“You’re incorrigible. Hello, Olem. Hello, Taniel.”
Olem nodded. Taniel stepped to the Lady’s side and kissed her hand. “Good afternoon, my lady.”
“I’m glad to see you’re still alive. No thanks to this one.” She jerked her chin at Tamas, and Tamas forced himself to swallow a biting remark. “Are you sure,” she continued, “that you want to remain in the employ of the Adran army? I’ll double whatever they’re paying you.”
Tamas eyed his son for a moment, and Taniel seemed to enjoy the uncomfortable silence that followed. Finally, he said, “My place is here, my lady. For now.”
“Pity.”
“A word, my lady?” Tamas asked.
They both led their horses off to the side and Tamas leaned over to her. “Will the Wings of Adom continue their support of this battle?”
“I’m having serious doubts as to the mental fortitude of the Adran field marshal,” Lady Winceslav said, looking him up and down.
“Oh? And you’ve made better decisions in the recent past? Shall I bring up a certain scandal among your brigadiers that’s only a few months old?”
Lady Winceslav pursed her lips. “Tell me, can you count the number of younger women you’ve slept with on one hand? On two? How about we include toes?”
“This bickering is unbecoming,” Tamas said, giving her a tight smile.
“Is that the best you’ve got? Where’s that famous grin you used to bag them all with?” Lady Winceslav shook her head before he could answer. “I’m here in my capacity as a member of your council. Not as the head of the Wings of Adom. We took impossible losses last week and we haven’t yet decided what to do about it.” Tamas opened his mouth, but Lady Winceslav leaned close and whispered, “We’re going to withdraw. But I won’t make that announcement for a couple of days. As far as this parley is concerned, we will provide a unified front.”
Tamas’s throat was dry. “Thank you,” he said back quietly. Louder, “Well. I’ll look forward to hearing your answer.” He was not happy to hear her decision. If Ipille continued the war, he would need her mercenaries more than ever. But he couldn’t make an issue of it now.
Tamas noted that someone else had ridden in just behind Lady Winceslav’s escort. He frowned and wheeled his mount toward the approaching rider.
“Nila, was it?”
The laundress-turned-Privileged nodded her head. She kept a white-knuckle grip on the saddle horn, and scowled at the roan stepping nervously beneath her.
“Been riding long?”
“No, actually. This is only my third time.”
“I see. You’re doing remarkably well, if that’s the case.”
“Thank you.”
“Nila, may I ask what you’re doing here?”
“It’s Privileged Nila, sir. And yes. I’ve been sent by Privileged Borbador.”
“Have you now, Privileged Nila?”
“Indeed.”
“For what?”
“Why, to attend the negotiations.”
Tamas blinked at this. “I don’t mean to be rude, but you’re a laundress who has only recently become a Privileged apprentice. What makes Bo think you belong at a negotiation between nations?”
“He said I should get used to it.”
“Did he? Well, you can go back to Bo and tell him that this is not appropriate.”
The smile wavered, but to the girl’s credit she did not flinch. “I won’t do that, sir.”
“Even if I order it?”
“With all due respect, I am not under your command, sir.”
He could see the nervousness in her eyes now. The slight shake of her hands on the reins. What was this, some kind of test that Bo had put her to? Face down Field Marshal Tamas?
“It is within my power to bar you from the negotiations.”
“You can’t, sir. I have every right to be here as the representative of the Adran Republic Cabal.”
“The what? Taniel!” Tamas whirled his horse and beckoned impatiently for his son. Taniel arrived a moment later. “What the pit is your friend playing at?”
“What friend?”
“Don’t act coy with me. Borbador. What is this business about the Adran Republic Cabal?”
Taniel looked at Nila, then at Tamas, suppressing a chuckle. “He’s not playing at anything, sir. You’ve asked him to help with the war effort and he’s the last trained Privileged left in Adro. Nila is his apprentice and, from what Bo tells me, she is even stronger than he is. Those two are the Adran Cabal now, and since we’re trying to be a republic, he thought it pointless to continue calling it the royal cabal.”
