As the laughter died a natural death a collective cloak of seriousness settled back over the council.
Whatever title the man in each chair held, whether legate of the legions or chieftain of the auxiliaries, one unassailable truth bound them together: they were all killers, and master craftsmen at the trade they boasted of. Some among them might not know how to read a scroll or navigate polite courtly chatter, but they understood the brutal art of slaughter and how to map it out. Dozens of years of campaigning under their king would tend to make each man a capable general in its own garden.
That mastery showed the moment Edric unrolled a heavy leather map of Oizen across the oak table.
