CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
News travelled quickly. It soon became known that the battle at Baron/Kelt was an indecisive one that cost considerable loss of life and resulted in massive desertions by many in the Cynases’ trains. That army, licking its wounds, arrived back at their respective city-states where it remained disbanded for the time being while the Red Councils raged. Jamir was in an uncontrollable, futile fury that often flared and made those near him wary.
Rule, seriously injured and having to be carefully transported home, was incapable of any action on his own behalf. And the Red Council of Arrain-Toh was both shocked and dismayed to find their Cynas didn’t return at all. The Varen and personal troops of Harnath were rigorously questioned, senior officers interrogated in ways that left them apprehensive and subdued. It was only ten days after their arrival back at Arrain-Toh that the incredible news came to the Red Council that Harnath was mortally wounded and lay dying in Baron/Kelt. An envoy was immediately despatched to demand that the Cynas be brought home to Arrain-Toh.
The envoy, silently taken to where Harnath lay, recoiled at the smell that met him at the door and finally came away from the chamber deeply shaken, his face white and his lips trying to form words. Unable to speak easily he stuttered that he’d return to Arrain-Toh immediately. What he told the Red Council left them with nothing to say. Harnath had sons and daughters but none, they thought, that would be of much use to them. They all had different mothers who each vied with the others for best advantage and power for her son, the machinations complex and ruthless. A number of sons were already dead as a result. The Red Council chose a boy-child, Icsen, and made him Cynas-Elect. It was cosmetic. The Red Council now controlled the city-state in its entirety.
It meant that three city-states had no resident Cynas, though Arrain-Toh pretended it did. The Red Councils governed all three. They began to consider that maybe, at this time, Cynases had now become entirely expendable. Their usefulness was over and they were often more troublesome than anything else.
At Castelus the Red Council made their displeasure over what happened at Baron/Kelt very plain to Jamir. He sat alone on his throne, his sycophants dismissed, while the Red Council worked on him. He tried to move from his throne but was kept motionless, captive, his fingers gripping the arms of the throne and his head flung back, the Cynas unable to utter a sound. When the Red Council let him sag back his brain felt soggy, his body disjointed, his hands clenched and unclenched and his mouth opened and shut on small gasps. The Red Council hissed at him before they swept from the chamber. Where their hands had touched him Jamir felt bone-chilling cold and the marks stayed bleached white. He uncontrollably shivered.
For the first time he knew true numbing fear. He had to accept that he was truly and fully hostage to his Red Council, beings he suddenly blindingly knew were actually his masters, not the other way round. He recognised he was wholly dependent on them for his survival as Cynas, whatever that might mean, and that his unquestioning obedience and compliance were expected. If not received he’d know worse than what he’d just experienced. Jamir actually shuddered.
For the Red Councils to think of dispensable Cynases was, for them, merely another step forward in their resolution to manipulate then happily annihilate this world. It was what they were on Shalah to ultimately do and though it had taken aeons after the last battle, they knew the time to achieve their ends had come. That Jepaul’s name didn’t receive a mention in reports from Baron/Kelt they felt to be a definite positive and hopefully a tacit endorsement. The post-battle Red Council synthesis was a satisfied one.
Rule, incapacitated for some time, no longer ran his state. Adon’s and Barok’s states were likewise under Red Council control as was Castelus. Now the Red Councils set their sights on the remaining Cynases. It was time to bring them irrevocably under full Nedru manipulation, puppets who could be played with, would obey orders without questioning and would provide a new and deliberate nourishment for their masters who hissed with anticipation. The Red Council syntheses approved of how Jamir was to be dealt with and advised his Council to take the next step.
Accordingly, Jamir was summoned and touched, quite gently, but in a way that had him white-lipped and more like a cowed emtori than the strutting, crowing and arrogant Cynas of only syns before. He was allowed to appear as usual to the people around him but with each compulsory session with the Red Council he was subtly manoeuvred in every aspect of his life. He was forced to endure it alone. He felt increasingly sapped as the Nedru very, very slowly began to reveal themselves for what they were. They showed him the true price for those who sold themselves for power and adulation.
He saw the first glimmerings of terrifying hollowness and darkness and was also, for the first time, forced against his will to have a glimpse beneath the hoods of those who posed as the Red Council. Not only that, a ghastly sight in itself, he felt the horror of the beginning of a draining that would see him reduced to a husk of nothingness. He knew he was trapped by it. His nemesis was a gaping maw of retribution that patiently awaited it’s inevitable prey.
