Tyran stood and surveyed the chaotic scene playing out in front of him. Glad to be home, a smile played at his lips. Tyran had walked steadily after he and Braulor had separated. He didn't race but he certainly kept up the pace of someone who needed to be somewhere and he arrived back at the Greejon clan encampment with no difficulties. The perimeter guards were happy to see him but looked with alarm to his injured shoulder. Tyran told them he had fallen and wrenched his shoulder. They listened but the dried blood that he was trying to conceal gave away that something else had happened.
Tyran questioned them in turn about camp while he had been off with Braulor. The guards looked at each other and then back to Tyran. Neither had anything out of the ordinary to report and shook their heads to the questions Tyran was making in regards to Jolon.
Everywhere Tyran looked the camp was in disarray. Tents were down with people rolling up the canvas and lumber frame into convenient, manageable bundles. Animals, such as they chose to travel with, were corralled into groups. People were going about their business in the organized chaos that accompanied such a large undertaking. Tyran could tell from the level of disarray that they wouldn’t be at this camp for much longer. The advanced guard had their provisions squared away and were readying to leave. It was customary for a small group of the clan’s people to go on ahead of the main group. Their job was to make sure the path was safe for the rest of the clan to follow in the next day or two.
Tyran made his way to his tent, dodging people as best he could in an attempt to protect his shoulder. He ran into Quuvin and they chatted for a moment but Quuvin was one of the advanced guards and he had to go and finish a few tasks before moving out. Quuvin didn't have anything to report either and eyed Tyran’s shoulder suspiciously. “Same problems as usual, nothing out of the ordinary. You would think we never did this before.” he added with a chuckle before continuing on his way.
Tyran unlaced the ties holding the flap of his tent shut and went inside. He had a lot of time to ruminate about the Jolon matter after parting with Braulor but had come no closer to finding answers. Maybe he had been wrong about Jolon's motives. He threw his pack down on the bed and sat in a chair, closing his eyes. His eyes had barely pressed together when the tent flap opened once more and Jolon marched in, an unhappy look on his face. Tyran's eyes popped open and he tensed.
Jolon stopped a few feet from Tyran and stood there glaring at him, his eyes narrow and filled with hate. "Glad to see you decided to come back and help out Tyran." Jolon’s voice was shaky as he spat the words venomously.
Tyran shifted uneasily in his seat under Jolon’s intense stare. "I would never miss a move like this Jolon. You know that."
"Yet you leave camp in the middle of the night. Don't tell a soul where you’re going and you return with what, an injured shoulder? Are you going to try and tell me you did that to yourself?" Jolon’s rage was getting closer to taking control and he took a step toward Tyran.
Tyran ignored Jolon’s comment about his arm. "And what of you Jolon? I saw you leaving camp the same night I left, heading up into the hills. What were you up to?" Tyran’s own anger spiked in response.
Jolon's eyebrows flared for the briefest moment and then he composed himself. He hadn't been expecting that bit of information to be thrown at him and was stunned. "That is none of your concern Tyran and you’ll learn, the hard way if need be, to keep your nose out of what I am doing."
"It is my concern if it affects the safety of this camp or anyone in it."
Jolon stepped forward again and leaned in close; gripping Tyran's injured shoulder, his face right in Tyran’s. He was so close Tyran could smell his fetid breath; could see Jolon's bloodshot eyes ablaze with hatred. "Now you listen to me Tyran and listen well. You’re not going to mess this up for me. Braulor's dominion over this clan is finished and so is he. I made sure of that. There’s going to be a new man in charge." Jolon squeezed Tyran's shoulder for emphasis with each point he made. It was all Tyran could do not to scream out. He squirmed and wriggled but Jolon's grip was like a vise and the more he moved the more painful his shoulder became.
"I knew you were up to something Jolon. It won't work." Tyran’s voice quivered in pain, coming out in short gasps.
"Oh but it will Tyran, it will. You see I have some associates that are going to take care of Braulor for me and when the time is right they are going to join me and rule this clan like it should have been from the start."
"You’re crazy if you think you will get away with it. There is no way the council will lie down and let you take over the clan."
Jolon flashed a knife right to Tyran’s throat. "The council is nothing but silly old men. They will do what their told or they will be made to disappear." Jolon's hands were shaking with anger, spittle flying out of his mouth, chest heaving, as he raged at Tyran.
Tyran stared up at Jolon, afraid to blink, fearing any movement would push him over an edge he wasn’t far from. He had seen Jolon angry before but never like this. He didn't know how far Jolon was prepared to go at the moment but he decided it was best not to provoke him any further.
Jolon sheathed his knife and glared deep into Tyran's eyes. "And don't even think about alerting the council. They would never believe you anyway. I've got them all eating out of my hand at the moment." Jolon stepped back and delivered a series of vicious punches to Tyran’s shoulder. Then he smoothed out his tunic, took a few deep breaths and turned on his heel to leave.
"You're wrong Jolon." Tyran grimaced as stabbing pain tore through his wounded limb.
Jolon stopped at the threshold of the door way and turned his head back a fraction in Tyran’s direction, listening against his will.
“My shoulder was hurt fighting off the assassins sent to kill Braulor. He’s still alive." Tyran was happy to see Jolon's jaw set in frustration before he went storming off.
