Bellurdan rode at the head of the column, his Nathil warhorse standing 21 hands tall, giving his own near seven foot tall physique overly imposing. Wrapped in a simple white linen telaba, he looked anything but the leader of five hundred desert warriors. A massive warhammer was suspended from his back, inlaid with beautiful gold runes and wards. Underneath was a wickedly curved tulwar, shining bright silver in the sunlight. His cold violet-blue eyes scanned the forests around, searching for signs of life, well, substantial signs. Birds flitted around here and there, and smaller critters moved around in the undergrowth, but Bellurdan was looking for something larger, and possibly green-skinned. A rider moved up next to him, wearing an identical telaba, with a wicked cutlass strapped to his back, and a spear resting in his stirrup.
"Warleader," said the newcomer, "the men are growing uneasy. To be entering the domain of our enemies, with no intention of attack? It is not the way of the Nathil. Please, Warleader, we must stop, you must address them, they fear you have betrayed the spirits."
"I have done no such thing," said Bellurdan, his deep voice calm and cool, "and I shall not address the troops." While he was speaking he did not look to the newcomer, but instead kept searching. His cold demeanor hinted at no emotion, though inside he was slightly perturbed. He was right, after all, they were getting restless. "Tell me, Natthis, when you swore yourself to serve me, what did you promise?"
The man named Natthis looked at him confusedly, his green eyes searching. "I swore my life, Warleader, and my sanity," the man said, then after a small moment of hesitation asked, "Why would you ask something like that?"
Bellurdan said nothing for a moment, then turned to the man. "And what of them?" he gestured with his hand to the men on their horses behind the two, "Did they not pledge the same thing?" Natthis had a startled looked on his face, until he shook himself and cast a glance back at the horsewarriors.
"Why, of course," said Natthis, "Everyone has sworn allegiance to you." Bellurdan couldn't help but smile, then turned and looked ahead. Natthis was a loyal and skilled soldier, but sometimes Bellurdan wondered at his lack of subtlety. To look at something in such simple shades of black and white, but such was the way of his people. But he would change that, and the Nathil would be victorious in the end of it all. Despite what many may think, he was no puppet, being controlled by some higher force. Sure, he managed to make the right movements to make it seem so, but at the right moment he would reveal the breaks in the strings, and then the puppeteers would have a problem. Politics was a game unknown to his people, but with the right plan, it could be implemented with them never knowing.
"Alright, we make camp here. We should be within site of Valmorgen by tomorrow noon. Rally the men, I will allay their fears," said Bellurdan, his voice as calm as ever. He wheeled his mount forward, up onto a nearby crest. When they he turned to look out upon the men milling about beneath him. He scanned their faces as the settled into place, still atop their horses. He didn't speak for a moment, letting silence grow in the large clearing.
When he spoke his voice boomed out, charismatic and powerful, raining down upon the men below. "My brothers!" He let the silence grow as attentions focused harder on him. "We have long fought Wardancer and his armored soldiers, but now a greater threat emerges. The Green-skins are threatening to overrun us, and we cannot stand alone. Wardancer's forced are pressed thin by this menace, and we will aid him enough to step into his lands once the current menace is destroyed. We are innumerable back in Fallah, and cannot fall should they retaliate. We shall kill both the Green-skins and Wardancer with one fell swoop." He stretched the pause once again, letting his words sink. "Whenever a child is born in our tribe, it is called upon that they swear a vow to their Warleader, pledging their very souls to his cause. Now, my cause has been presented before you." He raised his hammer high over his head, and a bellowing warcry tore itself from his throat. He was greeted with a roar as every man responded with a warcry of their own. He turned his horse and trotted down the hill, his legs posting him up and down. He reached the bottom and turned to Natthis. "Tell everyone to set up camp," he said, then turned his horse around.
He dismounted and moved to a tent already set up for him. He strode inside, where seven men already stood. They were covered in furs and feathers, and stood in a semi-circle around the entrance. He stood in the middle of them now, his cold, calculating, yet strangely sorrowful eyes scanning their faces.
One stepped forward, head cocked to one side menacingly. He was old and wrinkled, his mouth a large gap of broken and missing teeth. He wore a tribal headdress on his head, gave a lopsided smile to Bellurdan. "Well, Warleader, you yet again surprise us with your charisma. It is trait not commonly found among our people, though you have managed to make it something trustworthy." The shrill voice of the man grated against Bellurdan's ears, making him shiver inwardly. It was as if the voice reached inside him, probing for some sort of secret. "So, you lead us to victory, Warleader, or so you claim," the man continued, "but it is not as you would have it seem. It was wise of you to not divulge what you know to your men, as we have advised."
"Yes," replied Bellurdan, his normally cool voice belying a certain enmity in it, "well, the shouldermen are always wise, as are the spirits they commune with." He searched the face of the man, and, seeing nothing but a senile old fool, said, "I will not tell them, for you have advised it. Your wise words ever guide me."
Another stepped forward, this one much younger, dressed in a large grey bear's fur. He spoke, his voice sending an equally disturbing feeling through Bellurdan's body. "When you reach Valmorgen, you must remember what we really came here for. The girl, we must learn of where the Stone is. So there must be no animosity from you. You must befriend her. When we learn of the stone, it will be different. We shall kill her, and fulfill our needs. Now, we must leave, tomorrow we arrive." A flash of darkness, and they were gone.
Bellurdan sighed and moved across the sparsely furnished tent and sat on the bare cot. He lay down and closed his eyes. He spared one last thought of the shouldermen before falling asleep. The thought was one word, Puppetmasters.
******
They arrived at Valmorgen the next morning, and when they came within sight of the walls, Bellurdan dismounted. The warriors behind him halted, and followed suit. They waited as Bellurdan and Natthis slowly walked forward, towards the towering walls that surrounded the keep. Warhammer and tulwar still on his back, he walked up to the guards standing outside.
Bellurdan looked the man over, studying his face. He looked stricken with fear, with a steely resolve hidden somewhere underneath. The look of a recruit before his first battle. Bellurdan would be disappointed to not fulfill that premonition. He looked up at the massive wooden gates towering above them, studying the iron-bolted fastings on them. After a long moment of silence, the massive and imposing desert warrior turned to address the guard.
"Fear not, we are not here to battle. No, we are here to aid you in fact," Bellurdan's voice was soft and reassuring, just another sign of his charismatic personality, "We are looking for Wardancer." Seeing the blank look on the man's face he hesitated, then said, "I believe he is known as Arkhann here..."
"Some things are important. Others are not. Yet all would claim a mortal's attention. It falls to each of us to remain ever mindful, and thus purchase wisdom in the threading of possibilities. It is our common failing that we are guided by our indifference to eventualities. The moment pleases, the future can await consideration." - Steven Erikson's Midnight Tides
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