shirt barely showed beneath his layers of green and gold robes.
Everyone in the room stood, cheering and applauding the warlord. The bearers came to a halt. Huk raised his hand and drowned the fanfare.
“Do not waste your praise upon my mere arrival,” Huk said in a quiet, but commanding voice. All eyes rested on him. Even Quintel and Siyer paused to listen. “Instead, wait for the answers you seek. After that, if praise and honor are still warranted, let them come.”
The bearers sat the litter on the floor before the stone throne at end of the hall. Slowly, and with deliberation, Huk stood. He tested his balance, walked over to the throne and sat. Another murmur drifted among the guests. They had not been certain Huk could still walk.
“Listen,” Huk said. Again the room fell silent. “For two decades our armies have tried to conquer the mountain lands to the west -- but without success. Often, our forces were thwarted by the hostile terrain. Other times we were simply outmatched by the Abanshi swordsmen...”
That drew a stiff reaction from the nobles and generals, who smelled the hint of an insult.
“But imagine, my friends and followers, if we could cross the mountains and destroy the Abanshi where they live. Imagine a legion that did not depend upon chariots and cavalry to carry the fight.”
“Do you propose we attack the Abanshi using only footmen and archers?” Taln interrupted, his disrespect plain.
Huk steadied his gaze on Taln.
The warlord motioned to a guard and the four Abanshi prisoners were led into the room. Each wore a long, white shirt and leggings tied at the ankle. White silk ropes bound their hands behind their backs. They were linked together at the neck with gold shackles similar those of Quintel and Siyer.
The prisoners each held the same grim expression of proud defiance on their faces. Chins high, shoulders back.
Quintel felt his Abanshi blood smolder. He recognized one of them. He was older now, a man, but the first one on the chain had been a childhood friend of his. Rand. That was his name. He was the son of an Abanshi chieftain. Quintel had spent part of the spring of his tenth year at the chieftain's lodge. Rand also had been there, participating in a wild boar hunt. Quintel remembered that the boy had possessed little taste for hunting and his interests rested with science and art. He had been a frail, light-haired adolescent then. Now he was a battle-scarred warrior, clad in a death smock, his eyes blazing with defiance and anger.
“I know the young one,” Quintel said quietly. No one heard but Siyer.
The guests jeered at the prisoners, calling for their heads, shouting for their blood. At last the entertainment had arrived.
“Taln has asked if I plan on using footmen and archers to conquer the mountain lands,” Huk began. “He meant his comment as an insult, but I will answer him. Yes. Yes, I intend on using footmen and archers to crush the Abanshi.”
Taln scoffed. Skeptic murmurs passed at the table.
“It cannot be done,” piped one aging general. “Swords and arrows will not defeat them. You must have a cavalry and weapons of siege to tear down that damned gate.”
Huk rested back in his throne. “I believe that depends on who welds the swords and arrows.” He turned his head toward the curtain and nodded.
Quintel felt it: A presence just outside the room, a cold blankness that somehow moved and breathed. It was something living, but not alive.
Then the monster emerged from the shadows of the columns. A woman screamed.
The creature was eight-feet tall and walked on two legs. Its shoulders were so wide it had to turn them to pass between the columns. Its hide was greenish gray and knobbed with bony protrusions. Tusk-like fangs curved from its jutting lower jaw. Above its flat, broad nose, tiny yellow eyes blinked with predatory awareness. Slabs of muscle with veins like tree roots cobbled the beast's arms and legs. A gigantic iron ax of crude
Everyone in the room stood, cheering and applauding the warlord. The bearers came to a halt. Huk raised his hand and drowned the fanfare.
“Do not waste your praise upon my mere arrival,” Huk said in a quiet, but commanding voice. All eyes rested on him. Even Quintel and Siyer paused to listen. “Instead, wait for the answers you seek. After that, if praise and honor are still warranted, let them come.”
The bearers sat the litter on the floor before the stone throne at end of the hall. Slowly, and with deliberation, Huk stood. He tested his balance, walked over to the throne and sat. Another murmur drifted among the guests. They had not been certain Huk could still walk.
“Listen,” Huk said. Again the room fell silent. “For two decades our armies have tried to conquer the mountain lands to the west -- but without success. Often, our forces were thwarted by the hostile terrain. Other times we were simply outmatched by the Abanshi swordsmen...”
That drew a stiff reaction from the nobles and generals, who smelled the hint of an insult.
“But imagine, my friends and followers, if we could cross the mountains and destroy the Abanshi where they live. Imagine a legion that did not depend upon chariots and cavalry to carry the fight.”
“Do you propose we attack the Abanshi using only footmen and archers?” Taln interrupted, his disrespect plain.
Huk steadied his gaze on Taln.
The warlord motioned to a guard and the four Abanshi prisoners were led into the room. Each wore a long, white shirt and leggings tied at the ankle. White silk ropes bound their hands behind their backs. They were linked together at the neck with gold shackles similar those of Quintel and Siyer.
The prisoners each held the same grim expression of proud defiance on their faces. Chins high, shoulders back.
Quintel felt his Abanshi blood smolder. He recognized one of them. He was older now, a man, but the first one on the chain had been a childhood friend of his. Rand. That was his name. He was the son of an Abanshi chieftain. Quintel had spent part of the spring of his tenth year at the chieftain's lodge. Rand also had been there, participating in a wild boar hunt. Quintel remembered that the boy had possessed little taste for hunting and his interests rested with science and art. He had been a frail, light-haired adolescent then. Now he was a battle-scarred warrior, clad in a death smock, his eyes blazing with defiance and anger.
“I know the young one,” Quintel said quietly. No one heard but Siyer.
The guests jeered at the prisoners, calling for their heads, shouting for their blood. At last the entertainment had arrived.
“Taln has asked if I plan on using footmen and archers to conquer the mountain lands,” Huk began. “He meant his comment as an insult, but I will answer him. Yes. Yes, I intend on using footmen and archers to crush the Abanshi.”
Taln scoffed. Skeptic murmurs passed at the table.
“It cannot be done,” piped one aging general. “Swords and arrows will not defeat them. You must have a cavalry and weapons of siege to tear down that damned gate.”
Huk rested back in his throne. “I believe that depends on who welds the swords and arrows.” He turned his head toward the curtain and nodded.
Quintel felt it: A presence just outside the room, a cold blankness that somehow moved and breathed. It was something living, but not alive.
Then the monster emerged from the shadows of the columns. A woman screamed.
The creature was eight-feet tall and walked on two legs. Its shoulders were so wide it had to turn them to pass between the columns. Its hide was greenish gray and knobbed with bony protrusions. Tusk-like fangs curved from its jutting lower jaw. Above its flat, broad nose, tiny yellow eyes blinked with predatory awareness. Slabs of muscle with veins like tree roots cobbled the beast's arms and legs. A gigantic iron ax of crude
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