Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king

Chapter 405: Sea People(2)

Chapter 405: Sea People(2)

This was Torghan's first time standing among the warriors and elders of the tribe—a privilege granted only to those who had proven themselves in battle. By tradition, only warriors and the council of elders could speak in a tribal meeting.

True, he was seventeen—a man by the count of his years—but not by his deeds. He had yet to spill an enemy's blood, to carve his place among those who had earned the right to stand tall. Until he did, he was little more than a child in the eyes of the tribe. Without a kill to his name, he had no voice in council, no claim to spoils taken in raids. He was neither boy nor warrior—just another herdsman, another shadow on the fringes of their world.

Once, he had come close. A year ago, there had been war—a chance to reclaim what was theirs. But the Jagothai had come in numbers too great to defy, their warriors outmatching the tribe two to one. The elders, bound by duty more than pride, had chosen survival over slaughter. And so, the tribe had bent the knee, surrendering their ancestral hills and pastures to the enemy.

They had been driven to the lowlands. A bitter irony, for the "lowlands" were no great plains, no fertile fields, but only endless mountains with sparse patches of green clinging to the stone like ghosts of what once was.

And yet, here he was now—not just standing among warriors, but standing at the very center of their attention. It was his words that had summoned them, his discovery that had called this gathering. And for the first time in his life, he had a voice.

At the head of the circle, Varaku sat motionless, his weathered face half-lit by the flickering flames. The fire cast deep lines across his features, accentuating the scars and wear of years spent struggling to keep his people alive. His sharp eyes, dark and unwavering, settled on his son.

"Speak," Varaku commanded, his voice low but edged with expectation. "Tell them what you have seen with your own eyes."

Torghan swallowed, feeling the weight of a hundred stares pressing into him. The warriors—men who had bled for the tribe—watched with measured patience, waiting to see if the boy had brought them anything worth their time. The elders, wrapped in heavy furs, sat as still as carved idols, their expressions unreadable. Many of them knew, in the quiet of their bones, that this would be their last winter.