Chapter Eighteen: Forced Diplomacy
Warmaster Athellenas breathed a sigh of relief as the cluster of tents came into view over the next dune. There were a few dozen of them situated in a tight semi-circle right next to a medium-sized lake of crystal-blue water. The oasis was certainly out of tune with its surroundings—green grass and palm trees lined its banks, contrasting sharply with the bleak whites and yellows of the afternoon desert.
This was a Bedabin Oasis. The Bedabins were a nomadic people who freely roamed the desert. Unlike the Menaphites, they had no cities. They were a tribal people, divided into five main tribes. For generations, the Bedabin tribes had been engaging in light warfare with each other, fighting over water sources like this one.
Unless he was mistaken, Athellenas believed that this particular oasis was being held by members of the Arimei tribe. If he was lucky, the tribal chief would be in town. If not…well, Athellenas did not need the tribal chief's help. He only needed a guide. But because of this oasis's importance to the Arimei tribe, it was highly likely that the tribe's chieftain was present.
"Looks like we're here," Paladin Anesti murmured. The Paladin had surprised the Warmaster by volunteering to accompany him to the somewhat nearby oasis, along with a small group of twenty of Sir Havarell's cavalry.
It had been three days since the Centralian Army's failed attempt to break through Shantay Pass. Athellenas had spent that time giving his men a good rest. They needed one after the disaster at the Shantay Wall.
Athellenas then left Sir Derren in charge of the Army and rode off with his small contingent of escorts, heading to the nearest Bedabin Oasis. He was fairly certain that he had a backup plan that would work, but he needed the assistance of the Bedabins. And there was always the chance that he could be completely wrong.
There were around a hundred or so people visible at the edge of the lake, either gathering water, fishing, or simply cooling themselves off. Most were dressed in cream-colored desert robes.
Five of the men drew scimitars from their robes and approached the Centralians as Athellenas galloped through the tents and into the center of the camp. "State your business, outsider," the leader demanded in heavily accented Commonspeak.
Athellenas introduced himself, once again using his formal titles. "I am Athellenas of the Far Reaches, son of Thorvald, Warmaster of the King's soldiers and armies. I must speak with your leader."
"What you must do is leave, infidel," the nomad said, raising his scimitar. "Your kind is forbidden here."
Athellenas gave a sharp whistle. The five cavalry archers who had accompanied him raised their bows, aiming them straight at the five nomads as they displayed their weapons.
More nomad men emerged from the tents, drawing their weapons as they saw the Centralian outsiders.
Athellenas drew his sword, leveling it at the lead nomad. "I would strongly recommend you cooperate with me," the Warmaster said, his voice lowering to a threatening whisper. "Fighting me would be a hefty mistake for you."
The nomad hesitated, eyeing the Warmaster up. Though Athellenas certainly did not look like a young man anymore, he still looked deadly capable with his sword. That, and the fact that he and all of his men were on horses—giving them the advantage of a higher striking height—and the fact that all the Centralians were wearing armor, as opposed to the desert nomads' simple robes, were enough to dissuade the man from any further aggression.
"Follow me," the nomad said finally, turning on his heel and walking across the center of the encampment.
"Well, this isn't exactly going as planned," Paladin Anesti commented as the Centralians spurred their horses after the Arimei tribesman. "How do you propose we solicit their assistance after an introduction like this?"
"Simple," Athellenas grunted. "If they don't cooperate, we threaten them. If they still don't cooperate, then we make them bleed."
The inside of the tribal chief's tent was not extravagant, but it was slightly more opulent than the rest of the dwellings in the oasis. There was a dining space at the center of the tent, which was a thin circle of polished wood surrounded by pillows that were made to be sat on.
The tribal chief of the Arimei sat at a small desk in the back of the tent, reading a papyrus scroll. He looked up to see the source f his disturbance. When he saw that his visitors were not only outsiders, but Centralians, he nearly burst a vein.
The tribal chief shouted several words of Arrish at the nomad who had brought Athellenas inside. The nomad offered a weak protest, but quickly bowed his head and ducked outside.
The tribal chief muttered in Arrish under his breath, but looked up at Athellenas and Anesti and said, "Why do you defile my people's land with your presence, khanzeer?"
