Continuing up another flight of steps to what would eventually become the great foyer, the dwarf and the consul finally saw Baktar and Traax in huddled conversation, bent over a series of drawings.
Baktar saw them first and immediately went down on one knee. “I live to serve,” he said solemnly. Quickly turning, Traax looked hard at the dwarf and the consul, wariness in his expression. For a torturous moment the dwarf felt an acidic sense of panic rise in his chest, as he wondered whether the younger, more aggressive second in command would honor the representatives of the Chosen One. Finally Traax also went to his knee. “I live to serve,” his deep voice said with authority.
Trying to regain his composure, Geldon silently let out a long breath. So far so good, he thought. “You may rise,” he commanded. As Traax stood, Geldon examined him. After Tristan had beheaded the previous commander of the Minions, Traax had been first to fly to the prince and lay down his sword, thereby retaining his position as second in command.
Unlike most of the warriors here, Traax was clean-shaven. He was approximately thirty Seasons of New Life—the same age as Tristan—and was tall and strong, even for a Minion warrior, with serious green eyes and an intensely commanding presence. Geldon knew him to be of very high intelligence. The dwarf would only get one chance to do this right; he must choose his words carefully.
“The Chosen One has sent me and this other emissary to secure your report.” He indicated the consul. “This is Joshua, Prince Tristan’s representative of the craft. Is there somewhere we might sit?”
“Of course,” Traax answered perfunctorily. He led them to a tent with chairs and a table beneath it. “Would you like food and drink?” he asked, removing his dreggan from his side and laying it on the table. Baktar, Geldon, and Joshua all sat down.
“Yes,” Geldon answered, the mention of food making him realize his hunger.
Traax waved one of his hands, and a Minion woman came over to the table and stood, waiting for Traax to speak. Neither her posture nor her attitude seemed subservient.
“Bring us food and wine,” Traax said abruptly. He glanced at Geldon and then turned his face up more courteously to the woman. “Please,” he added quietly. Despite the importance of this meeting, Geldon found it difficult to contain a smile.
The changes must be so hard for them, he realized. A Minion warrior would never have been required to say please to anyone other than the Coven, and now the sorceresses were all dead. The Minions’ entire world had been turned upside down, and he would do well to remember that.
He had a job to do, though. “Your report?” he asked Traax.
“As you can see, the rebuilding of the Recluse goes well,” Traax began. “I estimate that the entire structure should be finished in approximately one year’s time. In addition the brothels have been closed and the Minion women freed. As the Chosen One gave us permission to marry, there have already been many unions. Birth records are now being kept. The Gallipolai have also been freed. Neither the Minion females nor the Gallipolai will ever have their wings clipped again. Foot binding also no longer occurs.” He stopped for a moment, smiling. “It will be interesting trying to teach them to fly when their wings recover from the clipping,” he added drily. Then his face became more serious. “There are, however, other concerns in the land that do not fare as well.”
You already know what those are, Geldon reminded himself. But do not make this easy for him. You are now his superior.
“And those are?” Geldon asked, placing a critical expression upon his face, as if suddenly disappointed.
“Since the death of the Coven, strange things have happened,” Traax answered. “We have been plagued by the sudden, unexplained appearance of the swamp shrews. They raid the land constantly, taking refuge in the depths of the many lakes and ponds that have so mysteriously appeared. I have formed groups of shrew slayers to try to kill as many of them as we can.”
Geldon looked up to see that the food had come. Two Minions, a man and a woman, began to put it on the table. It looked to be wild Parthalonian boar served on a great rotating spit, with fresh vegetables and dark brown bread from the Minion hearths. He inhaled the aromas with anticipation.
The Minion woman, a particularly beautiful and statuesque being, was smiled at Joshua. As she placed some of the food on the table, her long, dark hair brushed the young consul’s face. Geldon was sure that it had been no accident. Joshua turned beet red, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. Both Baktar and Traax broke out into raucous laughter.
“Beware!” Traax said. “The fact that they now have their freedom has emboldened them. It has become their custom to—how should I put this?—make sure a man is ‘capable,’ before considering him as a husband. And by the look of you, I’m not sure that you could stand the strain—craft or no craft!” The two Minion warriors guffawed again as the woman walked away. Baktar actually went so far as to heartily slap the hapless consul upon the back, making him cough. Geldon considered rebuking Traax for his comments but finally decided not to push his luck.
Besides, Geldon thought, watching the stately, commanding woman walk away, he’s probably right.
In a moment she was gone. Joshua turned his wide eyes to the dwarf, sighed, and then began to eat. After several bites of the excellent food, Geldon returned his attention to the Minion second in command.
“Tell me about the state of the civilian population,” Geldon said, taking a sip of deep, rich wine. “I have seen few of the locals since I arrived. I assume it is because of the shrews.”
Traax’s face darkened again, and Geldon could see that the news would not be good. “The people are terrified of the shrews, and are afraid to venture far from home. But also, the population has yet to trust us,” he said, “despite the death of the Coven. And I cannot say that I blame them. We have done all we can to try to earn both their trust and respect. But with the task of rebuilding the Recluse and hunting the shrews taking so much of our time, it has been difficult.”
Swamp shrews and an untrusting citizenry, Geldon thought sadly. Tristan and the wizards need to come to Parthalon for themselves.
As if reading the dwarf’s mind, Traax asked, “Is there anything our new lord can do to help? I feel that the presence of the Chosen One and his wizards, no matter how brief, would go far. Especially where the civilians are concerned. The Minions are strong and brave. But we are not accustomed to practicing politics, or solving national concerns. In these matters we need help.”
Geldon found himself actually beginning to like Traax. “We will convey your needs to the prince,” he said compassionately. “But you must understand that there is a great deal in his own nation that needs attention just now. Your legions did much to destroy Eutracia, and his first concern must lie there.”
He decided to change the subject. “I have been told by Rufus, your commander at the Ghetto, that the armada you used to invade Eutracia still lies intact at Eyrie Point. Is this true?”
“Yes,” Baktar replied in between bites of the delicious pig. “The fleet is sound, and its captains have been given other duties. Does the Chosen One have need of it?”