'Balduur ... Balduur ...'
The deep, resonant voices played with the name, elevating it to a mystical plane. Their chant sounded back and forth, echoing off the buildings, growing to a mighty roar.
Morgon's trained eyes took in every detail. He'd served in many parts of the empire and knew that a military commander had to be attuned to the sensitivities of conquered peoples, however stupid they might be. Over the years he'd developed a tolerance for ridiculous protocol and inane rituals.
He watched, hand on sword, as the party bearing the head entered. Tears formed in King Pius' pale eyes. Beside him, the Grand Master of the Duideth raised his staff. A guard of honour formed. Officers of the guard stood ready. The Imperial standard appeared. A soldier carrying a black box marched behind it. The guard saluted and sang a hymn for the dead.
The crowd fell silent and the man with the box crossed the square. He halted before Morgan and spoke in the southern language.
'General. I have taken possession of this item as directed and I have brought it here following your instructions.'
Morgon took the box and turned to Pius.
'Noble Lord, knowing your devotion to your esteemed father, Balduur the Great, I asked myself how his mortal remains might be returned to you. After much effort I have succeeded.'
Morgon handed the box to the old man.
'My children, Balduur is returned to us.
He held up the box for all to see.
'Balduur is amongst us again ...'
The tribesmen listened in awe as Pius told them of Balduur's deeds. Morgon was amazed that such a timid little man could arouse such passion in seasoned warriors. They worshipped the silly old fool. He was Balduur's son and that was all that mattered.
'Today is a day we've long awaited,' Pius droned on. 'We offered prayers to the Lord Sun and he sent us the noble Morgon to be our War Master. Now, after all these many seasons, our great father is returned to us. The noble Morgon has brought him back.'
Pius turned to the old warrior by his side.
'I call upon my dear companion, Mordith of Clan Cullin, to open the box which this brave soldier has brought to us. Mordith was with me on that fatal day when our father was taken from us.'
Morgon watched as the old man took a knife from his belt. Despite his years he carried himself well. It required no imagination to picture the formidable warrior he had once been. He eyed the soldier who had delivered the box and spoke to him in the southern language.