Jolon was livid. His blood was boiling, throbbing in his ears as it circulated through his body in angry pulses. There was no way Braulor could have escaped those men. No way. They were the best of the best Draax had. Jolon had thought one trained assassin would be enough to take care of Braulor. He was overjoyed when Draax offered to send two. It showed how committed he was to helping Jolon take control of the Greejon clan. Now Jolon was supposed to believe Braulor survived the attack? Not only that, where was Braulor now if he survived? Jolon knew if someone had been sent to kill him and he survived he wouldn't have stayed away. He would have marched right back to camp to avenge himself. It took mounds of self-control for him not to run back into to Tyran's tent and stomp him to death right there. Tear him limb from limb with his bare hands. But now wasn't the right time. Tyran was still highly respected by the council even without Braulor around. Jolon would have to find a way to change that. There would be time to deal with him later, but first he needed to find a way to contact Draax and see if he knew what had happened to his assassins. Jolon didn't know if his threats were enough to keep Tyran from reaching out to the council but he didn't have time to wait and find out. He needed to initiate his plan now.
Tyran had to lie down after Jolon stormed off. His shoulder was in such intense pain that he couldn't think straight. He stumbled to his bed, shoving his pack off with his good arm and eased himself onto it, stretching out fully, his head back, feet dangling off to one side. For a long time he just lay there, breathing, trying to tame the searing pain. He drifted asleep and when he came to, his shoulder had stopped hurting. As long as he didn't move it, it stayed that way. Tyran continued to lay for some time thinking about his confrontation with Jolon. He was trying to think what he could do about it. As much as he hated to admit it, Jolon was right, there was little chance he could convince the council to believe him about the assassination attempt. Without Braulor there to back him up it would his word against Jolon’s. On top of that he would have to skirt the whole issue of Braulor’s meeting with Alrei Yqu. That would make his entire story seem like the concoction of too little sleep and a possible hunting
accident. He sighed wishing Braulor was there with him. Braulor would know what to do and how to go about it. He always did.
Tyran’s shoulder throbbed once more as he shifted his position, reminding him that he needed to see a healer. He forced his way off his bed and out into the daylight to find Wroan.
"I'm sorry, Draax." Lyrell’s voice was raw.
"I think he's had enough Frewar." Draax was sitting, drink at hand, as he oversaw Lyrell's punishment for failing to assassinate Braulor.
Frewar looked at Draax, who nodded, then back at Lyrell. He made sure to get in another hard punch to Lyrell's ribs before he walked away flexing his aching hands.
Lyrell had returned injured to the mercenary camp and after relating the story of his assassination attempt gone wrong was bound to a tree where he had been beaten on until he divulged all the information he could. Lyrell knew it was going to happen. It was unavoidable when you failed Draax. He didn't like it but it was the way the mercenaries worked. He was getting off easy as far as he was concerned. Other mercenary groups would have killed him on the spot and been done with it. You couldn't say Draax was soft because he didn't take that route. Rather, Draax had learned over time that discipline of this type worked better for keeping control over the long term. Killing people outright might save a lot of time and energy but eventually the people that want your job figure out that to get control they only had to finish you off.
Draax got up from his chair and sauntered over to where Lyrell was tied. Lyrell looked up at him, his face puffy and bloody from the beating.
"It won't happen again Draax. I swear." Lyrell’s voice was hoarse from screaming and it hurt to get that out.
Draax looked Lyrell in the eye and felt pity. I must be going soft. In reality he had not been enjoying the mercenary life for some time now. Maybe it was his age. Maybe it was the amount of carnage he witnessed pillaging and killing that was getting to him. He didn't know for sure. All he knew was that he wanted out and Jolon's offer was the olive branch he had been waiting for. A cushy job ruling over a bunch domesticated clan people sounded really good. He wouldn't have to sleep with one eye open. He wouldn't have to monitor and assess the mood of his group and find outlets for their savage natures, outlets that didn't result in his death.
Draax found he had been looking forward to leaving the mercenary life behind more than he realized and when Lyrell came back unsuccessful in his attempt to kill Braulor, it all seemed to be slipping away. Falling through his fingers like grains of sand that he couldn't grasp no matter how hard he tried. He had no choice but to order the punishment. He didn't want to do it. He didn't even enjoy it like he had in the past but it had to be done. "I know you won't Lyrell."
Draax pulled out a short knife and slashed the ropes that were binding Lyrell to the tree and turned and walked away without another word. He needed to think about what to do now. How was this going to go over with Jolon? How could he fix it? At first he thought about heading out himself to find Braulor in person and do the deed. If Lyrell was accurate however, Braulor was getting beatings of his own at the hands of the Citadel's prison guards. That offered him a glimmer of hope anyway. Braulor would never leave the prison alive. He could pass that along to Jolon. But would it be enough?
Draax made his way to where his men were lounging, having made his decision as he walked. They all looked up as he approached and sensing he was about to give orders, put their mugs down and listened.
"Everybody get their stuff packed. We’re moving out.” Draax got right to the point. “And somebody help Lyrell with his crap. We don't need him slowing us down."
Draax didn't wait around to answer the usual questions the men had when he announced they were leaving. Instead he stomped off toward his own tent but he could hear the groans of his men behind him as they got up to follow his order.
Good. Let them grumble. It’s time for me take matters into my own hands.