“Food and wine,” Traax said to the women. “The grouse, I think. And be quick about it.” He then looked to Tristan, pursing his lips. “Please,” he finally added, in a softer, less commanding tone. As the women walked away, Tristan thought for a moment he could see slight smiles come to their lips. He had a hard time repressing one of his own, but he managed.
“They are strong, the Minion women,” Traax said thoughtfully. “Many of the warriors, especially those who have recently married as a result of your permission, seem to be even happier than before. Minion warriors prefer their women to be forceful, and sexually aggressive. Given their newfound freedoms, the females have responded in kind. Many of them have even made significant suggestions as to the rebuilding and decorating of the Recluse.” He spoke almost as if it were astounding that mere women could accomplish such intellectual acts. Then one corner of his mouth came up. “As I said, my lord, your changes have been interesting.”
“Please give me your report,” Tristan said. “I particularly wish to hear of your progress in the orders I gave you just before I left Parthalon. But be brief. There is much left for us to discuss.”
Traax nodded, quickly outlining for Tristan the progress that had so far been made.
When Traax had finished, Tristan asked, “What were the crimes of those who endured the Kachinaar? And why is this theater here?”
“The first warrior, the one whose head you saw, was accused of forcibly taking another man’s Gallipolai wife,” Traax said. “There was truly little doubt that he was guilty. His vigil failed, reinforcing not only the fact that other men’s women are no longer to be shared, but that the Gallipolai are no longer slaves.” Traax spoke as casually about this brutality as though he were discussing the weather.
“If two or more Kachinaars are to be held within days of each other, should the first accused be found guilty we also take his head, using it for the theater games,” he continued. “It was said the second fellow, his friend, also took the woman after the first one did. But his guilt was far less certain. In any event he survived his vigil, and is now free.” He paused for a moment, smiling.
“And to answer your second question, the theater was constructed of imperfect marble pieces left over from the site of the Recluse,” he went on. “There is still more work to be done upon it, such as decorative statues and the like. I ordered the stadium built so that if more than one accused was to suffer the Kachinaar at once, or if I deemed the crime to be important enough, far more of the Minions would be able to watch. It has become quite a tradition.” He smiled again, leaning in conspiratorially. “As you saw, we even keep a live shrew here, for just this very purpose. It tends to add a great deal of liveliness to things. Sometimes bets are taken on which day the shrew will vomit the bones back up.”
Tristan sat back in his chair, trying hard not to appear as disgusted as he felt. “Is there a name you have given to this place?” he asked.
“Of course,” Traax answered. “We call it the Proscenium of Indictment. Other places also serve as venues for the Kachinaar, of course, but the Proscenium is quickly becoming the favorite.”
And just what in the name of the Afterlife do I do about this now? Tristan wondered. Allowing this form of barbarism to exist here, under his aegis, was unthinkable. But he needed these warriors—every single one of them. Eliminating something so popular and that they were obviously so proud of, and doing so on his very first visit, might well cause too much ill will.
Still struggling with the decision, Tristan tried to think of what Wigg would tell him if he were here. Many had been the time, during their search for Shailiha and the Paragon, that the lead wizard had ordered him to forget the things he saw, no matter how vile, and to concentrate instead on the larger goal. Using the Minions to crush Scrounge’s hatchlings and somehow prevent Nicholas from empowering the Gates of Dawn had to take priority. He therefore decided to speak no more of the Proscenium or the Kachinaar for the time being. He would not condemn these traditions. But he would not give them his verbal approval, either. He decided to change the subject.
“And now for the true reason I have come,” he said, looking into Traax’s eyes. “I am ordering as many of the legions as you can possibly spare to Eutracia. Immediately. We have a host of new enemies, and it shall be the Minions’ task to destroy these monsters.” He folded his arms across his chest and sat back. Holding his breath, he waited for Traax’s response.
“It has been too long since we have seen action, my lord,” Traax said. Gripping the hilt of his dreggan, he held the shiny blade to the light of the chandeliers. “And it will be good for our swords to again taste blood, especially since we can no longer train to the death. Your enemies are ours.” He refocused his green eyes back on the Chosen One. “Tell me more,” he said eagerly.
At that moment the food came. Tristan became quiet, waiting for the women to depart. The Parthalonian grouse was excellent, perhaps the best bird he had ever tasted. He quickly washed down several helpings of both the seasoned grouse and the dark, rich bread of the Minions with several glasses of hearty red wine. In between bites he gave Traax his orders.
The reconstruction of the Recluse was to be put on indefinite hold, he said. Traax was to begin assembling his men—along with weapons, support staff, materiel, and foodstuffs—and placing it all near the entrance to Faegan’s portal. Also, the fleet anchored at Eyrie Point was to depart as soon as possible, carrying additional troops. Should there be any serious problems in the execution of his orders, a Minion messenger was to immediately come through the portal, informing him.
Tristan described the hatchlings and the scarabs, and Traax only smiled, his sense of anticipation growing. Tristan purposely did not mention Nicholas or the building of the Gates of Dawn. He would explain those things to Traax once the entire force had arrived in Eutracia and were at his disposal. Getting them there was the chief concern now, and he did not wish to confuse the issue for his second in command, or give him a possible reason to object.
Above all, he especially did not want Traax or any of the other Minions to become aware that the wizards were losing their powers.
“There are several other points you must adhere to strictly,” Tristan continued, remembering the things the wizards had insisted upon. “Mark my words well, for your life and the lives of your troops shall depend on it. Should you see any weakness or fading in the consistency of the vortex, it is paramount that no more warriors go through. Such an anomaly will mean either that the portal is about to close, or there is something wrong with its operation. If anyone goes through at that time they could die horribly, forever lost somewhere in between. They are to run through as fast as they know how and as many abreast as the portal allows, so as to add to our numbers on the other side as quickly as possible. Do you understand?”
“Yes, my lord,” Traax answered.
“You are also to leave a small skeleton force here, to continue hunting the shrews. I give you five days to organize all of this. Then you are to come to Eutracia, by way of the portal. You and I still have much to discuss, not the least of which is our plan of battle.”
Traax took a deep breath as he formulated his next thought. He took another sip of the wine. “The Chosen One understands, does he not, that the ocean voyage takes at least thirty days?”
“Yes,” Tristan said. “But there is little we can do about that. And in the meantime Minion troops should be pouring through the portal, especially if my wizards can find a way to enlarge it, or to hold it open longer.”
“And my lord understands the bargain of tenfold times four, the agreement made by the Coven to ensure a safe crossing?” Traax asked politely.