Rule at Wrandal was effectively sidelined so there was no need to exert pressure on him. He continued to be a sick man, no remedy helping him as his injuries refused to heal and he continued to sink. Dispassionately observing him, the Red Council offered neither suggestions nor sympathy. They despised him as dispensable and of little interest. The Council there merely tightened its grip, leaving the Cynas’ personal troops alarmed, indecisive and apprehensive. They watched the Council, through the auspices of the remaining Varen, assume increased control and it frightened them to such an extent they felt they had no option but to act and to do so with celerity. And action had to be as secret as possible. Escape was meticulously and thoroughly planned and finally, with some trepidation, put into execution.
It was during the night that the Cynas’ very large body of mounted and foot troops began to tremulously edge their way through the opened gates of Wrandal, some heavy weaponry with them but by no means all of it. Too much would slow the troops and be both cumbersome and noisy. Not all the troops got out unscathed because they were betrayed by one of their own but the majority did. It was those at the rear who were ruthlessly attacked by alerted Varen who then proceeded to follow and harry the others.
It was a desperate flight in the darkness. Those in command harangued and urged their men on as they deliberately swung off main routes and the army found itself struggling across fields and meadows. They ploughed stoically through high undergrowth, scrubby bush land and copses that closed into dense woodland, those with heavy weaponry cursing and stumbling as they sweated to keep up. Wheels sometimes got stuck in ruts or hedgerows, with several men needed to free them. The chasing Varen finally gave up pursuit but a few slower men fell to them.
At last the army, exhausted, halted many miles from Wrandal. Shaken men dismounted or others simply sank, gasping where they stood, their chests heaving with effort. Foot soldiers looked worst. The horses stood still likewise, heads hanging with foaming mouths and their bodies lathered with sweat. Officers went to and fro to encourage and assist where necessary as water and food to men and horses was quickly distributed in an orderly and efficient manner.
It was a long halt with men picketed to the rear to spy out pursuers. The only ones they saw and helped immediately were stragglers catching up in the breaking dawn that enabled them to see where to follow. Breathless and anxious, they rejoined the army with pathetic gratitude. The army waited for as long as they dared until they received reports from pickets that no one else was visible. The last wounded were taken to safety. Then the long haul began.
It seemed ironic to those commanding the army that some of them should be seeking refuge with those they’d been forced to fight not so long before and they’d also felt, acutely, that they had no option but to secrete Rule with them. The Cynas was carried since he was too ill to ride. He lay, barely conscious, jolted by wheels bouncing over rough surfaces. He seeme
d barely aware of it. After all, they were his private army and not only owed him allegiance but were sworn to serve him. The officers ground their teeth at the knowledge one of their own was a traitor. It was soon known who he was. His name was Cate. He was also of the highest rank.
It was sentries at Baron/Kelt who brought the news of this army to the Companions and Doms. Knellen abruptly rose when he heard it and stalked from the room, the Companions quickly behind him while the Doms stayed where they were. They had no intention of revealing themselves – not quite yet – and they didn’t know who approached. It was soon obvious. Wrandal flags blew above heads. Knellen’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.
“Another attack?” asked Javen, thoughtfully peering over Grohol battlements recently repaired and reinforced.
“Too soon to tell,” came the response.
“I think not,” murmured Saracen.
The others glanced at him.
“Why not?” demanded Belika.
“We know Wrandal has heavy weaponry, a lot of it actually, but there’s not the amount of it you’d expect to be with an attacking force. They’re mostly cavalry and foot soldiers with assorted others among them.”
“Your Grohol sensing?” asked Javen with a grin.
Saracen smiled back.
“Probably,” he shrugged, starting to laugh. “I can feel the vibrations from them, yes.”
“Then what the demons are they doing?” Javen looked puzzled.
Gabrel, who was often with them, hazarded a guess, his eyes meeting Saracen’s and twinkling responsively.
“I’d say,” he mused, “they may come under truce, but why is another matter.”
“Not another defecting Cynas surely?” muttered Javen, shaking his head. “Not a lovable bunch, are they, and I thought their Cynas was badly wounded.”
“He was,” agreed Knellen, amused, his eyes squinting into the distance. “If you’re correct, Gabrel, the city is going to be over-crowded to say the least.”
“Then what do we do?”
Knellen directed his attention to Saracen.
“We go down to them, my man, to meet them and gauge their intentions. They may wish to parley or request sanctuary – who knows?’
