A third troop of horse warriors, lighter-armoured, ranged far and wide on all sides of his caravan, ensuring that no enemy threatened, and seeking out possible targets — this was the season, after all, and there were — rarely these days, true enough — bands of savages eking out a meagre existence on the grasslands, including those who bred grotesque mockeries of horses, wide-rumped and bristle-maned, that if nothing else proved good eating. These ranging troops included raiding parties of thirty or more, and at any one time the Captain had four or five such groups out scouring the plains.
Merchants had begun hiring mercenary troops, setting out to hunt him down. But those he could not buy off he destroyed. His knights were terrible in battle.
The Captain’s kingdom had been on the move for seven years now, rolling in a vast circle that encompassed most of the Lamatath. This territory he claimed as his own, and to this end he had recently dispatched emissaries to all the bordering cities — Darujhistan, Kurl and Saltoan to the north, New Callows to the southwest, Bastion and Sarn to the northeast — Elingarth to the south was in the midst of civil war, so he would wait that out.
In all, the Captain was pleased with his kingdom. His slaves were breeding, pro shy;viding what would be the next generation drawing his palace. Hunting parties car shy;ried in bhederin and antelope to supplement the finer foodstuffs looted from passing caravans. The husbands and wives of his soldiers brought with them all the neces shy;sary skills to maintain his court and his people, and they too were thriving.
So like a river, meandering over the land, this kingdom of his. The ancient, half-mad spirits were most pleased.
Though he never much thought about it, the nature of his tyranny was, as far as he was concerned, relatively benign. Not with respect to foreigners, of course, but then who gave a damn for them? Not his blood, not his adopted kin, not his responsibility. And if they could not withstand his kingdom’s appetites, then whose fault was that? Not his.
Creation demands destruction. Survival demands that something else fails to survive. No existence was truly benign.
Still, the Captain often dreamed of finding those who had nailed him to the ground all those years ago — his memories of that time were maddeningly vague. He could not make out their faces, or their garb. He could not recall the details of their camp, and as for who and what he had been before that time, well, he had no memory at all. Reborn in a riverbed. He would, when drunk, laugh and proclaim that he was but eleven years old, eleven from that day of rebirth, that day of beginning anew,
He noted the lone rider coming in from the southwest, the man pushing his horse hard, and the Captain frowned — the fool had better have a good reason for abusing the beast in that manner. He didn’t appreciate his soldiers posturing and to make bold impressions. He decided that, if the reason was insufficient, he would have the man executed in the traditional manner — trampled into bloody ruin beneath the hoofs of his horses.
The rider drew up alongside the palace, a servant on the side platform taking the reins of the horse as the man stepped aboard. An exchange of words with the Master Sergeant, and then the man was climbing the steep steps to the ledge sur shy;rounding the balcony. Where, his head level with the Captain’s knees, he bowed.
‘Sire, Fourth Troop, adjudged ablest rider to deliver this message.’
‘Go on,’ said the Captain.
‘Another raiding party was found, sire, all slain in the same manner as the first one. Near a Kindaru camp this time.’
‘The Kindaru? They are useless. Against thirty of my soldiers? That cannot be.’
‘Troop Leader Uludan agrees, sire. The proximity of the Kindaru was but coincidental — or it was the raiding party’s plan to ambush them.’
Yes, that was likely. The damned Kindaru and their delicious horses were get shy;ting hard to find of late. ‘Does Uludan now track the murderers?’
‘Difficult, sire. They seem to possess impressive lore and are able to thor shy;oughly hide their trail. It may be that they are aided by sorcery.’
‘Your thought or Uludan’s?’
A faint flush of the man’s face. ‘Mine, sire.’
‘I did not invite your opinion, soldier.’
‘No, sire. I apologize.’
Sorcery — the spirits within should have sensed such a thing anywhere on his territory. Which tribes were capable of assembling such skilled and no doubt nu shy;merous warriors? Well, one obvious answer was the Barghast — but they did not travel the Lamatath. They dwelt far to the north, along the edges of the Rhivi Plain, in fact, and north of Capustan. There should be no Barghast this far south. And if, somehow, there were. . the Captain scowled. ‘Twenty knights shall ac shy;company you back to the place of slaughter. You then lead them to Uludan’s troop. Find the trail no matter what.’
‘We shall, sire.’
‘Be sure Uludan understands.’
‘Yes, sire.’
