Chapter 1417: Eyes on the ground(1)

"My Prince, it is an honor to have your presence beneath my roof’’ the chieftain of the Voghondai rumbled, steadying his thick frame against the carved arms of his chair. His expression shifted between a polite twitch of the mouth and a broad, toothy grimace, as if he were cycling through an armory of southern courtesies to find one that fit for the event.

A full decade had passed since the Voghondai were first granted soil in the King’s dominions, yet even now, many, Torghan included, stumbled over the finer points of Yarzat custom. The sacred feast days of the Five were a baffling maze to them; the holy allegories, the weeping statues, and the solemn fasts were lost on men whose spirit demanded little of them, even less than than hymns in chapels.

Beyond the awkwardness of his courtly manners and his fierce reputation as the battle-commander of the auxiliarii there was little to soften the man. Torghan was dark of skin by Yarzat measure, his face stamped with foreign angles that twenty winters ago would have drawn superstitious spit and muttered warding-prayers in the street.

But Yarzat was shedding its provincial skin, swelling into a cosmopolitan hive. A whole quarter near the southern wharves was now thick with Azanian merchants whose complexions were black as polished obsidian, passing whole seasons trading silks , sugar , hard sweet roots and spices for soap and cider.

Entering his thirties, Torghan carried features lean to the point of severe sharpness, his close-set dark eyes offset by a prominent, aquiline nose that lent a predatory fullness to his face.

Basil remembered him from the day the chieftain was first paraded through the capital: a scrawny, middling lad in sheepskin. He had not sprouted much in height since, but he had broadened immensely in sinew, forged by relentless cavalry drills and a steady diet of royal beef, grain, and river-fish.

The Voghondai were well treated. They donned Yarzat wool, picked up the vulgar tongue, and a few even bowed toward the altar of the Father Protector.

Those townsfolk who still despised the foreign heathens kept their mouths firmly shut; everyone knew the King held their leash, and a man did not spit at the hound when the master held the whip.

"I am sorry to disturb you so soon after your return," Basil said amiably, settling into the timber chair opposite the warrior. Though Torghan was not a tall man, he still looked down upon the young prince with seasoned bulk to spare.

"Disturb me?" Torghan barked with a dry laugh. "My Prince, what disturbs me is the saddle-boil on my backside. What disturbs me is the ache in my shoulder where a wall fell on me during the Fingers’ rape.

A prince never disturbs me, least of all you. You come asking about my clan’s ways, our songs, our steel. That is fire in my belly! We are the strangers here; we are the ones who must learn how you southern folk walk without tripping over your own cloaks."

"You are an iron pillar of my father’s realm, it is an unjustice for you to say that," Basil replied smoothly. "In years to come, I hope to see more of your blood among the officers of the line. You are a proud people with unbending morals.I would do well to study your culture.."

And entirely dependent upon the Crown’s grace to avoid a general slaughter, Basil added silently.

In truth, Basil considered his father’s attempts to convert the tribe a blunder. It was far safer if the Voghondai remained distinct, exotic, and foreign. Kept apart by their strange tongue and foreign gods, they could never properly intertwine with the noble factions, the scheming lords, or the high church. All they knew was to wield their axes, break the King’s enemies, and drag the plunder home to their families. The moment they became ordinary Yarzat lords, they would learn the ordinary Yarzat vices: treason, greed, and factional ambition.

"Well, you are one of the few who speaks to me without counting our hides," Torghan said, leaning back. "Most nobles that bothers only ask how many lances we can mount, how many sheep we shear for merchants that come our way, and how many acres of winter wheat we turn over for the King. You will make a fine master when your father goes to the gods, Prince. The Voghondai will hold your stirrup more than fine as you mount."

"I pray that day remains far over the horizon," Basil murmured.

"The whole city prays the same, I reckon,even ours" Torghan agreed with a grim nod. "Your father is a great ruler.Great warrior and wise man.Even the crows can see that." A pause and then a grin "Especially them black birds.

They only have to follow the Black Falcon standard and wait for the feast to be laid out on the grass." He chuckled, drumming his calloused knuckles on his knee. "So, did you come to my quarters for another tale? I have a grand one about the Flame-Bearer, who had flames on both axes and swords, he was the first and only warlord who forged all eleven clans into a single fist and laid defeat to the Thrazanie.

Unfortunately his sons fractured his kingdom and none proved as great as the Flame-Bearer."

"It sounds like a magnificent song," Basil said, offering a polite tilt of his head, "but my errand is of a colder nature. You know that several mountain clans, the Valakii, the Mashki, the Aranuai, have formally petitioned the Crown to settle along our borders."

Torghan’s amusement melted away like snow at the first summer wind, replaced by a flat, unblinking wariness. "Aye. I know. The warriors served under me while we hunted Ratio through the bogs and trees and rivers. Around every campfire, all they talked of was taking wives, building stone huts, and claiming sweet pasture in the south. And why not? The soil is rich, the rivers are fat, and the folk are soft. But what has that to do with your visit, my Prince?"

"Everything," Basil said, spreading his hands across the armrests. "My father has laid the petition upon my shoulders. The choice of where they settle is mine to make. Before I draft the charters and assign the lands, I need to know precisely what manner of men we are letting through the gate. Which is why I came to the man who led them through the fire.You must have had dealings with them even before you came to Yarzat, I was hoping for you to tell me what type of people they are."

Torghan settled back with a sigh. "I fear I may disappoint you on ancient histories, my Prince," Torghan said, leaning his forearms on his knees "My people had scarce any dealings with those dogs in the high crags. In the old days, their clans bent the knee to the Duskwindai, and they only bothered to spit our way after my father’s warriors broke the Duskwindai host in the passes with the aid of the garrison you people built in my old land.

Believe me, if we had possessed leal brothers to lean on up north, your father would not have found my folk gnawing on frozen roots and leather scraps... and half my tribe wouldn’t have jumped at the chance to plow southern mud. All I know of the Valakii and their lot is what I tallied with my own two eyes while we chased the Vulture."

"And did your eyes catch much?" Basil asked, leaning forward. He silently prayed the chieftain would offer more substance than the usual tavern drivel about hill-savages roasting infants on spits and washing their beards in maiden’s blood as he had heard from many other sources.

Basil knew for a fact that was the rumors they passed of the legions themselves.

"Did I catch much?" Torghan barked a rich, gravelly laugh that showed off a mouthful of crooked though also white teeth. "My Prince, I caught everything. Ten winters ago, the Voghondai were the only wolfpack in your father’s yard. We had the monopoly on savagery, you see. If more clans come crossing the river, our price per head drops like bad grain at market. A smart shepherd counts the teeth of every strange hound that sniffs around the flock, always go to the younger ones my prince, they are the one with the most to prove the and the one with most fires. I believe that works on many accounts"

Basil blinked, the quiet prince regarding the scarred chieftain in a startlingly new light.

He plays the blunt brute for the court, Basil thought, tucking the revelation neatly into the back of his mind, but behind those squinting eyes sits a mind sharper than my father’s scribes.

He understood his position, and also understood the risk having other tribes in the reign would prove to his own position. Is he perhaps attempting to set my minds against the newcomers?

One day he would be king, and it would do a great deal for the Voghondai to be held as the crown favored hunting hound.

He thought much about it, the worries that Torghan’s people might have for a future yet to come.

Though of course he also knew some of his worries were unfounded, after all one of the prince’s legate was his goodbrother, and a strong noble family close to the king would always have Voghondai blood. They would not risk their position as favorites of the king for a long time, Basil believed.

Still with duty in mind he started asking his questions, hoping to get more than he had already got from the others.