The Saber Technique

Crowds, even crowds of people who had undergone rigorous training, were full of unpredictable variables, more inscrutable than the most restless sea. Only an experienced old sailor could spot the first signs of an approaching storm.

Deputy Captain Gulin looked over the faces of more than a hundred commanders. This was a crowd he knew well; he could name most of them and identify their tribes. Yet now they seemed as unfamiliar as a pack of beasts, their smiles hiding hostility, as if they might tear him apart at any moment.

There was no point in entertaining fantasies. The facts were right in front of him, Gulin told himself. The Dragon King might be able to work miracles, but he couldn't place all his hopes in an outsider. A Zheba and the others had been rash, but at least they had dared to put their plan into action. He had to do something too.

The five candidates for Grand Commandant sat in a row, an empty wine jar placed before each of them. From the commanders down, every officer and soldier held five small pieces of sheepskin, one stained with blood. They would file past the jars and drop one piece of sheepskin into each. Whoever received the most bloodstained pieces would become the Imperial Guard's new Grand Commandant.

According to the rules, no one could show their sheepskins to the candidates, nor could they speak. Their eyes were the only means of communication.

Gulin received many meaningful looks. If every one of them was genuine, he was certain to become the new Grand Commandant.

He returned their looks with a confident, resolute gaze, but he knew better than anyone that he was no more than a prop, just like the other three candidates.

The voting ended, and everyone breathed