At the centre of the chaos stood a map table, wheeled in for the shift, and at its head stood General Ekwueme, his finger tracing a line along the northern border."They're here."His voice cut through the noise, and gradually the chamber fell silent."Ten thousand, maybe more.Camped just beyond the pass, close enough to strike within two days.Flying the banner of Orda Naiman."
A ripple of fear passed through the room.
Orda Naiman.The warlord who had swallowed three tribes in as many years.The man whose reputation preceded him like the plague.If his army was at the border, then they were all marked for death.
"How did they get so close without being seen?"someone demanded.
General Ekwueme's jaw tightened.“I heard nothing from our scouts; they couldn’t have possibly come by land.”
The Elder of Justice frowned.“What are you saying?That they came by river?”
The room simmered with anxiety.Only shattering when General Ekwueme nodded in confirmation.
The debate erupted again.
Some called for war—muster every able-bodied man, meet Naiman on the field, and drive him back.Others argued for defence—fortify the city, wait him out, and hope the approaching wet season would force him to retreat.A few, in whispers too low for the Igwe to hear, suggested negotiation.
General Ekwueme slammed his fist on the table."We cannot fight ten thousand with what we have.Half our forces are spread across our tributaries.It would take weeks to gather them—weeks we don't have."
“Then what do you suggest we do!?The fact that they could come by the Udamili means the goddess is not on our side!”
“Do not assume such!”The Igwe’s voice boomed, silencing his men.Everyone turned to look up at him.“We must ask the Oracle.”
The room fell silent at the Igwe's words.
Ask the Oracle.
The Elder of Justice stepped forward, his expression troubled."Your Majesty—the Oracle's declaration may cause unrest.Is this the time for spiritual frivolity?"
"Then we manage the unrest."The Igwe's voice was flat."But I will not ride to war against ten thousand men without knowing what the Udamili intends.The river brought them here.The river may tell us why."
No one could argue with that.The Udamili river was their lifeblood, their provider.If she had turned against them—if she had opened her waters to an invading army—they needed to know.
The young girl hummed a soft and wandering melody.Her slender fingers moved a piece across the board—a game of Ukhel Dain, the game of gods.
The Igwe entered her quarters alone.
The room was modest by palace standards—a bed draped in simple linens, a writing desk cluttered with half-finished drawings, and shelves stacked with scrolls and trinkets in equal measure.The girl did not look up from her game.
She was nineteen, perhaps twenty—with deep skin and pale hair braided down with beads.Her eyes, when they occasionally lifted to consider the board, were gold.
Obiageli.Second Princess of the Borjigin.
"Father."Her voice was soft, unsurprised."You've come."
The Igwe crossed the room slowly, his boots silent on the thick rugs.He stopped before her small table and looked down at the game spread between them.
The pieces were arranged in a pattern he did not recognise—not one of the classic openings, not any variation he had learned in his youth.They seemed almost random, scattered across the board like stars across the sky, and yet something about their placement made his skin prickle.
"You knew I would come," he said.
Obiageli moved another piece—a small pawn, advancing three spaces into what should have been certain capture."The river told me you would."
The Igwe's heart stuttered.
He looked at his daughter—his hidden daughter, his secret, the child he had kept from the world because she was too precious to be exposed to the vipers of his court.He had told himself it was to protect her.
But looking at her now, at the malice in her eyes, he wondered if he had been protecting anyone at all.
