The conversation that followed proved far less illuminating than the young prince had dared to hope.
Torghan offered little that Basil had not already gleaned from the dry ledgers and the horrified whispers of the camp scribes that flanked the legions to record of the war. He was already well-versed in the atrocities of the mountain irregulars; he had seen the battle-reports describing Leaguesmen stripped of their scalps, and the headless, limb-hacked torsos left ahead of the camp to break the League's soldier's spine during the siege of the Bastion.
It explained why so many had broken faith and deserted in the dead of night, certainly, but raw butcher's work was not the knowledge Basil sought.
He pressed the chieftain for counsel on how to domesticate the clans, how to smooth the jagged edges of a people who knew only blood and mountain stone. Yet Torghan had precious few answers.
Perhaps because there were none to give?