Athellenas knew very little Arrish, but he had a feeling that 'khanzeer' meant pig. The context of how the man was speaking and the expression on his face certainly backed up that hypothesis.
"I certainly do not defile it to be insulted before I explain myself, your Eminence," Athellenas replied curtly. "Have you got anything to drink? The ride has been long, and I am thirsty."
"Sit," the tribal chief pointed at the pillows surrounding the dining space. He picked up a pitcher of water from his desk and poured some of the liquid into two wooden cups. After offering them to Athellenas and Anesti, the tribal chief sat down opposite the two Centralians. Athellenas could see how tempted the man had been to spit in the cup, but thankfully he hadn't. That would have been very unpleasant.
Athellenas took a long drink from the cup, and then set it down in front of him. "Good water…good water…" the Warmaster murmured, taking a deep breath and relaxing. Now that his thirst was quenched, the Warmaster looked up at the tribal chief and began to speak. "I have come here because I need your help."
The tribal chief blinked twice, and then burst out laughing. The brown-bearded fellow had a good pair of lungs; his laughter nearly shook the tent walls. "You animals, you infidels defile my lands, threaten my people, disrespect my home…and now you have the gall to ask for my help?"
Anesti's lip curled when the desert tribesman called him an infidel, but the Paladin thankfully did not retaliate.
Athellenas joined the tribal chief, his booming laughter mixing with the chieftain's higher tones. "Yes…" the Warmaster said in between chuckles. "Yes, that does sound rather far-fetched, does it not?"
The tribal chief's laughter died. It didn't seem so funny to him when the man he was insulting was laughing as well. "What makes you think I will help you?"
"Zamorak's hordes are sweeping through the entire Menaphite Empire, under the command of the elder-demon Thammaron," Athellenas explained, getting down to business. "We must stop Thammaron's army…but to do that we have to get past the Shantay Wall. That is where I need you—I know for a fact that your people know ways through the mountains that can bypass Shantay Pass. I need a guide to lead some of my men through these routes."
The tribal chief was silent. He calmly made a hocking sound at the back of his throat, leaned over, and spat into the sand. "Get out," he said. "Get out of my tent, get out of my encampment, and never return. If you come back, you shall be treated as an enemy."
Athellenas sighed. "Your Eminence, let us not be hasty in our decisions. If Thammaron's hordes are not stopped, then your people will suffer for it. They will completely obliterate this desert, and you along with it. Unless we can stop them…and to do that, I need your assistance."
The tribal chief sprang to his feet, walked back to his desk, and picked up an ornate scimitar made of mithril alloy, pointing it at the Warmaster. "What happens to the Menaphites or to your filthy people is of no concern to me. I will not tell you to get out again," the desert tribesman warned. "Leave this place, infidel."
Athellenas did not react in any way to the weapon pointed right at him. Instead, he calmly picked up his cup and drank the rest of the water, setting it down on the wood in front of him. He looked over at Anesti and asked, "Have you had enough to drink?"
The Paladin raised an eyebrow at the Warmaster, but nodded. "I am quite satisfied, thank you."
"Good," the Warmaster nodded, turning back to the tribal chief. "Have a seat, your Eminence."
"Guards!" the tribal chief barked. Three scimitar-wielding men pushed the entrance flap aside and marched in, advancing on the two Centralians.
Anesti leaped to his feet and spun around. He made a low, throaty growling noise and swiped his hand across the space where the three guards were standing. A sudden, strong wind punched right through the tent wall, ripping the guards' weapons from their grasps. The Paladin then invoked the element of Earth and knocked each of the guards unconscious by sending small pebbles of concentrated sand thudding into their foreheads.
"How dare you-"
"Sit down, your Eminence!" Athellenas snapped, all pretense of courtesy now gone. The tribal chief grudgingly did as the Warmaster commanded, sitting back down onto his pillow.
"I will see you beheaded for these offenses," the tribesman threatened under his breath.
