Shortly after the herald’s departure Vireon emerged from the chamber. Alua walked arm in arm with him. She looked much the same in her gown of white fabric and cloak of snow-bear hide, blonde hair streaming in wild curls down her back. The King wore his crown of iron and sapphires thanks to Vantha the Tigress. She had taken it from the battlefield while Dahrima had grabbed up Vireon’s body.
Vireon wore a corslet of gilded bronze, the rising sun insignia of Uurz set in emeralds across the breast. His broad belt supported a kilt of bronze plaits. His northern-made boots had been replaced with Uurzian sandals. There was much of Tyro about him in these accoutrements, but the cloak pinned at his shoulders was the deep purple of Udurum. He carried no blade or weapon yet to replace his ruined greatsword; the armory of Uurz would soon stand open to him.
Vireon paused as the chamber doors swung shut behind him. His blue eyes met Dahrima’s own. He stood at the size of a Man now, yet his aura was still that of a Giant.
“Come with us, Axe,” he said. “You too must sit on this council of war.”
Dahrima followed him through the winding halls and soaring galleries of the palace, skirting the empty throne room and at times ducking to avoid low lintels. The council chamber lay above the Grand Hall and to its south. Inside it Lord Mendices shared the great table with D’zan, Iardu, Sharadza, Vaazhia, and the Feathered Serpent, who sat at ease in his Man shape.
Khama seemed wholly recovered from his deep wounds. He wore the white-green robes of an Uurzian lord, without his Mumbazan headdress or feathered cloak. The braids of his long, dark hair were thick as adders, and his brown face was lined with worry. Dahrima sensed the grief hanging like a yoke about his thin shoulders. The King he had watched over from boyhood was dead. Khama resembled nothing less than a father who had lost his son.
Crystal flagons of red and yellow wines cluttered the tabletop, along with jeweled cups and jasper bowls piled with grapes, olives, and pears. Iardu was the only one drinking as yet. Sharadza sat between the Shaper and D’zan, though she spoke to neither.
Vireon and Alua took the chairs assigned for them, and the Giant-King announced that Dahrima would share their council. Dahrima wanted to stand nearby as she was accustomed to doing, but Mendices ordered a chair brought for her. Now Vireon sat between Dahrima and Alua. Dahrima displayed nothing at all of the discomfort this placement caused her.
The walls were thick with tapestries depicting ancient battles, including the exploits of Vod slaying Omagh the Serpent-Father. Dahrima did not recognize any of the other historical figures, most of them Uurzian heroes. Two great windows allowed the scarlet sunset to spill within, but the chamber’s chief light came from six braziers suspended by chains from the high ceiling. The warm air of evening blew in through the casements, and stars glimmered to life above the rooftops of Uurz.
Mendices the Regent, who was honor-bound to perform the duties of his fallen Emperor, was the first to speak. “Friends and allies,” he began. “The Gods of Earth and Sky allow us to assemble here in unity. We have suffered a great defeat and survived it. We have seen two valiant Kings fall at the hands of our enemies. Our losses have been staggering, and we will mourn them at a more appropriate time. Yet our spirit remains unbroken, and we live to face our enemy again. This will happen soon. As the standing Regent of Uurz, I welcome you all in the name of the Stormlands and the City of Sacred Waters.”
The Warlord raised his cup and most of those gathered returned his toast. Only Dahrima, Sharadza, and Alua chose not to drink. “First, let it be known that my duties as Regent will last only until the remaining Son of Dairon returns to claim his crown. A delegation sails even now to retrieve the Scholar King from his exile in Yaskatha. Yet we must face a new battle and a siege without him. I will take the Sword King’s place at the head of our legions, though I cannot hope to inspire them half as well as Tyro did.”
D’zan sat next to Mendices. His bandages were hidden beneath a long-sleeved tunic of black silk stitched with the Sword and Tree insignia of Yaskatha. Mendices placed a hand lightly upon his shoulder.
“King D’zan, who fought bravely in the valley of Shar Dni, chooses to stand with us once again. Yet his Yaskathan legions will not reach us before Zyung’s siege, which falls upon us tomorrow. The Feathered Serpent of Mumbaza also stands with us to avenge the death of mighty Undutu, who fell among a sea of enemies. As with Yaskatha, we can expect no aid from the legions of Mumbaza for several weeks. The loss of the great southern fleets means a land-bound journey for both these armies. So we must face Zyung’s horde with the twelve Uurzian legions at my command, a single legion of surviving Udurumites, and–our greatest asset–a legion of Giants who march at Vireon’s command.”