“Not me,” growled Saracen, his frown gathering. “Loyalty is going to become a real issue, Knellen.”
“I know, Saracen, I know. We will discuss this further but not now.” He saw Saracen’s frown deepen and his voice became reassuring. “We’re all as aware of this as you are, my friend, and don’t take the matter lightly. Nothing will happen that should trouble you.”
“Well and good,” came the response, Saracen only partially mollified.
The tired army arrived at Baron/Kelt, some back exactly where they’d been as part of a combined attacking army under the Red Councils. Pennants blew about now in a gathering strong wind as men stood silently, riders equally still. A challenge rang out from the city.
“State your intention!”
“We are Wrandal. We seek admittance.”
“You fought against us not so long since.”
“Yes, as part of an army assembled by the Red Councils we did, as was commanded by our Cynas. We are Cynas Rule’s troops.”
“Any Varen among you?”
“None.”
There was a long silence. It was followed by the army seeing the city gates edge open to allow a few riders through before it closed again. There was a hurried discussion between the army officers as the riders approached, before three officers nodded to their fellows and rode smartly forward in response. The Companions drew up and waited. One officer spoke.
“I am Rein. I speak for Cynas Rule’s army. To whom do I speak?”
“I am Knellen, a Varen.”
“We know of you. Some refer to you as Commander.”
“On occasion, among other things, yes, that is so,” came the dry response. “We have to ask why Cynas Rules‘s troops, not long since part of an attacking force, request admittance. That is, you will agree, an oddity.”
“We have departed Wrandal.”
“That is an unusual move, Rein.”
“Our city-state is no longer our own, Varen. We felt we had no choice – none at all. It is, we consider, a matter of survival.”
“You intrigue us. Is your Cynas aware of your action?”
“Cynas Rule is a very, very sick man, Varen, and not aware of much at this time.”
“You, his personal troop, abandoned him?” came the incredulous response.
“No!” came the irritated reply. “We have Cynas Rule with us. It’s our duty to protect him.”
“I see.”
“May he, at least, be admitted?”
Rein watched Knellen turn to speak with those who accompanied him, then turn back to him.
“Those with me are the Companions. They agree that for each of us you may bring one to accompany your Cynas. You must come, of course, as the formal army spokesman.”
Rein turned to those with him, gestured, nodded, shook his head, then slowly nodded again as he faced Knellen.
“We accept your generous offer and express our appreciation.”
It was a small group that entered the city, troopers carefully ushering the recumbent Cynas through the gates and trying not to jolt him too much over the cobbled ground. Once inside the gates Knellen called to a Varen who hastened over.
“Knellen?”
“Lisle, this is Cynas Rule.” Lisle looked down at the lying, still figure then glanced quickly back at Knellen, his eyes questioning. Knellen saw the look and gave an answering smile. “A surprise, Lisle, I admit. As you can see, however, the Cynas is clearly ill. Can you guide these troopers to a suitable chamber so he can be comfortably settled then have the troopers escorted back to join their army?”
“Certainly.”
Lisle was now expressionless in the Varen way though he caught the glint in Knellen’s eyes at his next comment.
“Where you will find a chamber is a moot point, Lisle, but do your best. These officers,” and here Knellen indicated those with Rein, “may escort and remain with the Cynas. Varen guards will be posted,” Knellen paused, then continued blandly, “for their protection.”
“Of course,” was all Lisle trusted himself to say.
Rein found himself escorted to a chamber some distance from the gates. He found the city a hive of activity and extremely crowded as he was carefully guided round clusters and groups who immediately parted to let the Companions through. Rein eyed Belika speculatively. He recalled Maenade sheer fearlessness and ferocity in battle and he got a very hard, assessing stare back that made him blink. He also eyed Saracen with interest because he was now familiar with Grohols for whom he had considerable respect. Javen he was inclined to dismiss until he studied him more closely, then he promptly decided that there was something about the rangy-looking man, some quality that made him stand out and was suggestive of controlled power like a life force. It was about the other Companions too. It made Rein pensive.
Rein entered a room where he saw four old men sat placidly, tankards beside them and with cards flung down in front of them. A younger man, with a striking head of hair and a coppery beard, perused his card hand for a discard and ignored the opening door. Another even younger man, cards in one hand and the other raking through a dense mop of wavy hair, was laughing and turned his head to the door. Rein almost gasped. He saw himself staring, bewildered, at a half-Varen. He was urged forward and offered a full tankard. A plate of cakes was pushed in front of him as he was ushered into a chair and left to get comfortable. The Companions ambled about, got food and drink and sat back, relaxed, their eyes on the card game.
