Supreme Magus novel Chapter 131

Their spies had brought news that a civil war was inevitable, it was the perfect moment to start planning their invasion.

Speaking in their name, was Ashun Dagfuur, Feather of the Red Lion tribe, temporarily appointed as High Feather, first among equals and spokesman of the tribes. He was a tall man, around 1.84 meters (6’) high, with a lean and muscular body, an olive complexion and a long but well-groomed beard.

Like all the Feathers, he wore heavy white pants and shirt to endure the coldness of the night, and a turban on his head, with a huge ruby on its centre to represent his status in the tribe.

The meeting was held in a ceremonial tent, golden in colour whose sides and floor were covered by carpets and tapestries depicting the collective history of the desert.

The roof of the tent was enchanted to be able to turn invisible at will, since the Benefactor hated constricted spaces, and this way was still able to gaze at the moon and the stars.

The space was perfectly lighted by twenty-seven black iron braziers, one for each tribe. Their fires were fueled by the magic of their respective Feather, used both to symbolize his strength and vote once a discussion had come to an end.

As always, Ashun spoke with passion, describing all the green lands and water springs, waiting for tribes to seize them from the weak and stupid plainsmen. His black eyes searched for the other Feather’s approval and support, but he found none.

After he had begun his speech, all eyes were fixated on the lonely figure standing on the other side of the tent, watching its every movement.

It was a fiery red bird, three meters (9’ 10") high, with the body of an eagle and the tail’s feathers resembling those of a peacock. The legendary phoenix Salaark, also known as the Benefactor of the desert, that centuries before had united all the tribes under its rule.

It was whispered that from each of its feathers, a peerless weapon could be forged, and that its blood held the secret of immortality. To fit into the tent, it had shrunk remarkably, and was now in its most vulnerable state.

Despite that, no man or woman among the Feathers felt any kind of emotion aside from respect and fear.

Salaark stood still, its eyes closed, knowing it would not be able to controls itself if it opened them.

Once Ashun had finished, it asked a simple question.

"So, are you going to leave the desert?" Salaark’s voice wasn’t loud, but still sounded perfectly clear to all of those present.

"No, my liege. The Red Lion would never do that." He raised his hands and lowered his head in a sign of submission.

"I’m only proposing for us to take revenge against the plains and secure new resources."

"Revenge?" It asked opening a single eye. "To bring death to the living will not make their ancestors suffer. It sounds more like a petty excuse to leave because you are unsatisfied with what you have now."

"I will not leave and I’m not ungrateful." He said trying to appear strong and confident, but cold sweat ran down his spine.

"Then how do you propose to keep the conquered springs? What good is a fertile soil if not tilled?"

"Well, of course some of our men will have to stay behind with their families. But only to establish a supply chain that will benefit all the tribes."

"I don’t care for your sweet words, only for their meaning." Salaark harshly replied.

"You want for your people to move away, to grow their children in a foreign land, afar from the desert and from me! I have no objection to your plan." The last phrase left everyone shocked, leniency had never been its strong suit.