Atlas told Daethalion about the information he had gleaned. Daethalion nodded all the while. "I have learned such things also; however, I have taken measures to succeed anyway."
Atlas reclined, intreaged. "Go on," he coaxed.
"I have spread certain rumors through the network of informants that you have already killed this barbarian Lord. In the world of lies and shadows, a rumor is more powerful than poison, and it spreads quicker. I expect that within a few days, the king of Avalon's own spies will hear the rumor and send word back to the king."
"Clever, but what happens when I return without any proof?"
"What proof do you need?" Daethalion mused, "The king of Avalon has never seen the face of this lord, nor would he know one barbarian from another. We simply find some random nomad, relieve him of his head, and pass it off as the barbarian lord. When the king sees the head, combined with the rumors he will hear, he will have no reason to doubt your story."
"There is still a flaw, though," Atlas said, rubbing his chin, "The real lord will still be alive. He will certainly make himself known."
"There are many barbarian lords; who is to say this tribe will not adopt a new leader, who will take the same name as the fallen lord until he avenges him? To put it simply: anyone else is a vengence crazed blood hunter. And why not, if Atlas killed off this powerful lord? It is more the likely that more barbarians will be after him because of this. But, that is his problem, not yours. All you care for is his army's power."
There was a moment's silence, during which Daethalion could not tell Atlas's feelings. "Well, my adversary; what think you of this plan?"
Atlas shrugged
This was not the ideal time for him to explain his many disagreements to Daethalion’s logic. It was simply mad, but it would take far too long for Atlas to explain this to him. Once again Atlas sighed.
This disease was hurting him more than he had admitted, perhaps it had been the oxidation of the blood and the parasitic tendency of the poison that had left his left arm completely useless.
Atlas took a sip of his ale with a pinch of the powder, for a few short seconds it seemed his many curses slipped away into the spinning haze of intoxication, the shortly it returned.
“Daethalion, I am leaving. My reasons should be obvious in case they aren’t, the barbarian will be here soon enough, that is one. He will eventually arrive with an army, which may or may not succeed either way I won’t be here for it, that’s two. Exeter is a personal friend of the barbarian and will offer proof as to his authenticity, that’s three. Three is a bit of a stretch but whether he knows him or not he will convince the King of his identity.
I am sure there are alternatives to what my solution but none will work with me. I am tired. I have armies and clans and hundreds of kings all fighting for what I have I have no desire to continue to fight until I die. I need to rest. Desperately. And I will. Your movement is up to you, mine is simple enough.”