“Cadran, if you have yet another ace I swear I’ll disown you!”
Jepaul’s comment brought laughter. Rein noticed the young man now smiled broadly.
“Yes, Jepaul, I have.”
“Then curse you, young one!”
At that, Jepaul lifted his head and threw his cards on the table in mock disgust.
“Knellen,” observed one of the older men, “you’ve taught the boy too well.”
“It’s Lisle’s men he learns from, Dancer,” retorted Knellen. “I have little time to indulge these days.” He turned his head to Rein. “Rein, may I introduce you to Cadran, a Companion, who you’ll notice had the winning card. Playing against him is Jepaul.” Rein glanced quickly across at the auburn-haired man and saw he had the most extraordinary eyes he’d ever seen. The man’s appearance was unlike anyone on Shalah, of that Rein was convinced. “Then,” went on Knellen, watching Rein’s surreptitious scrutiny of both Cadran and Jepaul, “the other Companions answer to Belika, a Maenade, Saracen who you know is a Grohol, and Javen who was once an Acolyte of the Order from Arrain-Toh. I am, likewise, a Companion. We are Companions to the others here. They answer to Quon, Dancer, Sapphire and Ebon.” Rein responded suitably to each named individual, though he thought the last names for the elderly men quite strange. He took a long haul at his tankard. He felt that he was in the presence of unusual and powerful authority though he couldn’t pin it down. “Rein,” went on Knellen, “is one of the most senior officers of Cynas Rule’s army, Doms, who have brought both the Cynas and his army to Baron/Kelt.”
Rein saw eyes curiously look at him and knew he was assessed by each person there.
“Then, Rein,” suggested the old man who answered to Quon, “you may care to tell us why you and your Cynas, after fighting us so vigorously, have now come here, apparently voluntarily?”
Rein spoke cautiously and honestly. He sensed neither judgment nor criticism, and certainly no hostility. It helped him relax. His explanation of the condition in which Wrandal now found itself and what had prompted such a desperate flight, left his listeners quietly thoughtful, each person there assimilating what appeared to be yet another irrevocable step to further conflict. Searching questions followed. It took a long time. Rein began to feel limp. Then he said, his voice slightly hoarse,
“Our men have ridden and tramped hard, Knellen. They need rest. The horses are beat too.”
Knellen nodded understanding. He strode to the door and disappeared. Ebon refilled Rein’s tankard and his own then resumed his seat. He spoke.
“You say Cynas Rule is ill?”
“He’s continued to deteriorate since the battle,” came the weary answer. “Doctors have tried all they can. The wounds don’t heal.”
“And the Varen? Have they all had metalans inserted?” It was Quon who spoke. He saw the puzzled expression. “Others call them writhlings, Rein.”
“Not all, no – in fact, compared with other city-states, many in Wrandal are free of them.”
“Yet they pursued you?”
“They answer to and obey the Red Council.”
“Will any follow you here?”
“If the Red Council carry out their threat, which Cynas Rule held out against, some will, yes.”
“We’ll await them, should any decide to leave Wrandal. Will the Red Council try to enforce insertions?”
Rein’s lips twisted.
“Assuredly, Old One. They intimated it would be done. It is why we felt we had to leave because we guessed we would be forcibly inserted, as we know was done with other private armies of other Cynases. The Red Council rule Wrandal, not the Cynas nor the Varen sworn to serve him.”
“I see.”
Quon fell silent while Rein fidgeted with his tankard.
“Old One, our Cynas has made gross and serious errors of judgment, nor was he always wise and compassionate with our people as he should have been, but neither is he implacably evil or beyond redemption. His citizens have suffered, deeply, yes, partly through his weakness. I don’t argue that. It’s troubled us over long syns. And he has allowed the Varen to ensure obedience throughout all stratas of society in ways that are, on reflection, gravely wrong, but he never fully responded to the Red Council and tried, many times, to deflect or contain some of their more vicious plans for Wrandal. Nor did the Red Council show him either consideration or pity upon his return.” Rein swallowed and his voice faltered miserably. “Indeed, they spoke of him with the utmost contempt and offered no help with his illness.”
It was at this point that Knellen returned and spoke to Rein without preamble.
