lazily swatted a fly from his face, seemingly unimpressed by the Chaos Space Marine.
Barsabbas did not reply. He studied the haughty chieftain. The elder of elders was a fat man, thick with meat, while those around him were gaunt and emaciated. He was tall too, and carried the arrogance that came to those who were imposingly tall and knew it.
Pendant earrings hung like heavy tendrils of gold and onyx from his ears and he carried a recurve bow across his lap. Barsabbas decided he did not like the man. There was a shrewdness to his crescent eyes, an animalistic cunning that told Barsabbas he would be difficult to deal with.
‘I have heard of you already,’ Barsabbas replied bluntly.
‘My reputation precedes me wherever I go,’ said Ngokodjou, choosing to take the words as a compliment. ‘I too have heard of you. We are equals, you and I, and more similar than you would know.’
Barsabbas snorted. The man had grown accustomed to speaking to his kin as if they were ignorant. ‘We are not the same, human. Do not speak to me like that.’
Ngokodjou’s eyes flashed with anger. Barsabbas detected a trace of vehemence, fleeting and then gone. But the smile never wavered on Ngokodjou’s face. ‘Of course, koag.’
In any other place, at any other time, Barsabbas would have shot him through the throat and taken his necklaces as trophies. His trigger finger twitched involuntarily. But he needed the plainsmen. They thought him to be a benevolent and godly spirit, and he needed to exploit that for now.
As if sensing the enmity between them, Gumede stole close to Barsabbas and bowed to Ngokodjou. ‘We should bring the koag into the house of elders. Times may be hard but we must not neglect hospitality.’
THEY BROUGHT HIM bowls of gruel. They gave him jugs of curdled caprid milk. A dancing file of children brought them dishes of dried apricots and small, tart berries.
Barsabbas consumed only a small amount of milk to replenish his protein stores.
Wrestlers entered the tent to perform their ritual matches. Young dancers with supple waists danced and chanted in unison.
Barsabbas grew impatient.
He sat awkwardly on a spread of beaded blankets, his hulking form barely contained by the low awnings. The tent was filled with clapping elders. It seemed that the arrival of a
‘Red God’ was seen as a portent of victory.
‘We should plan our attack,’ Barsabbas said finally.
‘We defend here,’ announced one of the chieftains proudly. The others agreed with him by clicking their tongues and nodding sagely.
‘No. We need a strategy, supplies, logistics, reports of enemy disposition, structured formations,’ Barsabbas said.
Ngokodjou sneered at him, as if he had been waiting for those words. ‘But if you are so powerful, then why do we need to do so? With the powers of a god, surely the dead will fall,’ said Ngokodjou. It was a direct challenge.
95
Barsabbas imagined choking the man’s jowls with his hands. ‘You will face more than just the dead. There will be human fighters with guns. Other threats too, warriors like me, but many times in number.’
The tent grew very quiet. The dancers ran off in a hurry, leaving their hand chimes and tall drums.
‘Warriors like you?’
‘They follow a different path, but yes.’
‘Tell us what to do, koag.’
‘Is there disease in the camp?’
‘Very little,’ said one of the southern chiefs. ‘These gathered kinships are mostly from the deep southlands. When they fall ill, we tie them up.’
‘Tie them up?’ Barsabbas burst out with deep, bellowing laughter. ‘Why do you not just kill them?’
‘The families will not allow it,’ said another. ‘But before the plague takes them, we bind their hands and feet. That way, when they…’
Barsabbas shook his head. He could not understand the strange attachments these humans seemed so adamant to cling to. Why risk infecting the entire camp, hundreds of thousands of people in close proximity, when it would be more efficient to leave the infected to die under the sun? There was no logic to it. Why leave someone infected to the care of healthy and vulnerable kin?
A Chaos Space Marine would have been efficient. They would sever an arm before infection set in, and would certainly execute a comrade if sparing him meant compromising the effectiveness of the Chapter. Barsabbas was disgusted by the humans’ weakness.
‘We must preserve our strength. Your army is small and we cannot afford the numbers to dwindle under a plague. We will bring the fight to them. We will push north. The enemy will come, I know how they