The chief's gaze bore down on Ishar like a living weight.
He did not speak at first, letting the silence stretch, letting it suffocate.
This was his method, his tactic honed over decades for intimidation.
He had crushed men, warriors, even would-be challengers, with nothing more than the slow, deliberate study of his eyes and the unyielding press of his presence.
Ishar was not impressed. Hopefully he has more than just this cheap trick, Ishar thought, stepping forward, closing the space between himself and the towering figure.
"I am named Ishar," he said, voice steady. "I am your first son, from your eighteenth wife."
The chief's eyes narrowed, the attempt at intimidation faltering. His lips twitched, it seemed his old tricks wouldn't work on this boy.
"Who?" the chief finally spoke, confusion cracking his booming voice. It was not uncommon.
With a harem stretching over 30 wives and 40 concubines, and dozens of children scattered across the tribe, the chief often forgot names and faces.
A stranger could claim to be his son, and he wouldn't even know—though no one had dared, until now.
One of the guards at the door leaned forward, murmuring into the chief's ear.
After a moment, the chief's gaze lingered on Ishar. Recognition shone from his eyes.
"Oh," he said slowly, a crude smile forming. "So you are the one supposed to marry the Weyian tribe chief's daughter today. Where is she let me see if she is good enough."
His eyes gleamed, lecherous, scanning as if waiting to appraise a prize.
"I killed her," Ishar said flatly.
Borik and the other two froze for a heartbeat, confusion and alarm crossing their faces.
But they masked it quickly. Whatever the young master had in mind, it was not their place to question it in front of the chief.
Especially not now.
The chief's gaze paused on Ishar, a flash of disbelief and perhaps irritation, crossing his features.
Then, without a warning he raised his hand and slapped Ishar with the back of it.
The force sent Ishar flying three feet, landing hard on the ground with a grunt. The left side of his face now red.
That pain from that single slap was equivalent to the several punches he had received on the way.
The chief strode forward, his massive frame casting a shadow over Ishar.
With a swift, practiced motion, he grabbed the boy by the neck, lifting him just off the ground.
Ishar dangled there, weightless in the chief's grip, his legs keeping up the dirt beneath him.
The chief's voice dropped, slow and deliberate, each word heavy.
"When I say kill, you kill! When I say roll on the ground like a dog, you roll! When I say marry a girl, you marry the girl!"
Ishar tilted his head slightly, interrupting calmly, "I found her… unpleasing to the eyes."
The words earned him an immediate reaction.
The chief raised his hand and struck him across the face again.
This time, Ishar did not fly backward he was firmly in the chiefs iron grip. His neck turned back so hard he thought it would snap.
The chief's eyes narrowed a flicker of surprise at Ishar's audacity passing over his face.
Ishar wiped a trace of blood from his lip, his gaze unwavering he spoke.
"You could kill me now and be done with it," he said, voice low but firm. "By evening, you could have already taken another concubine and in a year, you would have another son."
The chief's eyes narrowed, a flicker of surprise in their depths. "If you know this," he said, voice rumbling like distant thunder, "then why go against my will?"
Ishar's reply was precise, measured. "I said you would have another son, not that he would be equal to me."
A deep, boisterous laugh shook the courtyard, echoing off the stone walls.
The chief's belly shook with amusement.
"What exactly is so special about you, boy? You lack tattoos on your body which shows you are still weak."
The guards around them stared in shock.
Normally, any hint of disobedience would have seen Ishar beaten to death and the chief would have returned to his meal, unconcerned.
The fact that he was standing, conversing with the young master, left them wide-eyed and slack-jawed.
Ishar, however, was unsurprised. He had predicted this outcome long before even meeting the chief.
In a man like this chief, one whose power had been absolute for decades the only way to earn attention was to violate his authority.
Not so much that the chief would be forced to kill to preserve face, but enough to pique interest.
Ishar had walked that razor's edge perfectly.
And now, he had to offer a reason to let him live, one that would preserve the chief's image as the cold-hearted tyrant his people feared.
Stretching his hand toward the sky, Ishar called forth his three crows from the trees surrounding the courtyard.
They circled above, wings catching the early days light. The crowd gasped, but the amazement was measured.
If it had been the Weyian tribe, fear and reverence would have taken root instantly.
But the Olan were warriors, disciplined and pragmatic. Their eyes registered the display, but their hearts did not quake.
Ishar waved his hands again, and the birds vanished as silently as they had appeared.
The chief turned, leaning slightly closer, a smirk forming beneath his beard. "So what? You can control a few birds. How does that benefit me?"
Although his hand relaxed slightly on Ishar's neck.
Ishar's gaze sharpened.
"Among the five tribes," he began, "the Olan tribe is the strongest in battle. You control the Weyian tribe because—" he raised a single index finger, "you have horses that can take you there in a day."
He raised a second finger, "You are stronger and larger than them."
"So why haven't you made them your vassals? Why have the other tribes remained beyond your control?"
The chief's brow furrowed. The surrounding warriors listened attentively. These were questions they always asked themselves.
"The answer is simple," Ishar declared "Distance...distance is a barrier you cannot overcome."
"If you attempted to make the Weyians your vassals, you would need to station someone there as governor to ensure loyalty and safety."
"And you would have to send envoys regularly, on horseback, to ensure the governor's loyalty."
"But you have limited horses. If you use the ones you have in such a way soon the horses would tire. If an invasion came at that moment, you would be caught unprepared."
"As for the other three tribes," Ishar's gaze swept over the courtyard, steady and unyielding, "the distances are even greater. It would take days to reach them even on horseback. As such you cannot bend them to your will."
He paused, letting the weight of his words settle over the chief.
Who by this time had let Ishar go and was listening as a student would to his masters teachings.
Ishar spoke in a voice that was calm but carried unmistakable authority.
"I am the solution to your problems."
The chief folded his arms across his chest, his gaze fixed thoughtfully on Ishar.
Silence stretched across the room as everyone waited, holding their breath.
Ishar stood before him, hands clasped behind his back, his gaze steady on the chief a confident smile tugging at his lips
After a long moment, the chief's eyes brightened, a sudden warmth softening his features.
He looked at Ishar as though he had found a long-lost son.
With a booming laugh, he swept Ishar off the ground, lifting him effortlessly. "Prepare a feast! I have a son!"