“We can’t quarter the army inside the city yet, Rein, as this arrival is unexpected. It will require considerable re-organisation to enable us to absorb such a large troop, but you will be relieved to hear that we already have people out on the field assisting with the setting up of viable camps. Amenities such as latrines are being constructed even as we speak and a tented dormitory is up and is filling with those in your train who suffer injury or exhaustion. Supplies are already being distributed and your horses are also being catered for. Maenades are helping with corrals now and have said they will care for the horses until you’re able to do so for yourselves. We have also taken the liberty of leaving small groups of your officers among the ranks to ensure order and discipline.” Knellen saw Rein’s expression. It spoke volumes. “Tomorrow will be time enough for discussion of any proposals for what happens next. In the meantime, Rein, I have arranged for you to share quarters with an elite Varen by the nomen of Lisle. He will be here soon. Your fellow officers have been accommodated with your Cynas. A doctor is also with him now so it may be that you will soon hear news that may be a source of comfort to you.”
“Our gratitude is profound, Knellen,” responded Rein, a distinct tremor in his voice. “We thank you. Life has been a considerable and very difficult strain for some time.”
“I understand.” Knellen glanced at the Doms and got infinitesimal nods. “If you are ready, Rein, I suggest I get you to Lisle. You need rest.”
On those words Rein got slowly and a little unsteadily to his feet just as the door opened to admit Lisle. Rein genuflected to those still seated and then crossed the room to Lisle who courteously nodded at him before escorting him from the room. Rein left considerable discussion behind him.
The next few days were fraught with problems as Baron/Kelt struggled to contain yet another substantial army. The Grohols suggested an extension to the city was now imperative and that some structures erected earlier that weren’t intended to be other than temporary and impermanent should be immediately converted into troop quarters and stabling. Even the mimoses were now quartered within the city walls though apart from others. The Grohol offered to oversee the work. They also said defensive measures to ensure security around these rather exposed and vulnerable areas should be done at the same time. Should another assault be launched, Baron/Kelt would hold against it.
While the Grohol dealt with that practical side of arrangements, Knellen, Varen elites and commanders from other city-states, plus other group leaders, held meetings on what would constitute the best organisational structure that would be necessary to integrate Wrandal troops into an already developed and cohesive force. The Wrandal officers were willing and anxious to fully co-operate in any way they could. They didn’t blink when told all troops wore the same uniforms and simply nodded in quiet acquiescence, their relief at being free of Red Council hegemony patent. And to add to this was gratitude to those who helped their Cynas.
Cynas Rule began, very slowly, to respond to new treatment. He gained full consciousness and then, deeply appreciative, unstintingly praised his troops for their loyalty. Unexpectedly, he pledged his loyalty to them as their ruler and commander. That startled but gratified his troops. Rule seemed a changed man. With strength came comprehension of what had gone on around him. Apathy was gone. His close brush with death had wrought a significant change in him and it was as if he woke properly for the first time in innumerable syns and could see clearly. He’d always felt slightly drugged as if his mind and body weren’t his own.
He asked if he could meet the Doms and Knellen. He was almost tearfully grateful for what he knew only too well
was a reprieve from long syns of incompetent and frequently unjustifiably cruel misrule. The Doms didn’t need to tell him that, like Barok and Adon, it was his actions now that might help to outweigh his inaction of the past: he hoped that it might even offer him a degree of absolution and re-discovery of self. Grone, Harnath, Jamir, Robat and the Mythlin had irretrievably lost their souls. Rule shuddered at recollections of his syns under Red Council increasing influence, growing control and, finally, near dominance. He also recognised that his being wounded as he was, almost fatally, was actually his salvation.
With strength returning, Rule spent long hours with Adon and Barok, their discussions intense as they spoke of impending war. But it was their mutual experiences that brought home to each of them their indescribable folly, culpability and abhorrent acquiescence to things that should have been warning signs. Weakness of character, among other faults, had led to their easy exploitation by the Red Councils through the aegis of their Varen.
Their behaviour had led directly to appalling suffering of their people. Guilt and writhing consciences lashed all three men and this drove them determinedly to one day confront the Red Councils and hopefully free and restore their city-states. From nowhere, maybe from suppressed memory, the men began to recall fragments of tenets handed down over hundreds of syns on proper governance. More and more recollections came every day. They showed how far lamentably short they’d fallen in following what constituted the rights of rule, the needs of their people counting for nought.
