One of the assorted soldiers gave a snort of amusement. Lecha voiced the collective thought. 'What tradition is this/' he asked. 'Just to drink tea as dawn breaks?' He didn't bother to hide the contempt in his voice, but Duke Vrill ignored it, as few white-eyes would have.
The Menin duke stepped forward, his eyes on the tachrenn, and said softly, 'Just to drink tea, and to consider the beauty of the Land as it is revealed.'
'No particular ceremony with the tea, then?'
'None; I've always thought that ritual tends to get in the way of enjoyment – but it is tea brought from our home in the Ring of Fire. You could consider it symbolic tea, if you like.' Somehow, the duke managed to keep any mocking tone from his voice.
1)ev stepped in before Lecha refused the tea on symbolic grounds
this was obviously a face-saving pretext so both sides could come together in relative peace. He could smell business needing to be discussed.
'I would be glad for tea,' he said loudly, 'and like all old men, I have learned that one should take any opportunity to appreciate the beauty of our Land.'
'One must always take the time to pay attention to what's around,' boomed a deep voice from the temple, and they turned to see Kastan Styrax step out from the lee ol a pillar. The massive white-eye lord was swathed in a long grey cloak, but Dev's schooled eye detected the full suit of armour underneath the enveloping material.
'Strange, none of the others are dressed for battle,' Dev muttered to himself, looking around discreetly. The two soldiers tending the fire had sheathed swords on their hips, of course, as did Kohrad Styrax and Duke Vrill, but no one else was armoured.
What is playing out here? Dev wondered. Styrax s helm is lying on the temple floor, and he surely knows no crowd of old soldiers is going to miss his gear – he wants to make it very clear that he's the only one ready for battle, but why? 1 really am too old for this.
Once the two soldiers had served tall cups of pale green tea to each man they retired to a respectful distance.
Dev realised Lord Styrax was watching him fixedly and with a curt nod, he ordered his aides to do likewise. One by one, the tachrenns copied him. Although some looked less than happy, it would have been a gross insult not to follow their commander's lead. Even Tachrenn Lecha wouldn't defy his general quite so openly.
'Gentlemen,' Kastan Styrax said, once the staff were out of earshot, 'now we are no longer lords and commanders, merely old soldiers sharing tea and grumbling about the state of the Land, as old soldiers are supposed to.'
Old men grumbling about the Land? What do you have to grumble about, O lord of all you survey? Dev wondered, then: Gods! Are you asking a favour of us?
Lord Styrax walked through the group to face the War God's temple, second on the plain only to Tsatach's own Temple of the Sun. A stylised image of Karkarn in his berserker aspect, with long wild hair and savage canines, had been carved above the entrance. When the Menin lord turned back to the men, there was a satisfied expres¬sion on his face.
'Tachrenn Echat,' he said suddenly, 'I hear condolences are in order.'
The tachrenn looked alarmed for a moment at having been singled out. Echat's darker skin and delicate features marked him as from the easternmost part of the Chetse territory, one of the desert clans who lived on the fringes of the Waste. It was a harsh and unforgiving place that bred the finest Chetse warriors; many of the Ten Thousand were recruited from those wild parts. Echat shook his head, as if to clear it, then said, 'The raids, you mean?'
'Certainly,' Lord Styrax said. 'I hear your own clan took heavy losses – though not without giving a good account of themselves.'
Echat looked stunned for a moment, as much at who was offering him condolences as the fact that the lord even knew of the action. 'I thank you for those words,' he stammered a little, 'but every child of the desert is well used to the danger. It is just another aspect of life for us.'
'No doubt – but I hear there is more activity in that part of the Waste this year. A number of my own troops have also been lost.'
Just what are you saying? Dev wondered as he watched the exchange closely. Echat has played it down, but they've been hurt badly, and not just by the Siblis. There is word of Elven raiding parties too.
'These things are rarely predicable,' Dev said out loud, ignoring the grateful look on Tachrenn Echat's face. When Lord Styrax turned to face him, Dev was filled with the certainty that this was no idle chatter. 'The nature of the Waste has always been chaotic,' he added.
'True enough, but news of the recent upheaval can only embolden raiders,' Lord Styrax said. 'Jackals are quick to exploit any weaknesses they see.'
General Dev spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. 'There is little we can do to aid them; the desert clans will have to fend for themselves for the moment.'
Lord Styrax sipped his tea with a thoughtful expression that didn't fool Dev for a moment. The white-eye looked past the men as the first rays of dawn crept over the cliffs surrounding the Temple Plain.
The cynic in General Dev saw Lord Styrax had positioned himself carefully. A very old shrine to the sun's first light, a minor Aspect of Tsatach called Kehla, stood on the cliffs directly west from Tsatach's main temple. It consisted mainly of an archway, through which the rising sun now appeared, bathing the Menin lord in golden rays while the surrounding ground remained in shadow.
Styrax raised his cup to the sunrise and downed the liquid. The Chetse soldiers all sank to one knee as their patron God appeared. They bowed their heads and, lips moving in unison, said the dawn prayer together.
'I'm sure most of you are wondering exactly what I have to grumble about,' Styrax began suddenly.
Dev flinched at the unexpected sound. He looked quickly at the tachrenns to see if anyone had noticed bis position was tenuous enough without them seeing him jumping at shadows – but their attention was fixed on the white-eye.
'Well, to answer that,' Styrax continued after a moment, 'the break¬ing of the curfew vexes me.'
There was a pause.
'The curfew?' Dev asked eventually, feeling a little confused. Since Lord Salen's death and the massacre of his troops, the streets of Thotel had been relatively quiet. Other than a few hundred youths throwing stones at patrols, there had been no trouble at all. 'A handful of children throwing stones shouldn't be causing you many problems.'
'It doesn't cause me problems,' Styrax said, closing on Dev, 'but it does sadden me. My men are forced to retaliate against children and that breeds hatred – a hatred that could last generations.' The big white-eye swung around to glare at the Chetse soldiers. 'Old men send out children to be killed on the streets so the hatred stays alive,' he growled. 'Unrest is to be expected, but to fuel it with the blood of innocents: that is shameful.'
'My Lord, I am sure it is not being organised,' Dev said after a tense pause.
'As am I,' Styrax replied in a level tone, 'but neither is it being dissuaded by the men they look up to, men like you, soldiers, and the men of the priesthood. I would not be surprised if there are some who are actively encouraging it. That I call cowardice, and it shames you, leaders of cowards.'
Is he offering to help stop the raids in the east in return for order to be restored in the city? Before Dev could think of how best to reply, the ground shuddered – once, then again, and again, like the heavy footfalls of an approaching giant. Dev looked around in alarm. The sound was coming from the Temple of the Sun itself, but all he could see was the Menin lord's helm and the great altar with the eternal flame whispering insistently above it. For an instant, Dev thought he saw a shadow moving across the furthest pillar, as though something massive had stepped between it and the eternal flame.