With some distaste, Wargrach studied the two saur standing in front of him. One was a Longneck with a hand missing. The other was a Plated One with a hideous scar across his brow. 'I need information,' he said to them. 'What have you found, Varchog?'
The Long-neck twitched – a horrible jerking action. 'Well, my lord, it's been difficult – '
'I don't want to know about your troubles. I want to know what's going on.' Wargrach hadn't provided chairs in the tiny, windowless room off the main banqueting hall, just to keep the two saur uneasy. He was perfectly happy propped on his tail, arms crossed. 'And you, Irjag? What can you add? You've had plenty of time to cement your position here in High Battilon. Now I'm back, I want your news.'
The Plated One swallowed and glanced at Varchog. 'My lord. We did your bidding. When you left High Battilon after removing Lord Ollamon we came and found lowly positions. I'm in charge of the castle gardens. Varchog has been travelling through the Eastern Peaks and the rest of Thraag as a grain merchant. No-one suspected that we were your agents.'
Wargrach snorted. 'I hope not. Spies who are known to be spies are useless. Remember that I rescued you after your discharge from the Army. Remember that I ensured your wounds were tended to. Remember that you would have died and been buried in unmarked graves if it weren't for me.'
'Of course, my lord,' Varchog said hastily. He shifted from foot to foot. 'And we are striving to do your bidding.'
'We do have some information, my lord,' Irjag added. 'We've recruited a few young saur and we've sent them out to gather others to your service.'
'I know.' Wargrach had seen their recruits. His jaw clenched with disgust. In the past year, the saur of High Battilon and the neighbouring village of Lod had never accepted his rule. While never openly rebelling, they managed to find small ways to frustrate his plans. Some had actually fled to the forests and were living as outlaws. The local 'recruits' were the few layabouts and malcontents in the community. Wargrach thought them poor quality at best.
Varchog twitched again. 'We've begun contacting our old agents, re-establishing your web of spies. They're starting to send experienced saur, and they're telling us that the Queen's preparations are continuing.'
'It's a huge mobilisation,' Irjag put in. 'Ten new battalions have been added to the Army.'
'Ten thousand new soldiers.' Wargrach scratched his empty eye socket. It itched, but he did it mostly for the effect it had on his two spies.
He pondered the news. Tayesha had not abandoned her plans, but he knew that the Queen would have difficulty in achieving her goals without performing the full and complete ritual. He'd given her many manuscripts and old tomes over the years to help her construct the correct sequence of the ceremony, but he'd always kept certain knowledge from her.
'Go,' he barked. 'I need more. I need more saur ready to serve me here at High Battilon. I want to know exactly when and where the Queen's Army is planning to move. I want to know who is in charge and I want to know everything about them. If you can't tell me what they eat for breakfast, it will be ill for you.'
The two saur stared, then bowed and hurried out.
Wargrach waited a moment, then left by another door.
He stalked through the corridors, head down, deep in thought. Despite the difficulties Varchog and Irjag had whined about, the old network of agents and spies that Wargrach had established over the years was slowly knitting itself back together. His preparations were bearing fruit.
He stopped when he reached the corridor leading to his quarters. A young Clawed One stood on guard. His weapons were bright, his posture proud. 'All quiet, soldier?'
The guard nodded. 'Nothing to report, my lord.'
Wargrach grunted, limped on and entered his chamber.
His living quarters were in a little-used part of the castle. Wargrach had chosen them for that reason, ignoring more luxurious rooms in favour of quiet and security. A simple bed, a scarred table and a washstand were the only furnishings, with a battered trunk standing at the foot of the bed. The stone floor was bare and the single window was small, looking out over the barracks.
It suited him. Comfort was a sign of weakness in modern saur.
He rummaged around and found a sheaf of papers in his trunk. He smoothed them out on the table.
His customary caution had prompted him to remove these pages from the books he'd given Tayesha; he was wary of giving too much information to anyone. But underneath that motive was a deep-seated unease at anything to do with the A'ak.
Wargrach had been privy to many secrets over the years. He cultivated them as a farmer might cultivate truffles, knowing that some of them could stay hidden for years. In that time, he'd grown interested in the A'ak. At first, he'd been attracted by their fierce reputation as warriors, then he grew concerned at their utterly alien attitude to life and death. Wargrach never admitted he felt fear, but the more he learned about the A'ak, the more troubled he was.
He stared at the pages he'd kept. All of them mentioned the A'ak. Many were mysterious, speaking of the link between the land and the saur, but in elusive and roundabout ways. Wargrach had little patience for such mystical stuff, but one of the parchments – one he'd stumbled on years ago – hinted at the return of the A'ak.
It was a single page, battered and water-stained. It was obviously the conclusion to a much longer document. Toward the end the tone of the writing changed from dry and detached to what Wargrach could only describe as terrified. The script became rushed, as if the writer was running out of time. It finished shrilly, with confused warnings of stone monsters, the advance guard for the A'ak.
The prospect made Wargrach grind his sharp, predator teeth. The A'ak would be a formidable foe indeed. He growled, deep in his throat, a natural Toothed One reaction to a threat. Then he began to think.
Toothed Ones were not renowned for their cleverness. Their strength lay in their willingness to fight and not give in. Toothed One military tactics usually favoured the all-out, life-or-death charge into the face of the enemy.
Wargrach was different. He knew that strength was important, but cunning was just as useful. Staring at the ancient writings that foretold the return of the A'ak, his devious mind began to race.
If the A'ak were to return, surely they would need an ally, someone who knew the best way to exploit the saur of Krangor?
Slowly, Wargrach began to smile.