Hand Over Fist

The Council

Hest straightened up as one of the elders, a broad shouldered Pantor that looked as if he could don armor and jump into battle that very moment, began to speak.

“Well, Colonel Hest.  This is a surprise.  We usually aren’t visited by one of our nation’s greatest warriors in the midst of our meditations.”  He stood and accepted a woven cloth robe from a servant, which appeared silently out of the mist to hand it to him.  As the big Pantor elder wrapped the robe about his body, he stepped from the pool’s warm embrace and slowly walked around its perimeter towards Hest and his guest.

“And with such an interesting companion!  You are human, are you not?” the elder asked, turning his bewhiskered face towards van Joss.

The slender operative bowed deeply.

“Yes, your honor.  That I am,” he replied smoothly as he came erect.  “I am van Joss, a ...”

“Representative of your government.  Yes, yes, that I already know.  And about this alliance of yours,” the elder said, abruptly thoughtful.  “Intriguing, to say the least.  And started by the humans, Noranda’s most hated species!”

Van Joss let a slight smile touch his lips.  This Pantor was extremely well informed, it would seem.  Either that would make his job easier, or all that much more difficult!  Time to find out.

“You are well informed, your honor,” the thin operative said with a respectful inclination of his head.

The big Pantor elder smiled thinly.

“Mmm, yes.  It would seem, wouldn’t it?”  Abruptly he extended a massive paw in an all too human gesture.

“I am Director Prell, Seasonal Chair for the Council of Directors of the Pantor Protectorate.”  Carefully van Joss took the Pantor’s hand.  And immediately Prell gave it a firm shake, smiling almost lazily.

“And I believe you’ve met my esteemed colleagues of the council.”  He indicated the other Pantor still sitting in the hot pool with a wide gesture of his free hand.  “I’m afraid you have caught us in a moment of meditation as we ponder our next step in our defensive action against the Primiad.”

“Then, perhaps, Director Prell, I have come at a most opportune moment,” van Joss said with a second inclination of his head in respect.  He then swiftly outlined his proposal after a brief pause.

“Are you suggesting we consider joining the Protectorate to this alliance of yours?” one of the other Pantor elders asked from where he lounged in the pool almost in the shadow of van Joss’ final words a handful of moments’ later.  “Mating the holy body of the Protectorate to a motley collection of cast offs, misfits and sinners?”

Van Joss couldn’t help but smile thinly.

“Yes, your honor,” he said in a quiet yet intense voice, “that is exactly what I am suggesting.  Your vaunted purity is doing little to hold back the Primiad tide that threatens to overwhelm your beleaguered defenders.  No offense meant.”

“And none taken,” Prell answered, a thoughtful expression coming across his face.  “You’ve made a compelling point, Master van Joss.  A point that has been a source of contention in our council deliberations.  For we too have seen the advance of the unwashed heathen against our holy boundaries, despite the faith and prowess of our warriors.  We know this is a trial sent to us by the Creator, to test our faith and willingness to bend to His will.  But we also have an eye to its temporal meaning.”

Abruptly Prell turned away.

“Leave us, Master van Joss.  We will discuss this matter further in our council.  We now see that events have taken us to a point where a decision must be made quickly.  So we will have one for you within the hour.  Let it be said that the Directors of the Protectorate move swiftly, when the need is upon them!”