[indent][b]Kussaz[/b][/indent]
[hr]

Kussaz looked around the field. It seemed already that merchants and families from the baggage train were settling in and making camp. In a relatively flat spot, a boy was setting up a makeshift home using scavenged firewood and bits of animal hides. Earlier in the day, as he rode on the wagon, he had been carving wooden pegs while his father's horses carried salted beef and ale for the army. Now he proudly showed them to his father as he began to tie down what he could. No doubt the wagon will be instrumental to the construction of their shelter later, provided that their chief did not order some use for them in the coming few days.

This would be a fine event for them, especially the young ones. This was the first time so many tribes had been called to a council since the last invasion. However where at the first council the air was filled with apprehension and anxiety, here it seemed that there was a familiarity to the whole affair. Although the boy's father will be busy trying to trade his wares for excess goods from far off Thraxians, the boy himself will no doubt meet himself with boys from across the mountains. “Already the empire has started to whip us into a governable province,” thought Kussaz, as he gazed at a group of affluent merchants wearing Imperial dress improperly. 

A young and rough voice broke Kussaz’s concentration.

"Kussaz, walk with me friend." 

"Stay close. Keep your eyes and ears open. We have many allies and more enemies, but remember what matters most."

"The Rhead. Nothing else."

“That’s right, we are here on business,” thought Kussaz. He had warned his chief that there were more politically savvy men at his court that he could bring, should bring, instead of the old mercenary he had put out to pasture. Kussaz lacked the eyes of a king, but the boy had them. He could see the boy glancing at the lesser chiefs as a cat watches a bug. His eyes darted around the field trying to decide which to let creep away and which deserved to be swatted. The witch-queen had that same look in her eyes the day she entered Kerenatam’s war camp. 

Kussaz shook his head “Leave the politics for the great men” he thought, he had more important work to do. 

“Eogan, come here.”

“Aye, sir?”

“I have a task for you. I need you to go around the tribes and find out anything you can that could help us.”

“Like what?” asked the young man impertinently. He was a personal sword in the service of the high warlord of the Rhead. While he was a good warrior, Kussaz assured Kerenatam that the boy was more use training to organize men from behind as opposed to lead them from the front. 

“Harvests, freak storms, calves born with three heads, anything important to the common folks is important to us. Plus, anything a professional soldier like you deems important probably is. Here is some cash to pay for any expenses, stay sober enough to report tomorrow.”

The boy stopped long enough to process the request, but took the silver and went off without much of a fight. The chief’s steward gave him many errands to run and rarely explained until weeks later. However, this task loosely translated to “go get drunk and gossip” and he wouldn’t miss a chance to carry out such an order with diligence and promptness.

As the boy ran off Kussaz returned his gaze to the field where a boy assembled his families shelter. Among this chess match of retainers, chiefs, and holy men, these were their pawns.