Tamas opened his mouth once, then closed it, trying to think of an argument against this that didn’t end with him saying “because I say so.” He couldn’t come up with one. Bo was, technically, still a government Privileged.
“Don’t say a bloody word,” Tamas said, pointing at Nila. “I’m grateful for what you did at the battle last week and it’s earned you my goodwill. But I will not have a former laundress arguing points of politics with the bloody king of Kez.”
Nila’s ingratiating smile returned. “Of course, Field Marshal. I’m only here as a representative.”
Tamas spurred his horse back to Olem. “The laundress is going with us.”
“Yes sir. It’s almost the appointed time.”
Tamas gave a silent prayer of thanks that Olem had accepted the news without comment. “Send a man ahead. Vlora, you have command until I return. If anything happens, kill Ipille’s Privileged first, and then Ipille.”
“Yes sir.”
Tamas led his delegation across the lonely field to the outskirts of the town, where they waited for their messenger to return and tell them that Ipille was already in the chapel. They dismounted and left their horses tied beside one of the small houses, then walked the last hundred yards of the journey.
Two of the Kez royal guard flanked the chapel. Tamas looked them up and down—they wore gold on black, with gray trim. Their feathered, flat-top hats were tipped forward, chin straps hugging their jaws. Dark, unflinching eyes gazed back at Tamas, and he wished he had his powder cabal with him. The Kez royal guard was not to be trifled with. He doubted even Olem’s Riflejacks measured up to them.
“I’m here to see your king,” Tamas said.
One of them snapped a nod and turned sharply on his heel to open the chapel door. Olem left two men, one for each of the Kez, and then went first, followed by Lady Winceslav and Nila. Three of Tamas’s generals, two colonels, and a lawyer who had come along with Lady Winceslav filed inside.
Taniel hung back, a sour look on his face as if he’d swallowed a lime whole.
Tamas waited patiently for Taniel to finally come forward. “It’s time to end this,” Tamas said.
A muscle jumped in Taniel’s jaw. For a moment, Tamas thought his son’s discipline would fail him, but ever the soldier, Taniel gave a sharp nod and headed in, leaving Tamas to steel his own emotions before he followed to complete the delegation.
The chapel was poorly lit by a single window on the eastern side. It was one large room, only about twenty feet by thirty. The pews had been stacked along the walls and a large table brought in, covered with a gold cloth and a small feast of fruits and desserts. Candelabras had been lit and artwork hung along the walls—no doubt, additions made by Ipille’s retinue to give some semblance of royalty to the place.
A small group of politicians occupied the far end of the table. Field Marshal Goutlit sat on one side with a pair of generals Tamas did not recognize. On the other was a thin woman with delicate, birdlike features in the official tan-and-green robe of the Kez royal cabal. Beside her sat a pale, limp-looking fellow named Duke Regalish—Ipille’s closest adviser. A few other noblemen stood along the back wall.
Ipille himself sat at the head of the table.
He’d grown morbidly obese since the last time they had met, the night Tamas had tried to kill him. Once a dapper lion of a man, he sat stuffed into a cha
ir that would have been big enough for a pair of grenadiers. He wore swaths of cloth; thick, bristling furs draped over his shoulders, trimmed with gold, and on his fingers rubies that would make an Arch-Diocel blush.
“Tamas.” Ipille’s voice sounded like the inside of a bass drum, and his jowls shook when he spoke.
“Ipille.”
A chair scraped the stone floor, and Duke Regalish shot to his feet. “You will address his august majesty as ‘Your Royal Highness.’ He is a king, you common cur, and you will treat him as such.”
“Shall I put this dog down?” Olem asked, his hand resting on the hilt of his smallsword.
Tamas let his silence speak for him, letting Regalish stand quivering with indignation until Ipille turned his head toward his adviser. “Sit down, my good duke. Your whimpering will have no effect on Tamas. He is a man of iron. Iron does not bend. It only shatters.”
Tamas clasped his hands behind his back and tried to focus through the pain in his side.
