by Carol A Park
She was getting distracted. “You’re still in Cadmyr?”
“Yes…”
“Are you doing anything important these days? I have a pretty big favor to ask.”
Aleena laughed. “You know I’m ever at your disposal—and flexible. What do you need?”
Why in the abyss had she told Vaughn he could drop by this morning? If Sanca hadn’t met them…
“Could you escort someone to a group of Ichtaca down in Venetia?”
Ivana could tell by the snatches of conversation she heard as she approached the front room that they had moved on from the possibility of Sanca joining the Ichtaca.
Vaughn was right. Unless something changed soon, war would engulf Fuilyn sooner rather than later, and then she’d still be stuck deciding what to do.
“Sanca, do you really want to join the Ichtaca?”
Ivana had interrupted, and the voices fell silent as three heads swiveled in her direction.
Sanca went still, as if holding her breath. “Yes—but—”
“I know someone who can get you to them safely. Not another Banebringer, but another ally. Someone used to traveling.” She nodded to Danton. “Aleena. As long as you think she could stand in for a Banebringer sponsor.”
Sanca rose from her chair, her hands clasped in front of her. “You do? I mean—oh! Would that be…?” She looked first at Danton, and then Vaughn.
Vaughn shrugged, and though he spoke to Sanca, his eyes were on Ivana. “If you can work it out, I’ll contact Huiel and let him know I’m sending someone his way. He knows Aleena. I doubt he’ll have a problem with that.”
In her excitement, Sanca hurled herself at Ivana and wrapped her in an entirely too enthusiastic embrace. “Thank you—thank you!”
Ivana patted her awkwardly on the back, and then pulled herself away. “I can go with you as far as Carradon,” she said, “where we’ll meet my friend, who can take you the rest of the way.”
“And I can go with you as far as Weylyn City,” Danton added eagerly.
Initial plans were made. Sanca excused herself to get ready for work, and Danton headed to the inn to reserve another night so they could start fresh the next day.
Vaughn hung back.
He helped Ivana take the teacups and saucers back to the kitchen. “You’re going as far as Carradon?” he asked.
Ivana put two hands on the table and leaned on it, contemplating. She didn’t have to go through with this. She could take Sanca to meet Aleena and then go her own way. Searching, yet again, for a place she could settle.
For how long?
This was ridiculous. The questions about her parents had already been let loose. How long would they torment her? Was she afraid of what the sight of a bit of land might to do her? Or an old chest with her father’s papers, if they managed to find it? She had been overwrought last night, that was all. Unprepared for what Vaughn had brought with him. She felt calmer today. More in control.
No, perhaps this was what she needed. To prove to herself there was nothing left for her there. To allow herself to move on.
She could face this. For now, she turned to face Vaughn. “And then I’ll go on with you to Ferehar. Since you just singlehandedly uprooted my life here and I have no other plans.”
Vaughn’s face split into a grin. “I knew it. I knew it!”
“You orchestrated this on purpose,” she accused.
He held his hands up. “I had no idea your roommate was a Banebringer until this morning.”
“But having found out…”
“Did it hurt your decision?”
She grunted. “Don’t get your hopes up. It’s been over a decade. The chances that we find the woman, that she still has the chest, and that the chest has anything of value in it…”
“I don’t care,” said Vaughn. He spread his hands. “If nothing comes of it, then…” A muscle jumped in his jaw. “I’m out of options.”
She eyed him for a moment. Options? There was more going on here than he had told her; he was clinging to this slim hope far too tenaciously. What was the consequence to failing this quest—other than some distant and possibly unrealistic concern that they might need to confront Danathalt himself? “Then I hope for your sake, chance is on your side,” she said. “Because I’m going to be disgruntled if I go to all this trouble and you don’t even find what you’re looking for.”
Vaughn grinned. “I’ll take that risk.”
Chapter Six
The Xambrian
Driskell’s pencil scribbled furiously against his notepad as he tried to keep up with the meeting in progress.
