The Missing Kin by Michael Pryor

Army.
Remember that I ensured your wounds were tended
to. Remember that you would have died and been
buried in unmarked graves if it weren't for me.'
    'Of course, my lord,' Varchog said hastily. He
shifted from foot to foot. 'And we are striving to do
your bidding.'
    'We do have some information, my lord,' Irjag
added. 'We've recruited a few young saur and we've
sent them out to gather others to your service.'
    'I know.' Wargrach had seen their recruits. His
jaw clenched with disgust. In the past year, the saur
of High Battilon and the neighbouring village of
Lod had never accepted his rule. While never openly
rebelling, they managed to find small ways to frustrate
his plans. Some had actually fled to the forests and
were living as outlaws. The local 'recruits' were the
few layabouts and malcontents in the community.
Wargrach thought them poor quality at best.
    Varchog twitched again. 'We've begun contacting
our old agents, re-establishing your web of spies.
They're starting to send experienced saur, and
they're telling us that the Queen's preparations are
continuing.'
    'It's a huge mobilisation,' Irjag put in. 'Ten new
battalions have been added to the Army.'
    'Ten thousand new soldiers.' Wargrach scratched
his empty eye socket. It itched, but he did it mostly
for the effect it had on his two spies.
    He pondered the news. Tayesha had not
abandoned her plans, but he knew that the Queen
would have difficulty in achieving her goals without
performing the full and complete ritual. He'd given
her many manuscripts and old tomes over the years
to help her construct the correct sequence of the
ceremony, but he'd always kept certain knowledge
from her.
    'Go,' he barked. 'I need more. I need more saur
ready to serve me here at High Battilon. I want to
know exactly when and where the Queen's Army is
planning to move. I want to know who is in charge
and I want to know everything about them. If you
can't tell me what they eat for breakfast, it will be ill
for you.'
    The two saur stared, then bowed and hurried
out.
    Wargrach waited a moment, then left by another
door.
    He stalked through the corridors, head down,
deep in thought. Despite the difficulties Varchog and
Irjag had whined about, the old network of agents
and spies that Wargrach had established over the
years was slowly knitting itself back together. His
preparations were bearing fruit.
    He stopped when he reached the corridor leading
to his quarters. A young Clawed One stood on
guard. His weapons were bright, his posture proud.
'All quiet, soldier?'
    The guard nodded. 'Nothing to report, my lord.'
    Wargrach grunted, limped on and entered his
chamber.
    His living quarters were in a little-used part of the
castle. Wargrach had chosen them for that reason,
ignoring more luxurious rooms in favour of quiet
and security. A simple bed, a scarred table and a
washstand were the only furnishings, with a battered
trunk standing at the foot of the bed. The stone floor
was bare and the single window was small, looking
out over the barracks.
    It suited him. Comfort was a sign of weakness in
modern saur.
    He rummaged around and found a sheaf of papers
in his trunk. He smoothed them out on the table.
    His customary caution had prompted him to
remove these pages from the books he'd given
Tayesha; he was wary of giving too much information
to anyone. But underneath that motive was a deep-seated
unease at anything to do with the A'ak.
    Wargrach had been privy to many secrets over the
years. He cultivated them as a farmer might cultivate
truffles, knowing that some of them could stay
hidden for years. In that time, he'd grown interested
in the A'ak. At first, he'd been attracted by their fierce
reputation as warriors, then he grew concerned at
their utterly alien attitude to life and death. Wargrach
never admitted he felt fear, but the more he learned
about the A'ak, the more troubled he was.
    He stared at the pages he'd kept. All of them
mentioned the A'ak. Many were mysterious,
speaking of the