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Galal: Horde Master
Lady Uthain 7

Lady Uthain 7

She approached the stables, the sound of gnawing and the irony smell of blood forming a wall at the door as she opened it. She pushed through, entering the blood soaked air of the stable, wishing that it smelled of the horse manure that she once cursed. The Khor made you rethink many things.

The lot of them sat or stood, huddled together as they pulled flesh from bone, the bones of a cattle picked clean resting in the far corner. There were only five of them, each wearing mail while the largest wore a cuirass. Galal, the one she had met some time ago, had become much larger than her memory. The stable was barely tall enough to stand in, even when he crouched.

“Galal,” she said in greeting. She had had his attention since she came inside, probably before. Keen senses of smell, it turned out. As good as a hounds, maybe better.

“Uthain,” the Khor said. The title of Lady never seemed to cross the beasts lips, if they could be called that. It was doubtful he remembered it at all.

“Will the Khor be ready by next week?” She asked. Galal nodded, eyes flickering between her and her guards. He could smell their fear, she assumed. She didn’t even need to be able to smell it to know how afraid they were. She was just as afraid, maybe more so. They had weapons and were closer to the door, after all.

Galal moved, changing his posture and straightening his back, his horns scraping against the roof. Her guards moved closer, their spears never pointing his way. The Khor were aggressive. A spear pointed their way might be seen as a challenge. A challenge humans would lose.

“Our treaty,” he began. “When will it be official?”

“When we’re done discussing it,” she said.

“We will be citizens. We will be provided food. We will be taught to build, to sustain ourselves, as you humans do.” No question. Not even demands. He merely said what would happen, and she feared to say no.

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“Fifteen kilograms of fish, twenty-five kilograms of mixed cattle and game meat, and ten kilograms of potatoes and bread will be sent monthly. You will all be considered citizens of the kingdom and subject to the military draft, and absolved of citizenly duties related to tax until such a time that taxation would not be considered an undue burden, and craftsman, smiths, and farmers will be sent to reside in your village to teach you their arts.”

The Khor nodded at her words, uncomplaining. It was not the most beneficial deal. Nothing more than a pet project, as far as her father and uncle were concerned. An expense to keep her busy. They didn’t seem to grasp the weight of the situation she was moulding.

“What is our goal?”

“A country to the west, called Darstin. You will be escorted there by a team of knights, then you will cross the border with them. They will guide you to where you are needed, you need only kill who they tell you to, and capture who they tell you to.”

“Understood.” He shifted again, moving closer, blood-drenched breath brushing against her face as he spoke. “One other thing, Uthain. I will bring together the Khor. Our village will grow, first to a town, then a city. With time we will be a nation all our own.”

Lady Uthain swallowed, looking everywhere but at him. “You will need to be self sustaining, then. The kingdom will not give you more than what we are agreeing to now.”

“That is fine with me,” he said.

“The kingdom also demands that, at such a time, you will become a vassal.” The words escaped her mouth sterner than she felt. They had confidence where she did not.

Galal moved again, leaning away from her. “I accept,” he said. “Are we done?”

“We are,” she replied. His attention turned to the others, the guttural words of their kind oozing from his mouth. She went to leave, backing away from them, not daring to turn. The knights opened the door for her, letter her pass through the doorway first, shutting it hurriedly behind them as the went to flank her.

Memories popped into her mind. First, her meeting with the beast, then the battle she witnessed. A frightening thought, to face them. Pity would be due, if she had any to give. But there was no pity to be had in war.