The Bloody Throne by S. C. Emmett

Author:S. C. Emmett [EMMETT, S. C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Orbit
Published: 2022-03-29T00:00:00+00:00

VENOMOUS TAIL

It was a mark of Zakkar Kai’s thoroughness that the Southron Army, while not quite to its northern twin’s standard, was nevertheless in good order, its marshals and junior generals reporting to a newly arrived prince with every evidence of cautious respect. A swift dispatch from Zhaon’s greatest general had arrived just before Makar, with another private missive folded into its sheaf; the junior generals were exhorted to do their utmost for Zhaon and for Garan Makar, who would not spend their lives needlessly and who expected the filial obedience due any general from his soldier-sons.

By the date brushed upon its top right corner, Kai had heard of this appointment nearly a moon-turn ago, which meant Kurin had been planning it well before Takshin’s wedding.

He could almost admire Kurin’s forethought. Almost.

The rider must have been sent the moment Kai received confirmation, and ridden to almost-foundering along Zhaon’s stone-paved arteries. Covered with dust and half-dead of heat, the fellow was carried away.

A short passage from the dispatch was read to the troops assembled in shield-square formations by cohort leaders, and finally Makar was bowed into a hastily erected commander’s tent, his dark but well-crafted leather half-armor removed by a tongue-tied youth from Hanweo who would serve Garan Makar as armor-son now, and a lean man with a scar tracing his jaw as an adjutant.

The scarred man, Tiang Huo, was of the same efficient stripe as Kai’s shadow Anlon, and was visibly relieved that the prince sent to the army was not a preening eyebird but of a more thoughtful cast. Makar also lost no time in asking the man’s opinion upon one or two points, since it was one of Kai’s adages that while a soldier was relieved to have reasonable orders to follow, he also relished the chance to give his opinion without flinching.

It was a balance akin to playing chess against a canny opponent, or navigating a court’s murkier depths.

Tiang would be the one taking news of the new commander’s habits and faults to the rest of the army; Makar hoped an old soldier would find nothing of deep concern in either. It was no use attempting to act as if he was an experienced general instead of an encumbrance quite possibly sent only to die in battle and remove one of Kurin’s potential rivals from the Middle World.

Finally, Garan Makar was left alone with his thoughts and the sound of an army camp settling itself for bed, the gongs of watch and picket rung and the mutter of male conversation underscored with the smoke of cooking-braziers and halu lamps, those wonderful contraptions which would extinguish themselves upon tipping. He settled at the camp table piled high with dispatches awaiting attention, reports from patrols brushed in military jargon. It was too early to expect a letter from anyone at home; he hoped Mother could rein in Sensheo while he was gone. He had left no few precautions in place as a hedge about the Second Dowager Queen of Zhaon, but it irked him to be absent while she was in a snake-pit.

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