Immediately
after these, in the second row beginning on the right and trailing off
to the left, stood male in-laws beholden unto him enough to show up or
risk serious loss of status.
He surveyed their ranks, noting whoever was absent and deserving of
punishment for it. There were a few. Punishing in-laws was a necessary
thing, best done while the sword was still dripping red from the
victory of a battle well-fought.
He made a mental note that a small war-party would have to be detailed
to go take care of the drop-outs when he had finished off Kadrug's
forces.
Old Maskron, one of his fathers-in-law, was there at the fore as usual.
Maskron, a fierce, white-maned old scoundrel, always showed up with his
dinged old bronze sword polished and gleaming like gold, and he was
always asked to come forward to utter the closing prayers, shaking and
waving his sword in the air in wild gesticulations of false bravado.
Maskron was too old to fight, and too proud to stay away, so it was
exceeding helpful, in saving face for both of them, to permit him this
signal honor.
One distant cousin of the son of his sixth wife, whose name was Puffat
and whose mother bore an illegitimate connection to the Emperor
himself, stood with one armpit held up by a crutch, his broken and
splinted right leg having recently been the source of much grief at the
hands of the bonesetter.
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