Azuriel clears his throat and surveys the group before him.  Each gets stung with his eyes in turn.  Then he speaks, his Eastern accent muddying his pronunciation with low, long vowels.<br/><br/><strong>“You represent the elite among the newcomers to our ranks,” </strong>he says to those standing.<strong>“So we need you for a fresh venture we’re starting on a critical stretch of river.”</strong><br/><br/>Shrugging his lithe shoulders, he lifts his hands.  In one, he balances a tiny gold eagle statue.<strong> “You’re surely wondering why, if it’s so critical, we’re not sending those who’ve already proven themselves in battle.  Or even a large unit to hold it.”</strong><br/><br/>In a flash of movement, his hands are held out before him, spread with palms up.  He gives the unsettling impression of moving on wires – clicking from one pose to the next with an alarming precision and speed.  It’s less like watching a man of his casual bearing move, and more like the progression of poses framed in a fresco.  All the same, he seems as relaxed as his conversational tone suggests.  And yet that eagle, which was just in his left hand, now rests in his right palm.<br/><br/><strong>“The truth is, we can’t afford to look like we’re holding this ground.  And on the other hand,” and there, in another twitch of movement, the eagle has been bounced back into his left palm, “we can’t afford not to hold it.  <em>Dong ma</em>?”</strong><br/><br/>Azuriel doesn’t wait for a reply.  His left hand upends and the eagle begins to do cartwheels over his fingers as he rolls them, talking on.<br/><br/><strong>“You get that marching a cadre there would bring notice?  Notice would bring fur-clad women with sharp sticks, hollering about the Moon Goddess and vengeance and all that.  And then we have to actually send some troops we need – that is, troops needed elsewhere – to defend it.  Meaning, they don’t fight elsewhere, meaning the plan comes apart, meaning I have a problem, meaning <em>he</em> has a problem.”</strong>Azuriel jabs a thumb at the kiln room, where the husky breathing, whimpers and wet slicing noises are continuing.<br/><br/><strong>“Nobody wants to be his problem.” </strong>Azuriel nods, setting his palms on the eagle throne while the little golden eagle balances on the back of his hand.<br/><br/><strong>“We’re good at solving problems, Reaver and I.”</strong><br/><br/>Cupping his hands before him, surrounding the gold eagle with them, he leans in.  His tone continues, lower now, a match for the black silk he wears.<strong>“So we send you, names not on the roster, names we can trust to get things done without problems.”</strong><br/><br/>Slender shoulders roll in a blithe shrug.<br/><br/><strong>“Head on down the river, down to a portage called <em>Gulsehir</em>.  There’s not much there – couple of buildings, lookout tower, garden – and set up an outpost there.  Tidy the place up, but lay pretty low.  We’ll have someone ship you supplies weekly.  Your job is to keep a low profile.  Meanwhile, keep busy.”</strong><br/><br/>Azuriel leans into three lifted fingers.  The gold eagle’s span spreads behind them in his palm.  His tone grows a bit more serious.<br/><br/><strong>“Three things you need to do.  One, get these captives ready to service the troops as they come in.  That’s a priority.  When I say ‘ready,’ I mean really ready – ready to ride, ever ready, ready ready.  Consider them advertising – we want mercenaries from Babylon to Iberia creaming their breeches at the thought of joining our ranks and visiting your outpost.  The Reaver has generously included in your supplies a kit with all manner of tools that it would ruin my reputation as a gentleman to talk about.  Use them.<br/><br/>“Two, get some bunk rooms set up, and a lockable arsenal.  We’ll be filtering squads through your place when it’s all set, so make room for at least ten.  And just because we hire them, doesn’t mean we trust them, so be sure the arsenal’s a right tight lockbox.  We’ll be giving our guests a safe place to stow their weapons; safe even from themselves.<br/><br/>“Three, fortify the place best you can.  It’s a riverside port against a foothill of the highest point in the land, and so far as we know, neutral parties hold that high point.  But neutral’s a far cry from friendly, so you have to be secure enough to hold awhile if Mithradates’ thugs take an interest in our little business venture.”</strong><br/>He claps his hands together.  Where the gold eagle vanishes to is anyone’s guess.  Azuriel flits his stare to each of those standing in turn.<br/><br/><strong>“That does it with the official unofficial orders.”</strong><br/><br/>He waves at the sinuous Amazon looming behind Mohini.<strong>“Masina, you’re going to be in charge of the fortification and security matters."</strong><br/><br/>He then flicks his hand to gesture at the burly barbarian clad in the remnants of what looks to be every army in the free world.<strong>“Quintus, you’ve got quartermaster duties and responsibility for the interior of the post.”  </strong><br/><br/>Azuriel nods to the lean, shockingly handsome outlaw between his two companions.<strong>“Anastasius, your responsibility is the captives.  Of course, you’ll all be doing your part in each of these matters, but it’s best to determine who holds rank in each regard.  And if there are any disputes—”</strong><br/><br/>Azuriel points at, and in the same motion flips the eagle to, Anastasius.<strong>“Anastasius is the final word on how they’re settled.”</strong><br/><br/>Settling back onto the eagle as though about to ride it as it takes wing, Azuriel exhales languidly, lashing his attention fervidly at each of those in his employ.<strong>“That’s that.  Any questions?”</strong><br/><br/>Silence takes over, filling the audience chamber with the sounds of carnal sawing and volcanic breath from the room nearby.<br/>