“They aren’t coming with us,” Drakis cut him off.
“What?”
“Only our Octian is going back right now,” Drakis said, his eyes blinking.
“But what about our loot?” Ethis said. “It has to be accounted and credited. . prepared for transport. .”
“Already done, it seems,” Drakis said
“Already? What about the crown. . did Jerakh get away with it?”
“I don’t know. All I was told is that all the prizes looted by every Octian of our Centurai have already been accounted, credited, and sent on to House Timuran.”
“Well. . well that’s more like it!” Thuri said, the semblance of a smile forming on the featureless face of the chimerian. “A great honor! Perhaps that throwing the Dwarven Crown from the throne did connect with Jerakh after all!”
“Whatever the reason,” Drakis said, clearing his throat, “we’re leaving right away. . and there will be no time for Devotions either. .”
“Not even at the Field Altar?” Thuri groaned. “I’m getting headaches. . I need Devotions!”
“There’s not enough time,” Drakis said emphatically. “Listen to me: We’ll get our Devotions soon enough and not from some weak Field Altar but straight from the House Altar itself.” He turned to the manticore standing next to him. “Belag, I need you to find Jerakh-he’s the Second Octian leader-and the two of you to round up the other Cohort leaders of the Centurai. Bring them here in the next half hour.”
Belag straightened, lifting his snout into the air. “Why should I?”
“Because I was third behind ChuKang and KriChan,” Drakis hung his thumbs from his belt. “They’re both dead, which now makes me the Centurai captain. That was true in battle, and it’s still true here. You are welcome to argue the point with Se’Djinka. I’m sure it would give him great pleasure to explain it to you.”
Belag’s lips curled, but by the slow slump of the manticore’s shoulders, Drakis knew he was still in charge. “Jerakh will be in charge of the Centurai after we’ve left; it will be his job to get them organized for transport over the next week-maybe twelve days depending on how crowded the Imperial Folds get. Every Cohort on the front is going to want to get home at the same time.”
“Except for the four of us?” Thuri’s voice was uncertain.
“I guess Lord Timuran must have really missed your face, Thuri,” Drakis spoke as lightly as he could manage. “He arranged for our immediate passage, and, from what I gather, the Myrdin-dai who are mastering the folds are none too happy about it. So get moving and you may be back in time for House Devotions tonight!”
Belag nodded once in deference to Drakis before turning to run between the throngs of warriors milling about, his large feet kicking clumps of mud up behind him. Ethis quickly began to douse the already nearly dead fire as Thuri collected several weapons from where they lay wrapped in an oilskin tarpaulin.
Drakis stood for a moment, uncertain as to what to do next. The damnable song had returned again. He tried to push it out of his mind with thoughts of returning to his beloved Mala.
“What about him?” Thuri said, nodding in the direction of the House Standard.
A waterlogged dwarf in outlandish costume sat with his back to the pole, his hands tied around it behind him. Water drizzled down from the leaden Timuran battle standard and directly onto Jugar’s once glorious hat. Now the dwarf’s entire outfit seemed to sag right along with him. The soaked brim flopped down over the creature’s eyes, making it impossible for him to see anything.
“Helloooo!” called the damp dwarf from under his badly sagging hat. “May I help you? I’d be delighted to direct you to the valuables, but there aren’t any here. They took them all this morning-only this sorry dwarf remains!”
Drakis huffed with irritation and strode over to where the dwarf sat in the mud. He reached down to yank the hat off the dwarf’s head, but a pool of water had gathered in its crown. As a result, the hat only came away after sending a sizable body of water splashing down on the miserable dwarf’s head.