Ri Tanuac was presiding, but right now he sat silent in his chair at the head of the table and listened.
Nahua was beside him, as usual. She, likewise, listened.
The furious scribbling was a result of Driskell recording the comments of the other four people in the room—excepting himself—along with his own commentary for Nahua’s later benefit.
“I cannot abide it any longer!” Gan Herne burst out. He slammed his fist on the table with such force that his many braids jumped along with everything on the table. “The arrogance of those dogs—”
H: Conclave = dogs, Driskell scribbled.
“We’ve tolerated the thumb of the Setanan Empire for centuries,” Gan Beatha said, nodding to Herne. “But we will not tolerate the thumb of the Conclave.”
B: thumbs = bad, no matter who they belong to, he wrote on the next line. It was a good thing Nahua was the only one who ever saw his originals.
“And what will you do, Beatha?” Gan Dillion spoke up.
Driskell always imagined Dillion as an older version of himself—or at least, what he hoped he might look like, when he was older. Lean, fit, and sophisticated—and definitely having grown out of his long, gangly limbs.
Dillion pushed his spectacles up and offered an alternative. “Take your lands and secede from Donia if we do not in turn secede from Setana?”
D: absurd argument to quell B
Chastised, the heavyset woman sat back, her face heightened in color. She fluffed her luxuriant brown hair, which was almost as full-bodied as she was. “Of course not,” she muttered.
B: duly quelled
“I agree with the sentiment,” Gan Fiacra said quietly. She, on the other hand, smoothed down her hair, which was cropped short and slicked against her head. “But in the end, the decision is up to the Ri.”
F: peacemaker, as usual
“There is no decision. As much as I wish it were different, we cannot win a war against Setana,” Dillion insisted.
D: war w/ Setana = certain doom
“If the others could be convinced to join us, they would lose that many more from the United Setanan, and be that much easier to defeat,” Beatha said.
B: need allies
Aside from their deep brown skin—typical of most Donians—the four Gan were as different as night and day, and a meeting with all four of them together never ceased to provide entertaining fodder for Driskell’s notes.
Ri Tanuac cleared his throat. “Your Graces. A word.”
The table fell silent, and Driskell looked up.
“I am sympathetic to all your complaints. I wish we could simply declare our independence and wash our hands of Setana. But Setana is brutal. History shows us what they did to the Venetians, who dared to fight back.”
“Our ancestors were cowards,” Herne muttered. “I won’t follow their path.”
Tanuac silenced him with a glance. “There is something else you’re forgetting. The Conclave has them.”
The Banebringers. Everyone knew by now that there were thousands of them under Weylyn City. All the Conclave had to do was slaughter them all, and the land would be overrun.
Beatha sniffed. “An idle threat.” She adjusted the necklace at her throat, an ostentatious bit of jewelry featuring at least a dozen polished cualli stones dangling as individual pendants from a single golden choker. “They won’t do it. They won’t hol
d power in Weylyn by destroying the capital, after all. The Conclave would be in as much trouble as the rest of us.”
“Would they?”
Driskell straightened up. He recognized the change in tone of the Ri’s voice. He was about to say something new. He drew a line on his paper and held his pencil at the ready.
“I’ve just received a report by carrier bird from one of my contacts in Weylyn City, and they’ve noted something curious.”
The table waited, while Driskell scribbled.
“Bloodbane have started trickling toward Weylyn City, almost as if drawn there. And they wait. Already, dozens and dozens of them are swarming about the walls, but they do nothing.”
“That’s…odd,” Beatha admitted.
“An understatement,” Herne muttered.
“The Conclave has another tool at their disposal,” Tanuac continued, “and I believe this oddity is a symptom. They not only have Banebringers, they have their magic. Even if we can diminish the numbers of the United Setanan by internal attrition, we have no hope of standing against Banebringer magic wielded by the Conclave against our own people.”
Not one of Tanuac’s advisors dared to speak after that proclamation.
