Raithe usually refrained from talking in the meetings, and he felt Nyphron should keep quiet, too, for the very same reason: They represented virtually no one. But Raithe didn’t like the look on Persephone’s face. Her expression indicated she was weighing Nyphron’s words carefully.
None of the other chieftains possessed the courage to challenge the Fhrey leader, so Raithe had to say something. Lack of proper weapons had been the reason he’d refused to be the keenig in the first place, and Nyphron wanted to take the Rhist before they had time to prepare. Persephone had returned from Belgreig with the secret of iron, but forging enough weapons for an army would take time.
“Your recklessness demonstrates why Persephone is the keenig and you are not,” Raithe said loudly to Nyphron, drawing attention. “You’re Fhrey. You don’t care about the lives of us Rhunes. The only thing you care about is winning. The amount of blood spilled while reaching your goal is inconsequential—because it won’t be yours. Attacking Alon Rhist before we’re properly trained and have adequate weapons will be suicide. Hundreds, maybe thousands, could die on those walls. And then—”
“No one is going to die,” Nyphron replied in a superior tone that suggested he was speaking to an imbecile.
Raithe took a step toward him. “If we attack one of the most fortified strongholds in the world with farmers armed merely with mattocks, men will die. Many men.” Raithe turned to the other chieftains. “You’ve been to Alon Rhist, right?” He pointed at Nyphron. “Isn’t it filled with an army of Fhrey warriors like him? Charging those walls will be like slapping a beehive with a stick. Except these bees don’t just sting. They cut off your head with very sharp bronze swords while hiding behind massive shields.”
Persephone was paying attention to him, listening.
That’s something, at least.
“I’m not asking for anyone from here to fight.” Nyphron spoke to Persephone rather than to Raithe. “Your people won’t even have to get near the Rhist. They will merely be decorative, a garnish if you will.” Nyphron began to pace back and forth. “That fortress is my home. I own it. My father was the head of the Instarya tribe, the people who have lived in that fortress for centuries. He was the supreme commander of all the western outposts. That position typically falls to the son upon the father’s death, which makes me the lord of the Rhist.”
“But the fane—the leader of your people—put someone else in charge after your father challenged him, correct?” Tegan of Clan Warric asked.
Thank you, Tegan. At least one person is paying attention.
“True,” Nyphron replied. “But that Fhrey isn’t well-liked by my tribe, and the Instarya have been ill-treated for centuries, alienated and exiled through no fault of their own. They need a leader who understands their plight and can right their wrongs.” Nyphron sighed. “Do you think this is some impetuous idea that popped into my head this morning? I’ve worked on this plan for quite some time. I know how to take Alon Rhist. And I can do so without the loss of a single life.”
“That’s not possible,” Raithe said. “We need to—”
Nyphron rolled his eyes. “Allow me to explain why we must act immediately. I’ll do so in short sentences with small words. Right now, the fane is preparing his own forces. He’ll need to marshal his troops on the frontier to attack us. His best soldiers are the Instarya tribe—my brethren—and they’re headquartered at Alon Rhist. The Instarya are the greatest warriors in the world; without them, the fane has no troops. I intend to steal his strength, but we have to move quickly. We can’t allow Lothian to reach Alon Rhist first.” Nyphron moved closer to Persephone. “I can nullify the whole Instarya tribe from Ervanon to Merredydd. Doing so will cut off the fane’s arms. He’ll have no army to fight for him.”
“Will they fight for us?” Siegel asked.
Nyphron looked at the Gula-Rhune chieftain as if he were a child. “Of course not. Fhrey don’t kill Fhrey, but if you do as I say, I can ensure that they won’t kill Rhunes, either. And without his warrior tribe, the fane will need to train others. That”—he pointed at Raithe, still without looking at him—“will give us time to forge weapons. Something we can do more effectively behind the Rhist’s walls.” Nyphron began counting off with his fingers. “Alon Rhist has tools, facilities, shelter, and food, everything required to build the sort of fighting force needed to face the fane’s inevitable assault.”
“But how do we take it?” Tegan asked.
“Just leave that to me.”
“See, that’s where I have a problem,” Raithe said. “You expect us to trust you?”
Nyphron dragged a hand over his face in frustration. “It doesn’t matter if you have doubts. The Rhunes will be perfectly safe. I don’t want any of them within a quarter mile of the Rhist. I and my Galantians will secure the fort. I only want you to be there.”
“You’re certain the Rhunes won’t have to fight?” Persephone asked.
“That’s correct. I want you and your people to stand across the Bern River Gorge in the high plains of Dureya. Is that too much to ask?”