The Shaman ordered his apprentices to fetch his heavily decorated horse along with his weapons rack. The horse was layered with exquisite jewelry and was only used for rituals and public displays. He waited on the bottom of the stairs of the temple still day dreaming about what he was about to become once all of that was over. The apprentices took a few minutes to return. A poor soul balanced the heavy weapon rack on his shoulder. He chose the decorated short sword from the rack and mounted the horse. The warriors had already been informed through the apprentices so they were rallied outside the barracks. The most senior of the troops stood in front of the formation looking towards Shaman for orders. A soldier readied the war dogs. Villagers were confused to see the proceedings so they had gathered around. The crowd wasn't as large as it had been when they had planned the hunt in the first place but it was still big enough to fill the square in front of the temple and the longhouse. Shaman let out a huge sigh of disgust as he realized that he had to conjure up another drama to disperse the crowds.
"The Masters have chosen the slave to serve them. Soon the head of the blasphemer will be on a pike!", he screeched with his usual theatrics.
The crowd cheered and danced as they always did after his shenanigans. He had decided to put Soleiman out of his misery as soon as he caught sight of him. He wasn't willing to risk another escape. This had gone on for long enough. The Chief watched all of this from the window of the longhouse. He did so while recklessly chugging a tankard of an opioid drink. He hadn't been intoxicated since he had assumed the throne but that day was a different day and he had already set in motion his moves in this brazen game of chess. He had never thought that he would ever have to stoop this low but ever since the Shaman threatened his throne with his treachery, he had decided to play the game utilizing every card no matter how unethical it might seem. His vision started to blur as the drink started to kick in, so he took a seat. The wall of the room, below the window, was tall enough to obscure his vision of the yard of the temple as he sat down. The chief didn't mind. He had birdwatched the ecstatic moron long enough.
A group of excessively tattooed tribal men showed up at the temple and informed the Shaman that the man they were looking for was seen on the western bank of the river before he vanished into thin air but he couldn't have gone far. Tai was not overjoyed by the news but at least he now knew where to look. He would still check every box because he was not sure if the hunters had actually seen what the claim to have seen, as they were known to spend half their days intoxicated. The western bank was infamous for its predator dwellings. The panthers in the area had proven to be too powerful for trained warriors. The beasts in the area had rendered an entire region uninhabitable. If not caught by the villagers, the preacher would surely be entertained by one of the man-eaters.
The Chief suddenly stood up and shouted, "My people! Pray for the success and well-being of your beloved Shaman, the convener of your prayers to the gods!". The people turned to the longhouse. They could barely see the Chief. "May he bring the head of the blasphemer and please the gods", he continued.
The already ecstatic crowd was further excited and started chanting different prayers and songs. The Shaman didn't care. He impatiently waited for them to conclude their routine. As he waited, all six of the tribal leaders returned on their horses. The Shaman eyed them for answers. One of them dutifully informed him that they have sent their warriors into the jungle to deal with him. The Shaman stared at them filled with rage.
"Then what the hell are you cowards doing here?", he yelled. The tribal leaders looked at each other wondering what they had done wrong. Every last shred of doubt the Shaman had regarding the uselessness and stupidity of the tribal leaders, had just been removed. The warriors they had in their tribes were the weakest when it came to training and discipline. There was no chain of command. One word of the superior most was applicable from top to bottom. And they had just pushed them into the jungle without a leader. It would take them minutes to run out ideas and patience, and they would end up running around like headless chickens. The tribal leaders soon realized what they had done and scrambled into the jungle. The Chief smirked and poured himself another drink. The Shaman shook his head in disappointment and ordered his troops to march. The crowd cheered them on. A large group of consisting of warriors, apprentices, volunteers from the village and hunters left for the forest along with seven horses, one accommodating each leader of each tribe and one with the Shaman mounted on it. Soon the square was empty as if nothing had taken place at all. The Chief collapsed on his chair and chugged the entire tankard in a single gulp.
"Do me proud Boa!", he whispered as passed out.