Driskell couldn’t help but risk a glance at Nahua. Her eyes shifted to meet his, but she didn’t move her head.
Technology. Weapons. Medicine. Their own Banebringers?
All would be boons to any potential war.
But to ally with them?
It was unthinkable. How did that make them any better than the Conclave?
He didn’t write that. He didn’t want it recorded on paper anywhere.
Yaotel had been detained now for over two weeks. He had been provided quality food, wine, and any reasonable comfort someone held captive could request.
But still, Nahua had made no move.
Neither had the man’s two “associates” tried to retrieve him—or break him out.
Driskell had checked on them occasionally. They were still staying quietly at that same inn, making no trouble.
The Ri hadn’t questioned Nahua’s judgment when she said she was considering whether Yaotel was trustworthy and was working on an angle she would present to him when ready.
Driskell still couldn’t believe she was even considering giving Yaotel a hearing, but he trusted her more than he lent credence to his own misgivings.
A knock sounded on the door to the meeting room.
“Come,” Tanuac boomed.
Dal Anwell poked his head into the room. “My apologies, Your Excellency, but a…the…ah…Xambrian ambassador is here to see you.”
Xambrian ambassador? They had a Xambrian ambassador?
Tanuac stared at Anwell as if uncomprehending. Then he leaned over to whisper in Nahua’s ear. She nodded.
Tanuac stood. “Dismissed,” he said. “I need to attend to this meeting. Three days from now, same time, we’ll reconvene.”
The Gan threw curious glances at Tanuac, but they filtered out, all the same.
“Anwell,” Tanuac said, when the others had gone.
“Yes, Your Excellency.”
Tanuac gestured Dal Anwell into the room, and the steward entered and closed the door behind him. He seemed unusually…frazzled.
“We have a Xambrian ambassador?” Tanuac asked.
“No, Your Excellency.” Anwell smoothed an invisible wrinkle out of his tunic. “Well, I suppose the post is on the books, but it isn’t filled.” He coughed. “The Conclave hasn’t allowed foreign ambassadors for decades.”
“Yes. That’s what I thought. So, who is this man?”
“He’s a Xambrian.” Anwell looked scandalized at the very possibility of a Xambrian being on the premises.
“And he just showed up?”
Driskell was already intensely curious. For the second time in less than a month, an unexpected and outlandish visitor had arrived. What did this one portend?
“Indeed,” Anwell answered.
“Hmm. Curious.” Tanuac rubbed at the stubble of beard he kept on his chin. “Show him in.”
Anwell’s mouth dropped open. “Your Excellency? But—”
“Well, gather my guards, of course. But this is the first time a Xambrian has shown up in Marakyn for years. I want to hear what he has to say.”
Dal Anwell would like to lodge an official protest, Driskell wrote.
“If I may lodge an official protest—” started Anwell.
“You may,” said Tanuac. “Driskell? Write that down.”
“Already done, Your Excellency,” Driskell replied.
Nahua smothered a smile.
“There you go,” said Tanuac. “You can take care of the paperwork with Driskell later. Now show the ambassador in.”
They didn’t have to wait long.
The Xambrian led the way into the room, trailed by two of Tanuac’s personal bodyguards and an apologetic Anwell, who closed the door after him, leaving the guards behind to keep watch on their newest guest.
Tanuac, Nahua, and Driskell rose.
Driskell couldn’t keep his mouth from hanging open. The Xambrian was a short, squat man, if he could be called a man, with weather-beaten, tanned skin. The rest of them—even Driskell—towered over him. And everything about him was…squarish. His head was flat on top—not his hair, but his actual head. His forehead was flat. His stubby nose was squared off. The tips of his fingers were squarish. Driskell had no doubt that were he to remove his boots, his toes would look the same. Even the unadorned cranberry robe he wore hung off his shoulders in a suspiciously squarish way.
His startingly green eyes, at least, were round—almost too round. It gave him a wide-eyed, innocent look that was jarring against his otherwise angular features.
