I took way more liberties translating this section than I have on any section so far. I tend to stick fairly close to a literal translation whenever possible. As I've stated before (though maybe not specifically on this blog), I suck at Spanish. I usually understand only about 50% of what's happening when I just read the story by myself, which is enough for me to push on through to the next section. In order to translate it though, I first run it through Google Translate, use that as the base for my translation, then use a mixture of my own language knowledge and WordReference to smooth out all of the mistakes. It probably takes me 2 or 3 hours to translate one single post.
The hardest line to translate this time was "he himself had distributed those men among the multitude after paying them so that they would proclaim his glories." The original said "a aquellos hombres los había repartido él mismo entre la multitud después de pagarles para que pregonaran sus glorias." Breaking it into reasonably understood chunks, I got [to those men] [had distributed] [himself] [among the multitude] [after paying them] [that they would proclaim his glories]. My brain gets tired just looking at it again.
Other phrases of minor note: "By no means!" became "Hell no!" because I could not imagine an army shouting the literal translation. "Smelled where the wind came from" became "could read the direction of the wind" just cause it sounded really really odd.
Anywho, enough about the details of language choice, enjoy the newest translation!
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On the fourth day after Hairón’s death, Aperión convened the
assembly of warriors. The men of the Horde
crowded onto the great parade grounds. The
carpenters had prepared the old wooden platform that was used for such tasks
and at its foot the captains waited with as much curiosity as the rest of men. The cold north wind rippled Aperión’s purple cape,
whose proud beard looked mutilated without the locks that had been torn out
over Hairón’s burial mound.
"Warriors!" he exclaimed, and that word reached
every corner. Some commented that his
voice was even more powerful and clear than the deceased Hairón. Maybe it was true; but just in case, he
himself had distributed those men among the multitude after paying them so that
they would proclaim his glories. "Warriors!" he repeated. "There is no need to remind you what a great
man, what a great general, what a great hero has left us! Any of you could speak of that loss with
better words than mine."
Murmurs of approval went up. Aperión, contradicting his own words, delivered
a long eulogy of Hairón’s virtues. But
the captains began to exchange glances at the realization that within that
praise Aperión himself occupied an increasingly important place, as if nobody
else in the world had shared Hairón’s tent, his vigils and wounds, his plans
and counsel.
"You’re wondering: What will become of us? Will we continue being this proud army that
our chief created, or will we scatter transformed into ragged bands of
mercenaries to fight for a meager bowl of lentils?"
Cries of “No!" and "Never!" rose up. Aperión silenced them with his hand and
continued.
"We need the Sword of Fire! Only with it can we maintain the prestige that
Hairón won for us!"
"Yes, yes, Zemal!
The Sword of Fire!" cried the
assembly.
"But we must be united to get it!" Aperión pointed
with a dramatic gesture to the captains, at the foot of the platform. "There are three grand masters below who
can legitimately aspire to the weapon Tarimán forged. But I say: Must we compete between us, and run the risk that
some other rival will seize Zemal, or
unite our forces for the common good of the Red Horde?"
"Hell no! We
must be united!" clamored the warriors.
Ghiem, a mix of Ainari and Tricia blood that flaunted eight marks
of mastery on his armband, turned to Kratos and whispered:
"He is playing us. We should not have let him speak in
public."
Kratos simply frowned. Aperión was no master of rhetoric, but he had known
to take the initiative and now manipulated at his whim the passions of the
assembly.
"It is in your hands, warriors, to decide which of us
should be the sole candidate of the Red Horde to fight for the Sword of Fire! I swear, as no doubt the rest of my companions
do, that I will support to the death the one you choose and sacrifice my own
ambitions for him! But it must be your
voice that commands it!"
No one was surprised to hear the unanimous mandate of the
assembly, a roar that rose like a wave: Aperión, Zemalnit Aperión! The gazes turned to the captains, and among
them, the three Tahedoráns who could compete against Aperión for the Sword of
Fire. Ghiem could read the direction of
the wind and joined in the shouts of the multitude. Siharmas kept watching his friend Kratos. The latter hid his hands in his sleeves and bowed
his head. Siharmas followed suit.
The gesture was ambiguous, but the interpretation spread among
the soldiers that both masters respected the decision of the assembly of
warriors, although they did not share it. That was enough, for the moment.
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