Ruins East of Cah Bel
entered the sanctum of his masterís tent. He had to wait a
moment to allow his eyes to become accustom to the darkness. He
could just make out the outline of his masterís throne turned away
from him. A pit five paces before the throne, the only source of
light, emitted a sickly green glow. At the periphery of the
lightís reach stood what could be called pillars. Their twisted
shapes looked like they grew up thickly out of the ground only to die
and wither into their present form, black, glossy supports of the tent
roof above. Consus, who frequented this chamber more than most,
dreaded every visit.
reverence, he began his approach to the throne.
master was growing quickly in power among the Salmonil tribes.
Consus had to admire the way he was
the authority of the Counsel of Tribes, the old order that passed and
enforced inter-tribal laws. Soon his master, Araknik the Gray
Wolf, would take their place. He ruled with a heavy hand that some
saw as oppressive, but others saw long overdue. The old pride of
the Salmonil was being restored through conquest and to many, a glorious
new age was about to dawn. The entire world might someday owe
allegiance to this formerly backward nomadic herdsman, and Consus wanted
to be at his side when it happened.
something about Araknik bothered Consus. Do
I really owe allegiance to this man, he had to ask himself, if
man he truly is. Rumor had it that he had lived over a
thousand years. Consus doubted that, but could guess that the
Gray Wolf, as he liked to be called, was somewhere around ninety or
a hundred, a withered and wasted man. This did not mean that
Consus considered his lord weak or feeble. On the contrary, his
master often chose his own tent guards as his sparing partners.