The council chamber was cold despite the fire-pillars burning in the plaza below. Stone walls, stone table, stone faces—Zekar sat at the head of it all and tried to remember how to be a leader. His mind was in another place.
Or rather, person.
Ryker was to his right, his mangled arm resting in its sling, his face drawn with exhaustion but his eyes still sharp. Across the table, Thea, a beautiful woman of Khursaga spoke in her calm, unhurried voice, reporting on supply lines and granary stores. Her hands were stained with the red earth of the mountains, and she smelled of loam and growing things.
"Ghorum Vasketh thal'varun khezzar, mor,"[1] she said in the Khursagan tongue, but everyone understood. Since they were now one, they each hustled to learn each tribes' language, for those who weren't learned in English. "We can move grain through the caves without exposing the wagons. The Empire's scouts haven't found the hidden paths yet." She continued.