It was…odd. But Driskell looked away before Nahua could cast him a reproving glance. He was here to record and observe, not stare and judge. So instead, he wrote down his observations.
Then, to his surprise, the Xambrian knelt to the floor and bowed with his face to the ground, his back held perfectly parallel to the floor. “My lord Ri,” he said. “You have admitted me to your presence. I am indebted by your trust.” He spoke in a strange, rough accent, and yet…
He knew Setanan.
Tanuac exchanged a glance with Nahua. “I don’t believe I have the honor of your name, Dal.”
“Ambassador Mezzo, my lord.” The Xambrian continued speaking to the floor. “Forgive me if I am using incorrect honorifics. We have little interaction with your people, you understand.”
And he knew it fluently, if his opening statements were any indication. That seemed important, so Driskell noted it alongside his ongoing transcript.
“‘Your Excellency,’ properly, but I take no offense,” Tanuac said. “You may rise.”
The Xambrian rose back to his feet.
“Forgive me, Dal Mezzo,” Tanuac went on, “but I was not aware that we had an ambassador from Xambria, here or anywhere else in Setana.”
“Indeed, you did not have one, but you do now. After much discussion, we have taken it upon ourselves to send ambassadors to several of your Empire’s regions in the hopes that we may facilitate greater dialogue.” Mezzo bowed again, but not to the floor this time. “And thus, here I am.”
“Dialogue,” Tanuac said, one eyebrow raised. “May I ask which other regions?”
“Of course. Your esteemed sister region—Venetia—as well as Fuilyn and Ferehar.”
“Not Weylyn, Arlana, and Cadmyr?”
Mezzo smiled for the first time. And it was, predictably, rather squarish, with the edges of his lips jutting upward at an angle rather than curling, as one would expect. “I hardly think we would be welcome there,” he said.
“And yet, you imagine you would be welcome here.”
Mezzo gestured around the room. “You have shown me due courtesy in admitting me. Were we incorrect?”
Tanuac inclined his head. “Have a seat, ambassador.”
“Before I do, I must ask: are a
ll those in attendance in your confidence?”
Tanuac’s eyes rested on Nahua and then Driskell in turn. “Forgive me. This is my daughter, Nahua, and my attaché, Driskell. And yes. Certainly. They may be trusted.”
Mezzo seated himself and eyed Nahua. “Your heir?”
“It doesn’t quite work that way here, but she’s a likely contender.” Tanuac folded his hands on the table. “What can we do for you?”
“Direct and to the point. I can appreciate that.” Mezzo surveyed the three of them critically. “You have a complicated history with the Conclave here, yes?”
Tanuac was silent for a moment. “You might say that.”
“Come. Despite what you may have heard about my people, we’re no barbarians. I’ve read your histories—Setana’s bloody battle with Venetia, and your subsequent shame in refusing to fight.”
Gan Herne and this Xambrian would get along, Driskell thought, and then on second thought, he wrote it down.
“I would dispute your interpretation of the events,” Tanuac said, “but do go on.”
“Regardless, we know you have no real love for the Conclave. One might even say, no loyalty?”
A bold statement. It was one thing to hear the Gan argue about this, and even for Nahua to entertain Yaotel’s proposal, but a complete outsider?
Driskell hadn’t realized events would become so exciting when he had been chosen for this post right out of the academy, just under two years ago. His other option had been an internship at a bank—far less prestigious, but closer to home. He might rather have been buried in numbers and ledgers than thrust into the middle of this political intrigue.
Thankfully, his only role was to take good notes, and that he could do.
Tanuac’s face was carefully blank, but his lips tightened a bit. “You presume much for someone I’ve only just met…Ambassador.”
Mezzo gave his funny, angular smile again. “Keep your own counsels, of course. No matter. I am not here to pry information out of you. Rather, I’m here to make you an offer.”
More offers? Burning skies. Would-be benefactors were showing up in droves, it seemed. He glanced at Nahua, whose face betrayed nothing of her thoughts.