Ipille’s fat fingers drummed heavily on the oak table as Olem made his way silently around the room. He bent to lift the tablecloth, then strolled around the table, looking over each of the advisers with a studious eye, ignoring their baleful glares.
“What is this, Tamas?”
“Precaution.”
“We’re here under a flag of truce, are we not?”
“Come now, Your Moribund Majesty. You took your precaution by arriving first. I take mine now.”
Ipille’s deep chuckle forestalled another outburst from Regalish.
Olem finished his search and gave Tamas a nod, and Tamas gestured to the chairs on his end of the table. “Ipille, I will introduce Lady Winceslav—I believe you’ve met. My son, Major Taniel Two-shot. Privileged Nila of the Adran Republic Cabal. Members of my senior staff.”
“Charmed,” the king said. “You know Regalish. I believe you killed his uncle. Some of my advisers back there,” he said with a dismissive wave. “Field Marshal Goutlit. Magus Janna.” Another of Ipille’s deep chuckles. “We’re both scraping the bottom of the barrel when it comes to Privileged, are we not? Sad times.”
Tamas gestured for his companions to sit, then took his own place at the opposite end of the table from Ipille. “I’d wager on my own companion in a fight.”
“Would you? My spies tell me she’s an untrained apprentice.”
His spies? The royal arrogance showing through. I know he has spies in my army, of course. But for him to admit so is… obscene. “Did they tell you that she cooked the whole of one of your brigades?” Out of the corner of his eye Tamas saw Nila sit up a little straighter, trying to look regal. She was a striking young woman—though the redness on her cheeks marred the image a bit. A little skill and confidence, and she would dominate this kind of negotiation. Bo hadn’t sent her as a rebellious insult, Tamas realized, he’d sent her to learn.
“And fainted afterward!” Ipille made a dismissive gesture. “Auxiliaries. I can always get more men. I imagine you’re running out. Isn’t that right, Lady Winceslav?”
Lady Winceslav gave the king a tight smile and flicked open a fan, fanning herself gently. “War is equally unkind to all, Your Majesty.”
“But especially to those with the fewest troops. Now Tamas, are we going to sit here making veiled insults and threats, or shall we treat together?”
“You have an offer?”
Ipille nodded to Regalish, and the adviser stood, clearing his throat. “This war is costing both our countries millions. By the grace of our lord Kresimir and Ipille II, king of Kez, we extend terms of peace.” He paused to clear his throat again. “We will withdraw our forces to Budwiel and the city will be ceded voluntarily to Kez control. Kez will acknowledge the autonomy of the Adran nation, and in exchange will be paid the sum of one hundred million krana as reparations.”
Regalish continued for another five minutes on the particulars of their offer, consulting an official-looking document twice on some minor detail. When he’d finished, he cleared his throat once more and returned to his seat.
Tamas put one elbow on the table, resting his chin on his palm, and raised one eyebrow at Ipille.
“You’re very amusing people,” Lady Winceslav commented.
“You have no chance of winning, Tamas,” Ipille rumbled. “I can afford the losses of the past six months. They are a drop in the bucket to our population. You cannot. If nothing else, we will win by attrition.”
“Your men have told you that you’re now at war with Deliv, correct? The late Duke Nikslaus made a grave error by attacking Alvation with the intention of blaming Adro, and I understand they’ve invaded you from the north while also sending some sixty thousand reinforcements, which will arrive in just a few days. And they still have an entire royal cabal.”
Ipille’s expression gave nothing away. Regalish leaned close to him to whisper in his ear.
“Where is your one-eyed god, king?” Taniel said suddenly, his voice cutting through Regalish’s whispers. “Where are your mighty Privileged and your great armies? Where are your spies and your traitors bought with gold and religion?”
Ipille brushed Regalish aside. “You wish to match yourself against me, boy? You fancy yourself a god-killer? Tell me, did you piss yourself when you looked Kresimir in the face?”
“No. I shot him in the eye.”
“Kresimir lives yet.”
“Resting peacefully, I’m sure,” Taniel sneered.
Tamas flinched. Watch yourself, Taniel, he thought. He only goads you on so you will tell him our secrets. “That’s enough, Major,” Tamas said, hating the smug smile in the corner of Ipille’s mouth. He removed a paper from his pocket and unfolded it.
