The Akkad-Ur was not one to waste time. He assessed the prisoners for a moment then gestured to his trackers to come close. After he received their report, he rose to his feet and walked slowly around the two spies. “You, or others like you, have been following us for days. Why?”
As he guessed, the man answered. Garbed in rough brown robes and leather pants, the man was short in stature, narrow-faced, and brought to mind the image of a weasel. “We were merely curious, my lord. The sight of such a magnificent army has not been seen on these Plains in generations.”
“True,” agreed the Tarmak. “But I know you better than you think. You are thieves. Brigands. Probably part of a larger gang of robbers, murderers, and sneaks. And I do not—” he moved swiftly in front of the kneeling man, slid a long, slim dagger smoothly out of its sheath, and rammed it into the man’s left eye, killing him instantly. “Tolerate sneaks,” he finished while the robber’s body sagged to the floor. He turned to the bozak. “Which are you?”
Without blinking an eye, the bozak replied, “The murderer.”
“Good.” The Akkad-Ur wiped the dagger blade on the dead man’s chest and slid the weapon back out of sight. “Perhaps we understand each other. I have heard the bozaks fight their battles with more than bloodlust.”
The draconian eyed him without reply. The Akkad-Ur returned to his chair and sat down.
“In the event you have not heard the news out here, the dragonlords Iyesta and Thunder are dead.” A widening of the draconian’s already bulging eyes was answer enough. “This realm is ours. We have taken Missing City and driven the dragon’s forces from the region.”
The bozak jerked his head. “We saw their trail,” he growled.
“Their complete destruction is a matter of time. However, if you and your fellow brigands do not wish to join them, I have an offer.” He picked up a leather bag from among the things on his worktable and tossed it to the bozak. It fell on the floor at his feet with a satisfying clink. “We are marching on Duntollik. With that realm in our grasp, the rest of the Plains will fall like overripe fruit. If you wish to participate in this glorious victory, we would welcome any news your trackers and scouts find interesting—any stray soldier you happen to capture, perhaps information on Duntollik’s tribes, the landmarks, or its leaders. Also if your people wish to join us in battle, we would reward you well.”
“How well?”
The Akkad-Ur waved a hand at the leather bag and smiled behind his mask. “Very well. There is plenty more where that came from.”
The bozak hesitated before he turned his heavy eyes to the necklace of dragon’s teeth around the Tarmak’s neck. “What will you do with the bronze?”
“Kill him eventually. For now he is useful.”
“Give me your word I may have his scales, and I will spread the news of your offer from the Toranth River pirates to the border gangs.”
“What makes you think you can trust my word?”
“I’d sooner trust a cobra,” snorted the draconian. “But we know many things about these plains you do not. We can be of service.”
“Such as?”
“The militia you seek has split up.”
“Where have they gone?”
The bozak only grinned a toothy, tightlipped grimace.
“I see,” said the Akkad-Ur, his mask glinting in the lamplight. “Very well. You have a deal. Your name?”
“Vorth.”
“Well, Vorth, if you serve us as you say, the bronze’s scales will be yours.”
The draconian picked up the leather bag and tucked it in his belt. Bowing once, he said, “The militia split into three groups. One is following the river, heading for Duntollik. A troop of centaurs went north, probably to rouse their clans. A third party went north and east toward the King’s Road.”
The Akkad-Ur steepled his fingers and stared thoughtfully through the eye holes of his mask. So, they were trying to raise the Plains against his army. The thought pleased him. The more people they pulled into the war, the better would be the battle and the greater would be their defeat. Let them run themselves ragged trying to draw help from every corner of the Plains. Their doom was inevitable.
“So be it. There is one other small matter I will offer you. A bounty. I wish to have an escaped prisoner returned to us. A woman Knight of Solamnia. She will probably be with the militia heading for Duntollik. She is a skilled warrior, so her capture will not be easy. I will pay one-hundred steel coins for her alive.”
“What about dead?”
“The person who brings me this woman dead will meet the same fate.”
“Ah.” The bozak flicked his pointed ears. “I will remember that.”
His business with the draconian finished, the Akkad-Ur gestured to his guards and dismissed the draconian. He watched as the bozak stamped out.
Something stirred in the deep shadows at the back of the tent, then a grubby and weary-looking man stepped out of the sleeping area and tread softly across the carpets.
“Mercenaries again?” he said behind the Akkad-Ur. “How long will these last?”
The Akkad-Ur did not turn around. “As long as they are useful. If they prove troublesome, we can put them in the front of battle and crush them in the middle.” He heard the splash of wine and held out a hand. A wine cup was pressed into his palm. “You really should stay downwind of me,” he remarked.
His visitor ignored the comment. “To the militia,” the man said, coming around to face the general. He raised his cup in a toast. “They are a courageous and tenacious foe.”
“They have been more of a challenge than we anticipated,” agreed the Akkad-Ur. “Yet the Rose Knight fled. That surprised me.”
“She did not run away. She is making a strategic withdrawal. As long as you have the dragon, she will not go far.”
“She cares a great deal for that dragon,” the Tarmak mused. “Does that bother you?”
“No. It is a dragon.”
But the denial paused just a heartbeat too late and came a little too emphatically. The Akkad-Ur knew this man well and realized the truth behind the words. “When the time comes, you may kill the dragon,” he offered.
“She would never forgive me,” the man said. “That’s hardly a way to win a woman.”
“Why win her? Just take her.”
But the man realized he’d said too much about a subject he preferred to keep personal. He drank deeply of his wine and deliberately spilled some down his filthy tunic. “I have to explain the smell of wine. You’re torturing me, remember?”
“Why continue this ruse?” The Akkad-Ur said, pouring more wine. “The Knights are ours and the woman is gone. Come and take your rightful place beside me.”
The man stared at the red liquid in his cup. “I have considered that. But I don’t believe the Rose Knight and the militia are quite through. I prefer to keep undercover until she is back in our hands and we have defeated the forces of Duntollik.”
The Tarmak shrugged. “As you wish.”
The man drained his cup, set it down, and stood in front of the Akkad-Ur. “Does the dragon know yet?”
“No. But he is growing restive. He has asked to see her several times.”
“It would, I believe, be a good idea to get her back.”
“I have already sent the bandits after her. Do you want more?”
“Let’s try the Solamnic Knights.”
“Tell me.”
The man did, and when he was finished, an appreciative and knowing smile lifted the Akkad-Ur’s mouth. “I will do as you suggest.”
“Good. Now you’d better hit me. Just once, please. Make it look believable.”
The Akkad-Ur clenched his fist and punched the man on the cheek bone, not hard enough to break bone but enough to leave a colorful bruise and a black eye.
The two bowed to each other, and when the guards were called back into the tent, the man extended his arms. He was bound and shoved forcefully out the entrance. Dirty, dripping with blood and wine, and seemingly hurting in every limb, he returned to his companions in the slave camp.