“Fancy talk,” sneered Valentinian. “But tell me this, O wise one—what’s the simple thing about the general’s plan?” He snorted. “Name any simple thing about his plan!”
Ousanas returned the sarcasm with a level gaze.
“The simple thing at the heart of the general’s plan, Valentinian, is the soul of Venandakatra. The entire plan revolves around that one thing. Which is perhaps the simplest thing in the world.”
“No man’s soul is simple,” countered Valentinian, feebly.
“Not yours, perhaps,” replied the dawazz. “But the soul of Venandakatra? You think that thing is complex?” Ousanas barked. In that single laugh was contained a universe of contempt. “If you wish complexity, Valentinian, examine a pile of dog shit. Do not look for it in the soul of Venandakatra.”
“He’s got a point,” rumbled Anastasius. The huge cataphract sighed. “A rather good one, actually.” Another sigh, like the resignation of Atlas to his labors. “Irrefutable, in fact.”
Valentinian glowered. “Maybe!” he snapped. “But still—what of the rest of it? The prince’s part in the plot is simple enough, I’ll admit.” A skeptical glance at Eon. “If—begging your pardon, Prince—the young royal can stomach it.” Now he pointed to Ousanas. “But what of his part in the plan? Do you call that simple?”
Ousanas grinned. “In what way is it not? I am required to do two things only. Not more than two! I assure you, cataphract, even savages from the savanna can count as high as two.”
Menander interrupted, in a whisper.
“Those are two pretty complicated things, Ousanas.”
“Nonsense! First, I must learn a new language. A trick I learned as a boy. Then, I must hunt. A trick I learned even earlier.”
“You’re not going to be hunting an eland in the savanna, dawazz,” said Eon uncertainly.
“That’s right,” chimed in Valentinian. “You’re going to be hunting a man in a forest. A man you don’t know, in a forest you’ve never seen, in a land you’ve never visited.”
Ousanas shrugged. “What of it? Hunting is simple, my dear Valentinian. When I was a boy, growing up in the savanna, I did not think so. I was much impressed with the speed of the impala, and the cunning of the buffalo, and the ferocity of the hyena. So I wasted many years studying the ways of these beasts, mastering their intricate habits.”
He wiped his brow. “So exhausting, it was. By the time I was thirteen, I thought myself the world’s greatest hunter. Until a wise old man of the village told me that the world’s greatest hunters were tiny little people in a distant jungle. They were called pygmies, he said, and they hunted the greatest of all prey. The elephant.”
“Elephants?” exclaimed Anastasius. He frowned. “Just exactly how tiny are these—these pygmies?”
“Oh, very tiny!” Ousanas gestured with his hand. “Not more than so. I know it is true. As soon as I heard the wise man’s words, I rushed off to the jungle to witness this wonder for myself. Indeed, it was just as the village elder had said. The littlest folk in the world, who thought nothing of slaying the earth’s most fearsome creatures.”
“How did they do it?” asked Menander, with youthful avidness. “With spears?”
Ousanas shrugged. “Only at the end. They trapped the elephants in pits, first. I said they were tiny, Menander. I did not say they were stupid. But, mainly, they trapped the elephants with wisdom. For these little folk, you see, did not waste their time as I had done, studying the intricate ways of their prey. They simply grasped the soul of the elephant, and set their traps accordingly. The elephant’s soul is fearless, and so they dug their pits in the very middle of the largest trails, where no other beast would think to tread.”
He stared at his prince. “Just so will I trap my prey. It is not complicated. No, it will be the simplest thing imaginable. For the soul of my prey is, in its way, as uncomplicated as that of Venandakatra. And I will not even have to grasp that soul, for it has been in my hand for years already. I have stared into the very eyes of that soul, from a distance of inches.”