’
Jatal nodded his agreement with such precautions. ‘I even considered slipping into the city myself, disguised as a pilgrim or a penitent.’
‘My prince — had you attempted such a thing I would have ordered Scarza here to knock you on the head and drag you back.’
The sting of such audacious disrespect was muted by the broad comical wink sent from the man in question, who was still reclining at the Warleader’s feet. Jatal bit back his outrage and shook his head instead, either in admiration or astonishment, he wasn’t sure which. ‘Well … you sent him after me already, didn’t you?’
‘Indeed I did, Prince. Such heroic adventures may be standard fare among bards and storytellers, but a prince should hardly be sent straight into an enemy stronghold. That is what expendable personnel are for — yes?’
Expendable personnel. The man had an unsettling ability to cut through all the mush and romanticism that surrounded raiding and warfare. Yes, expendable. That was what it all came down to, wasn’t it? No matter how distasteful the sentiment may be.
Jatal motioned to a servant for tea. His discomfort — had he just been slapped down? — drove him to ask, ‘Yet you agreed to myself and the princess commanding the force that would strike for the Thaumaturg premises.’
The old man lifted his shoulders in an indifferent shrug. ‘I knew some noble would be foisted upon me. Better you than some others.’
Again, Jatal gathered the distinct impression of being handed an insult wrapped in a compliment. Still dissatisfied, he pressed on: ‘You have an estimate, then, of the number of yakshaka soldiers we may expect to meet?’
The man’s thin cracked lips pursed. The lines bracketing his mouth deepened like fissures in granite. ‘No more than fifty, certainly.’
Jatal was quite startled. ‘Fifty? That is as good as an army. How can we overcome fifty yakshaka?’
The Warleader waved a gnarled, age-spotted hand, the nails yellowed and jagged like talons. ‘They will not emerge to meet us in battle. Their duty is to protect the Thaumaturgs. And we are not here to kill them. Rather, we will be there to stop them from interfering in the sacking and pillaging of the city. Besides, they are formidable, but not indestructible.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Now, if you will excuse me. At my age it is important to take the time to rest and recuperate …’
Jatal bowed as his tea arrived steaming on a silver platter. ‘Of course. Later, then.’
The Warleader bowed shallowly and departed.
Gone to his tent, no doubt, where, Jatal heard reported by servants, he applied himself assiduously to the goal of stupefying himself with mind-numbing smoke. Well, so far it didn’t seem to have interfered with his performance. Perhaps he dosed himself in order to tolerate the fractious Adwami. In any case, it was none of his business.