Jasmine made her way through the throng of her followers to take her place on the carved wooden throne, and once on it she rested the bare sword across her on her legs and faced the mightiest of the ranks. horde. The sword was to all present a reminder of how she ruled, a naked symbol of her power. She had the favor of the Baal, the dark god of Wrath, despair and revenge; and the expression of that favor was the power she wielded. The beastmen might not like her, but they would have to put up with her until one of them, according to her early code, could best her in single combat. And none would challenge her if she had any sense, for they all knew of Salthor's prophecy, made when she was promoted to the ranks of the Demonic Knight. They all knew what the demon had said: that no warrior would ever defeat her in combat. They had all witnessed that truth, though they were beastmen anyway, and defying their leader was an instinctive purpose for them.
That night she almost wished that one would dare to try it, because her anger was enormous, as it always happened when she talked to her boss. She looked at the cloth the beastmen rested on: a huge tapestry that she remembered seeing before covering an entire wall. It featured battle and hunting scenes from the Klein family's past; then it was covered with mud and tree leaves on the floor of the clearing, and dirty with the droppings of the beastmen themselves. She would order it burned, as she didn't want anything left that might remind anyone of the Klein family's existence.
Seeing the animal heads of her followers propped listlessly on Earl Klein's favorite possession reminded her how much the world had changed since that fateful morning when she'd fled Hugo's bedroom into the depths of the woods.
The scene that she then had before her eyes was like something out of the nightmare etchings of a demented artist: huge, armor-clad, horned animals stalking through the twisted trees of the dark forest. They seemed an evil parody of the chivalric ideal, a disruption of the natural order of things, as if the beasts of the forest had risen up to dispossess the human upstarts, as they would eventually do. The servants of the dark gods would overthrow all the kingdoms of men, and she had already begun. As news of her victories spread, more and more servants of the dark gods would flock to her banner, and soon she would have a vast army, and all nations would tremble. For some reason, that prospect of hers no longer thrilled her as it once would have. Dissatisfied, she pushed the thought of her aside.
She looked at the captains of her future army and wondered what orders she should give them. She scanned them with calculating eyes as she wondered when and where the first challenge to her leadership would come from. She could come from any of them, since they were all big and powerful beastmen, and the most violently ambitious.
She saw Hagal's affected attitude, his goat horns gleaming gold and his gleaming blond fur gleaming in the firelight. Of all the beasts that followed her, she thought he was the most likely to challenge her; she would instigate the Clash of the Horns. Her spies had told him that he was the loudest complainer when they gathered around the campfires; she thought it was unnatural for a female to lead them. He was the sullen one, the one who always questioned her orders, though never to the point where she was forced to challenge him. Still, he waited for the right moment, perhaps hoping that she would weaken, for if they met in combat then, he knew Jasmine would win.
Against Lurgar, Jasmine was less certain of victory, despite the prophecy; The huge, red-furred, lion-headed being was the wildest of his warriors at the time of battle, a frenzied drinker of blood, whose lust to kill was surpassed only by his hunger for human flesh. She was a deadly figure when the madness of fighting overtook him, and she Jasmine almost feared a challenge, but she thought it unlikely that she would challenge her, unless someone put the idea into her head. The werelion was too stupid to have excessive ambitions, and he was content to follow any leader who promised enemies to fight and food to eat. In any case, although he was not a natural leader, he was a perfect tool for anyone else to decide to rule through him.
And next to her was someone who was obviously thinking the same thing: the old shaman, Grind. For a beastman, Grind was intelligent and possessed a certain cunning, which among beastmen was seen as erudition. He could throw bones and read omens, speak with spirits and intercede with Evil Powers. In the times preceding Jasmine's rise to power, it was he who made the sacrifice for Salthor, the Demon lord. But the fat white-maned bull was too old to sire many children in the Great Zeal, and therefore he could not become leader of the war party. Jasmine knew that didn't stop him from resenting her for imposing on his status as the authority of her tribe, or simply hating her for being a female, and she wasn't unaware either that she couldn't afford to underestimate him; Of that, she had no doubt. The shaman was filled with rancor and malice, and his words influenced many of the foot soldiers in the beast army.
Tryell the Eyeless was no real threat; the great warrior of heroic dignity was marked by the dark powers. He had no eyes, but he could see as well as anyone else, and, as someone marked by dark forces, he felt tremendous fear of Jasmine considering that he had the special favor of the god. He only lived to kill and add new eyes to his collection.
