War in Griol

Chapter 2

Excerpt from the field journal of Radovic Latko.

751, Griol Calendar. Hebdet, Zatu-Al-Amun.

We've finally made it. The troops crossed the border into Zatu early this morning and we made camp not far from the small town of Hebdet. It doesn't look particularly threatening, and I haven't even seen any snake men. General Sorin told us they were called 'Yuan-ti', and that not all of them have snake bodies.

I was part of the scouting team and was fortunate enough to lay eyes on the town myself. It was small, for a town; much more like a village or outpost. The buildings appeared to be constructed out of sandstone, clay, and some amount of straw.

The most impressive of these was the small pyramid in the centre around which everything else was built. It had smooth stone all the way to the top, and some entrances that remained quite unused during the time we spent watching.

I saw men and women going about their business. The General assured me that they are in fact the Yuan-ti, but their breed is of a kind more similar to us. He said that the more terrifying creatures lurk in the complex underground lairs they've built beneath their pyramid temples. It's in these cave systems they also hid their nests, and kept human prisoners they'd captured in the past.

If they've not yet realised our presence in their land, we'll be attacking under cover of night. Otherwise, the fight could very well come to us.

End of excerpt.

767, Griol Calendar. Ozgur's Rest, Griol

"You are a fool and worse, an imbecile!" a loud murmuring from the attending crowd swelled in response to the insult, dying down just in time for the reply to hurl across the room, "If I were a fool, I'd have supported your raid on Khede last year, and look how that turned out!" The crowd got louder, again.

As an officer of rank, nothing brought me more joy than watching the generals make complete asses of themselves attempting to gather support for their next campaign. The crowd was mostly made up of captains, commanders, generals, and a handful of veterans who'd survived long enough to earn respect, but had shown no aptitude for leadership by which to earn a promotion themselves.

While we watched comfortably from the viewing gallery, the two generals debated over the best use of our country's resources from lecterns that faced each other on opposite ends of a large stone dias.

Not terribly comfortable for the generals though. I could see the dust suspended in the air on hot beams of light that fell through the large ornate windows surrounding the chamber. Sweat and spit flew in all directions with every harsh utterance, the earnest passion of their delivery visible with every emotive gesture. It was obvious why the rest of us needed to sit away from it all, if we wanted to stay dry throughout the ordeal.

The representative for the Tsar council sat between them, unspeaking. It was quite impossible to tell exactly what went on in her mind. She wore blue-gray robes trimmed with gold and black that marked her as the arbiter for this debate. It was ultimately up to her to decide who's campaign would be brought before the council, making her approval the most important thing in the world to these men of war.

A nudge at my side caught my attention, I turned to see commander Bardak wearing an amused expression as though we were appreciating a good bit of theatre.

"Anybody given you odds yet, Latko?" Commander Bardak was the same rank as me, though a few years my senior; I didn't mind him dropping my title even in this formal environment.

I briefly put my gaze to the two generals in the centre, then brought it back, "Not yet. Though I'll take a half-talent on Nivlenco getting his way."