“We’re prepared to offer generous terms of our own. You will withdraw from Adro completely, relinquishing all your false claims and recognizing our republic with the Nine as witness. You will grant us ten thousand acres of the Amber Expanse. You will agree to a hundred years of peace, again witnessed by every country in the Nine, and you will return every prisoner of war and grant us hostages to guarantee your agreement.”
“And in return?”
“I won’t slaughter your army like a herd of mad cattle.”
Regalish was on his feet again. “You go too far!”
“Sit down, you snake. I treat with your king, not his dogs. In addition to all this, you will hand over Kresimir.”
“Kresimir is off the table,” Ipille said.
“More like under it,” Taniel murmured.
Tamas gestured his son to silence. “Those are our terms.”
“Such generosity,” Ipille grunted. “Shall I give you my firstborn as well?”
“I already have Beon, though I suppose he’s only the thirdborn.”
The Kez Privileged swallowed a laugh and received a glare from Ipille. “Shall I cut off my leg for you, Tamas?” Ipille continued. “Grant you a dukedom? You ask too much.”
“Those are our terms,” Tamas said.
“And they are intractable?”
“Well. This is a negotiation.”
The Kez delegation huddled on their side of the room and Tamas took his own advisers close to the chapel doors for privacy.
“You’re a terrible negotiator,” Lady Winceslav said quietly. “ ‘This is a negotiation?’ ” she mimicked. “You might as well tell him you’ll give up ground.”
“I’ve lost patience in my old age.”
“We did not agree on the bit about Kresimir.”
“Taniel already let slip that we know Kresimir is comatose,” Tamas said with a scathing glance at his son. “And besides, we can take whatever guarantees we want from the Kez. If Kresimir manages to come around, he will destroy us regardless of Kez promises.”
“Then what good will having him in our possession do?”
“Our deaths will be that much quicker,” Olem suggested.
Tamas glared at his bodyguard. “We can discover how to contain him. Or kill him.”
“He won’t b
udge on Kresimir,” Nila said. The young woman’s voice surprised Tamas.
“Are you skilled in statecraft, young Privileged?” Tamas asked, his irritation leaking through. His side had started to throb, and the conviction with which he’d started the day was waning. Politics was supposed to be an old man’s game, yet it wearied Tamas more than war. He preferred the energy and decisiveness of battle to the machinations of bloated monarchs and their council.
“I agree with her,” Taniel said.
Of course. “Right. On their demands?”
“We won’t pay them a cent,” Lady Winceslav said.
“And it’s unacceptable that we give them any of our land.” Nila again.
“Of course, of course.”
The haggling went on through the afternoon. The Kez made offers, and Tamas countered with his own, only to be rejected. The back-and-forth continued for hours, and they retired for lunch and then dinner provided by retainers from their respective camps.
It was two hours after nightfall when they agreed to conclude for the day and meet again in three days’ time.
“I must consult with my advisers at greater length,” Ipille said. “And discuss the best interests of my people.”
“Because you care so highly for their lives and well-being?” Tamas asked.
Ipille gave Tamas a shallow smile. “The crown is a heavy burden to wear.”
A little later, Tamas mounted his horse and prepared to ride.
“Shall we make camp nearby tonight?” Olem asked.
Tamas shook his head. “I’d rather be back with the army.”
“That’s eight miles from here.”
Tamas looked first to Winceslav, then to Taniel, and then to Nila. “Your preferences?”
“I’ll ride ahead if you camp,” Taniel said.
“And I prefer not to be caught out with the Kez royal guard on the prowl,” said Lady Winceslav.
It was long past midnight when they neared the Adran camp, and Tamas sagged in his saddle. His side hurt and his head felt like a millstone. These negotiations would be drawn out and exhausting. Their only advantage lay in the fact that Ipille would want to finish them before the Deliv army arrived to tip the scales. Deliv would demand to participate in the negotiations from there on out and it would go worse for the Kez.
The Autumn Republic Page 20