Then there was Malor Greymane, whose father Jasmine had killed to assume leadership of the horde. If the young man felt any resentment, he hid it well. He followed her instructions to the letter, fought well, and displayed sound judgment. His plans were often better than those of warlords twice his age, and he was already a great warrior, though he did not yet have the full force of the prime of life. Let the others sulk and say that he was a member of her council only because of his friendship with her. Jasmine knew that some even whispered an abominable lie: they claimed that, secretly, he was her partner. The woman knew that he had earned the position on his own merits and that the place he occupied was fully justified by his exploits.
Of all those she commanded, she thought she could only place so much trust in the black-armored anti-paladins she had recruited in the Wasteland, long before she returned to the realm of Lothal. They had sworn an oath to serve her, and somehow she wished they were there now to provide some support; but they were absent. That night they were in the depths of the forest, where they carried out their own rites, destined to propitiate the demonic ingenuity, which they endowed with blood and souls in preparation for the hard battles that lay ahead.
The beastmen looked up expectantly at her, a semicircle of animal faces, their eyes showing both human intelligence and inhuman lust, and she was suddenly glad to have the sword in her hand. She felt isolated and out of place here and, as always before the council meeting began, she felt a thrill of anticipation. Would it happen then? Would someone challenge her?
He wondered what orders he would give them. She had never thought about what she was going to do beyond that point, and the doubts that had assailed her up to that point redoubled. She had lived for revenge, and after carrying it out, she felt empty. When she spoke with Salthor it was easy to be firm in her purpose, to feel loyalty to her cause, for the demon lord had an almost hypnotic effect on her; but when he disappeared, the doubts returned. She wondered if she really wanted the same thing he wanted, since she had accomplished her main purpose with Hugo's death.
She told herself it was only the fulfillment of a long-cherished wish that made her feel this way. For seven years she had driven her revenge, and then that drive of hers had left her after the death of her tormentor. However, it was natural for her to feel empty after so many years, so she forced herself to focus and feel the desire for power and immortality that she experienced so easily in the presence of her demonic master. She peeked slightly at that feeling, and that was enough for her.
"We have finished with our first victims" she told them with a powerful voice. "But there is one survivor. According to the orders received, she must die. She demands it our Lord."
"We must look for more human sites; kill more," Hagal stated as she looked around her with her golden eyes. "Why worry about a single survivor?"
Grind tapped on the flagstones with a staff carved from a human thighbone.
"Let them live, let them spread the word. With rumor will come fear, fear brings despair, and despair is our friend."
Always this constant testing me, she thought. "Always this constant prowling in search of some weakness." Even simple matters turned into petty skirmishes, as the beastmen tried to increase their own dignity at the expense of others. Their society was based on the hierarchy of force; showing weakness, any kind of weakness, was a loss of prestige."
"Because our Lord requires it; for Salthor the Red, the Herald of Baal, says we must."
Malor turned his gray gaze on Grind and Hagal.
"And why does our leader, Jasmine, demand it?"
"Who are you to question the demands of our leader?" Tryell asked Hagal directly.
"So the rumor about the hostility between them is true." Jasmine thought. That reinforced her own position.
"I do not question our leader, but the need to search for a single human when we could find dozens of them. Are you so anxious to find the girl because you spared her life last night?"
"Who told you that?" Tryell asked, too hastily. "Do you want us to fight?"
Jasmine had a feeling that Tryell was trying to cover this up, though she didn't care because she, too, had spared the girl's life. Or was that what Hagal was getting at? Was that a subtle criticism directed at her? It was not in her interest to allow the fight to continue. If Tryell killed Hagal, fine, but if things went the other way, she would lose a true ally among the beastman chieftains, and she doubted she could find a replacement.
"There will be no challenge," she declared in a soft voice, but loud enough for everyone present to hear. "Unless it's with me!"
The gathering fell silent waiting to see if anyone would summon her for the Clash of the Horns, and Jasmine saw Grind lick her lips in anticipation. She met Hagal's eyes and realized that, for a moment, he was tempted to accept the challenge. For an instant, he held her gaze, and her bloodlust flickered in the beastman's eyes as her hand moved to rest on the hilt of her weapon. She smiled, hoping to provoke him into challenging her, but in the end he seemed to think better of it, lowering his head.
"Very well," she declared in a final tone. "Tryell, take your warriors and find the girl with hair like mine. I'll offer it to Salthor myself. The rest of you, rally your soldiers, because we're going to march on to the next human city, where we'll find dignity by killing more humans."
They all nodded in approval and left. Jasmine was left alone with her thoughts in the frigid clearing, as she wondered what she would do when the child was brought to her.