The Cynases knew who the Doms were and were justifiably awed by them as well as fearful of them. In part, the Doms represented what they’d ignored for syns. They eyed Jepaul with deepening respect and admired the Companions. Their link to the latter was through Gabrel, a man they came to both trust and like, and since he was affable and conversable, they continued to warm to him. It was he who told them the histories of the Companions, Jepaul and Cadran. It left them very thoughtful.
Wrandal Varen began to arrive. They spoke of a Red Council that was vile. They were corrupting Varen in dreadful ways that made them act in horrible ways to terrified, trapped citizens, the Varen driven on by writhlings described as very big and powerful. Escaping Varen reported that elite Varen in Wrandal collapsed on insertion, the writhlings so large they literally bored holes as they drilled their way into hosts held prone by Varen who had already survived the process. Knellen was white-lipped, his sometimes oddly opaque eyes glittering with each account. It seemed many elite Varen died on insertion. The subsequent feeding frenzy inside the body was described with utter horror and revulsion. For a Varen to panic was unheard of, but those in Baron/Kelt heard it in the voices of Varen who fled simply to survive.
So it came as no surprise, and was prepared for, when an extremely large troop of Varen, rank after rank of them, thundered into view of the city. It was only a matter of days after other Wrandal Varen staggered there, dreadful stories on trembling lips as they spoke haltingly of atrocities and tortures that brought shivers to spines. Knellen awaited the troop. He stayed silently mounted and quite still as the troop came to an unusually disordered and milling massed halt and an elite Varen rode forward.
“My nomen is Lamur.”
“Mine is Knellen.”
“We know who you are. We come to you to request you permit us to take the oath that means we renounce allegiance to the Red Council, even though we are their instruments. We know of the oath taken by our brethren, all, in fact, who now reside in Baron/Kelt.”
“Indeed that is so. No Varen is permitted access to the city before the oath to me is taken. Your original oath is to your Cynas. What about him?”
“Our allegiance to our Cynas is through the oath to the Red Council, Knellen.”
“Yes, as was mine. I do not forget. As it was to the Mythlin likewise.”
“No, Knellen, you do not forget, but those who forged us are -.” Lamur stopped, then went on with an effort, almost a break in his voice. “It is not the Varen way, brother, for us to ask for mercy of anyone, least of all from another Varen, but we ask it of you. The alternative is a hell almost too unbearable to contemplate. What many of us have just witnessed, to our own -.” The voice stilled.
“We have heard reports, Lamur. I believe the words for the Red Councils are abominations from the abyss.”
“True. True. Ah, demons, Knellen. Some of our elite are dead from insertions. Maybe,” and here the deep voice quavered, “they are the lucky ones. Others, mercifully only a few before we mostly managed to get away, are now fully agents of the Red Council and act in ways -.” Again Lamur’s deep voice faltered.
Knellen took a deep breath before he spoke.
“You will be offered immediate refuge, Lamur.”
“We thank you,” came inaudibly.
“Once we had a code of honour, Lamur, that pertained to us all and how we behaved.”
“Almost all of us still have, Knellen.”
“Tell your Varen to wait.”
His face grimly set and lips drawn in a very thin line, Knellen made a signal for the city gates to be opened and rode easily forward. He waited until Lisle, with elite Varen, cantered to join him. Lamur walked his horse to Knellen.
“Any with immature writhlings?” asked Lisle calmly surveying Lamur. He could smell the anxiety.
“Only very few. We brought them with us because they deserve the loyalty of their brethren and we hoped they might, somehow, be helped.”
“They will be. For now, separate them from the others. My nomen is Lisle.”
“I am Lamur.”
“We will see those with writhlings are attended to after all others have taken the oath.” Lisle looked over the sea of Varen and almost sighed. Oath-taking would take a very, very long time. “Marshal your Varen for the oath, Lamur. They come, one at a time, you first. Those with us act as witnesses.”
The Wrandal Varen, clearly profoundly shaken, were integrated into Baron/Kelt. It was much to Saracen’s disgust as he observed the whole city crawled with Varen and city-state troops who probably now were close to outnumbering the original inhabitants. However, even he had to admit that the Wrandal Varen were subtly altered by their experiences and what they’d been forced to witness, so his strictures, for him, were temperate. The Grohols grumbled that they never seemed to stop construction of one sort or another. But they were never grudging in effort and simply set to, extending and fortifying walls, erecting accommodation and extensive stables, now fully assisted by citizenry, troopers and lower ranked Varen. It was a formidable workforce that knew, without being told, that time wasn’t necessarily on their side. A sense of urgency was contagious.