"Well, until you can back that threat up, I would suggest you listen to me," Athellenas said, leaning in close. "If Thammaron's armies destroy this desert, then Centralia—my homeland—is next. This is unacceptable. I had hoped that you could look past your ethnic and cultural prejudices to see reason, but I can already see that you cannot. Therefore, I will make this simple for you. I need a guide to lead my men past the Shantay Wall."
"And if I refuse?" the tribal chief asked.
Athellenas smiled, but it was not a happy smile. It was a cold smile, one that did not reach his eyes. "If you refuse, then I shall thank you for your time and leave you in peace. Then, tomorrow I shall return here with four thousand soldiers and I will destroy this oasis. How long will your tribe survive, I wonder, without your main source of water?"
The tribal chief's eyes widened. "You…you wouldn't dare-" the man spluttered.
"It is not up to me, your Eminence, it is up to you," Athellenas interrupted, rising to his feet. "You can avoid having your home destroyed…all you have to do is cooperate with me. Do not think that I need you in particular…if you still refuse to cooperate, I shall simply find another tribe that will. My homeland's safety lies in the balance of this fight…do not think for a moment that I will not spill blood to keep it safe. Even your blood, if need be."
The tribal chief's gaze darted this way and that as he sought to find another way, something to dissuade the Warmaster with. His mind came up blank. Bedabin warriors were certainly not incapable in a fight…but they would not be able to stand up to a legion of Centralian regulars. There was a fine line between bravery and stupidity.
The tribal chief's shoulders slumped in defeat. "Damn you…" he growled.
Athellenas gave a light, apathetic grin. "Many have," the Warmaster chuckled. "Now…the guide?"
"Take Salameh," the tribal chief muttered. "He is the one who escorted you in."
"Good choice," Athellenas dusted himself off and got ready to leave. "Your tribe gets to survive another year, and my army will now be able to strike directly at Thammaron himself. I humbly thank you for your kindness," the Warmaster gave the tribal chief a polite bow.
"Just take Salameh and go. Leave us in peace," the tribal chief muttered.
"Salameh will be sent back once he has shown my men the way through the mountains. Until then…have a good and prosperous life," Athellenas turned on his heel and marched right out of the tent.
"Utter barbarians, the lot of them," Anesti muttered as he accompanied the Warmaster outside. For once, Athellenas could not help agreeing with the Paladin. He had hoped the Bedabins could set aside their notorious dislike of outsiders to serve a greater purpose…but he had been wrong. Therefore, he had to resort to diplomacy at the point of the lance.
The Warmaster took back his runite sword from the guard who had confiscated it at the entrance to the tribal chief's tent.
Athellenas had not been bluffing. Had the tribal chief continued to resist and insult him, the Warmaster would have returned to his camp, mustered the IV Legion, and returned to the oasis with General Sinclair. The sight of four thousand soldiers heading right for his precious water probably would have loosened the tribal chief's resolve.
Luckily, that unpleasant business had just been avoided.
Salameh, the nomad who had 'greeted' Athellenas when the Warmaster had first arrived in the camp, protested when Athellenas informed him of the tribal chief's decision. The younger nomad had ducked into the chief's tent for a few minutes. Athellenas could hear them speaking in Arrish, talking in raised tones.
Finally, the tent flap was brushed aside and Salameh emerged. He gave a sharp whistle and an Ugthanki camel trotted over. The desert nomad pulled himself up onto the camel's back and spurred it forward. "I will go with you," the Arimei tribesman said grudgingly.
"Excellent!" Athellenas beamed. "You will be paid for your service…but be warned. If you try to hinder, mislead, or attack my men in any way, it is your home that shall suffer the consequences. Understood?"
"Completely," Salameh nodded.
"Then there isn't a moment to lose. Let us go."
With that, Athellenas spurred Onyx in the sides, galloping off with the rest of his contingent back towards Shantay Pass. There was another attack coming up…and this time, the Centralian Army was going to wipe those monsters out. Athellenas made this his next promise.
The Warmaster looked down at his breastplate absent-mindedly as he rode. The small spiritweed flower was still poking out of the small indent in the armor over his heart. It had been given to him by a little girl in Port Sarim, and he had never removed it. Spiritweed flowers were very rare and were supposed to bring good luck.
Athellenas hoped it worked for tomorrow. His men were going to need all the luck they could get.