“In order to prevent revenge by the people of Neda-Calacas,” Acamantu concluded, “Tastis has taken the city and invited revenge not only by its people, but by the other cities in the Elva.”
“Cousins,” said Tegestu, interrupting quietly before the disagreement could split the aldran, “we are not obliged to judge whether Tastis’ action was appropriate, but only to witness it. Our duty lies in recording our notice, and in sending such to Tastis.
“Further, we must deal with the implications of this message. It was sent kantu-kamliss, that no one but Pranoth should be able with honor to read it or comment publicly on its contents. Surely this ban is inappropriate. The taking of an entire city was a public act; such an act demands public justification.’’
“The insult was to kamliss Pranoth,” Amasta said. “Kamliss Pranoth has taken revenge. Justification of such an act is not required except to those of the kamliss concerned.”
“I think, respected cousin, that bro-demmin Tegestu is correct,” said Sethenthu. He was sixty-eight, bald but carefully wigged, and known as “Sethenthu the Silent” for his reserved manner: he rarely volunteered an idea or participated in an argument, but only spoke when he thought the subject needed clarification. “Your argument, cousin Amasta, is inconsistent. You defend the seizure of the city on practical grounds — very well, but since you must realize the practical consequences of this message, the potential for causing distrust between ourselves and our lords, surely you must do Tastis the honor of believing him to realize this also?”
Amasta was silent for a moment, and then bowed. “I stand corrected, bro-demmin Sethenthu. May your arm never weaken.”
“This private message was sent very publicly,” Tegestu said. “By messengers arriving in a dispatch boat that cleared quarantine here and the local customs, and who then hired horses and gear and paraded their Pranoth-sa-Neda banners through the streets of the city before coming to our keep. The Abessu-Denorru Necias doubtless knows the message was sent. Yet it will be a difficult matter to convince him that we cannot inform him of its contents, we who are his servants.
“Surely Tastis intended distrust between ourselves and Arrandal. The kantu-kamliss message was such that our entire Aldran might not read it; yet according to the scroll Tastis’ entire aldran consented to the capture of the city, and his aldran, like ours, is composed of clans other than Pranoth. Surely Tastis intends — I will not say distrust, but certainly disunity — within our aldran. For what purpose, other than the sowing of discord, would Tastis send us such a message? And how, bro-demmin cousins, should we deal with it? How can we keep the trust of the city without breaking our sacred obligations?”
Amasta’s pale eyes glittered coldly. Her voice, when she spoke, was arrogant and commanding. Tegestu recognized the tone at once: her superb, cunning, ruthless mind, once presented with the problem, had found a plan worth considering.
“Bro-demmini,” she said, “there is a way.” Lazily, she took a drink of tea. “It will require a sacrifice — there will be killing — but I assure you, there is a way.”
CHAPTER 3
The room was small but exquisitely decorated, from the deep brown parquetry of the floor, to the lighter-colored carved paneling of the walls, to the lovely bronze shrine to the household gods that occupied the corner. The parquetry was gradually accumulating a series of scuff marks as Acragas Necias, master of the city of Arrandal, paced rapidly back and forth like an animal in its cage. He consumed tea-cakes at frequent intervals, chewing in a brisk, businesslike fashion with the few good teeth he had remaining on the right side. Tegestu was due for his audience within the half hour, and Necias knew the Brodaini chieftain would be precisely on time. He halted his pacing, irritated at his own distress. He felt he had lost cimmersan, becoming disadvantaged, and he had no clear notion of how to regain the initiative.
He was the Community Speaker of the city, Abessu-Denorru — “Abeissu” for short — and he was a man of vast wealth. Perhaps the wealthiest man in Arrandal, perhaps not: his social position required great expenditure, and those with greater acquisitiveness and fewer civic ambitions might have surpassed him. Though the Acragas family had not been prominent in his youth, he had nevertheless been nominated to the Denorru-Deissin, the nine-man oligarchy who ruled the city, at an early age, and had by now married into many of the great families of the city. He was not used to frustration, and was not bearing it well.
He was a large man, with a massive barrel chest and brawny wide-spread arms, and he was always in motion; for nearly twenty years he had run the city and its affairs, through a half-dozen successful wars and a score of little country clashes, and in these last years he thought he had finally reached some kind of plateau of stability, that all the forces — social, economic, baronial, racial, military — were finally adding up to some kind of balance. There hadn’t been a major war in ten years; trade agreements with the other Elva cities had seemed to define effectively the various areas of influence; the importation of Brodaini warriors had created a climate of military stability, with no city having the advantage of another; the outland barons were slowly being pacified. Necias had, he had thought, created a peace that might last a hundred years.
But now Neda-Calacas had burst into rebellion — worse than a rebellion, really, for revolts were frequent in the Elva cities, as houses of one faction purged those of another. This was a race war, as a minority warrior caste tried to impose its will on a much larger, sophisticated, and vastly dissimilar population.
And, of course, the revolt could spread to Arrandal. Perhaps, he thought with an angry, fatalistic despair, the astrologers had been right about a season of upheaval. Ever since the new, fixed star had appeared, apparently right overhead, the astrologers had been predicting a great change below. They were, as usual, unspecific about the exact nature of the change, but Necias had been assured it would be major, perhaps catastrophic. Necias had thanked the astrologers and gone about his own business, convinced that there was little point to their art if they couldn’t offer him practical advice— and then he’d turned the new star to sensible advantage by offering a cash prize for anyone working out a way to navigate by it. But still, he thought grudgingly, perhaps the astrologers were right; perhaps it was all in the stars, and the sky had already proclaimed that Necias’ century of peace was not to be.
He had been certain of Brodaini loyalty; he had seen it demonstrated in so many ways, including the intramural wars fought between the cities of the Elva, when Brodaini in the service of one city had fought Brodaini in the service of another. His policy had been based on Brodaini loyalty; his very rise to power was based on it. The knowledge, sudden and stunning, that his power may have been resting on unstable foundations had filled him with anxiety.
Necias gobbled another tea-cake, bit down hard on a bad tooth, and winced. He paused for a moment, rubbing his jaw, and pondered.
Why hadn’t Tegestu reported to him the contents of the communication he’d received from the rebels? The message had been delivered publicly; Tegestu had to have known that Necias was aware of its arrival, and would be chafing to know its contents. Tegestu’s uncompromisingly obedient reply to his summons was reassuring; but still there was a deep anxiety that underlay all Arrandal’s relationships with its Brodaini, and not a little fear. There was something unsettling about the Brodaini, something alien and fierce — the Brodaini could explode into ruthless violence if provoked, and no one quite understood what constituted provocation.