She took a deep breath and urged her horse forward. It was time to be on her way.
CHAPTER 28
Tegestu watched Necias’ dark and startled eyes. “I must have your answer tonight, Abeissu Necias,” he said. “Delay would not be in our interests.”
Necias’ fingers drummed on the arm of his settee as he listened to simultaneous translations from Campas and the Classanu scribe that Tegestu had brought with him. His eyes narrowed. “It’s difficult, very difficult,” he said, and then his speech faltered.
Tegestu, cloaked and hooded, had come to Necias after midnight in a small six-oared messenger craft, slipping out of Calacas’ water gate with a murmur of the password. There had been no challenge as they stroked with muffled oars to the Elva camp, no challenge at all until after he and his interpreter had scrambled up the bank and walked to Necias’ barge, where the interpreter had called for the captain of the guard.
“To see the Abessu-Denorru. Something to his advantage.” Tegestu, hooded still, turned away from the guards’ inquiring eyes.
Little Necias had been roused at the appearance of Brodaini and had come clattering up the gangplank with a lantern and a pair of hulking, armored men with two-handed swords. “For you only, cenors-stannan,” the interpreter had said, gesturing for Little Necias to come up the bank. The big man carefully obeyed, raising the lantern to meet Tegestu’s frowning face, and then gasped an oath.
“We must see the Abessu-Denorru,” Tegestu said. “No one but you and he must see us. A matter of urgency.”
Tegestu and the Classanu were brought into the dark reception room, clanking guards posted at the doors. A lantern was lit. And then Necias, draped in a vast dressing gown that did not entirely muffle the delicate rattling of the knee-length coat of chain he wore under it, came warily into the room. His shadow bulked huge on the paneled wall, but his mouth seemed shrunken: Tegestu realized he hadn’t put in his front teeth. Tegestu, making certain they were alone, pulled back his hood.
“I bring my interpreter along to make certain we do not misunderstand,” he had said. “I think we can end the war, favorably for us both.”
That had been an hour before. Necias had listened quietly, with a few of the nervous gestures, the rubbing of his jowls, tapping of fingers, twisting of rings, to which he was prone. And then, uncomfortably, he had raised objections. Tegestu had, he thought, dealt with them all.
“I must have an answer now, Necias Abeissu,” Tegestu said.
Necias shook his head, the move amplified in grotesque shadow on the barge’s beamed deckhead, then turned his head away, his eyes closed. “More time,” he muttered.
“Think, Abeissu,” Tegestu said. “Think until dawn, if you must. But not beyond.”
And so they sat in silence, Tegestu staring intently at Necias as Necias stared into himself. The Classanu, practiced at the art of not existing when he was not wanted, sat on his heels and waited. Tegestu listened abstractedly to the sound of the river as it lapped at the barge, the faint creaking of its timbers, the sound of his own breathing. It was nearing dawn.
Necias, his eyes still closed, raised a finger. Tegestu felt his pulse leap into his throat at the gesture.
“Yes,” Necias said quietly. Just the single word.
“I have the documents,” Tegestu said. “In both our languages. I have already signed. It needs only your seal. You must sign as chairman of the Elva, not as Abessu-Denorru of Arrandal.”
Necias brought the lantern to his side and read the papers carefully, his eyes moving slowly down the lines. It did not take long: the documents were brief. “I’ll get my seal,” he murmured, and returned with a pen and ink.
He signed and sealed, and handed the copies back to Tegestu.
“Remember, Abeissu,” Tegestu said. “Have your forces in place by noon, outside the Old Cart Road Gate. Be there yourself, ready to send them in.”
Necias gnawed worriedly on a hangnail, and nodded. “Yes,” he said. “I’ll announce a parade or a review.” He lowered his voice, looking abstractedly at the hangnail. “Can’t get too close,” he murmured, “it might alarm them. The distance will call for careful judgment.”
“Our forces must not fight each other,” Tegestu said. “That could be a catastrophe. Let them know the passwords. The challenge will be, The Elva, the reply, Victory. They are words my people can say without much trouble.”
“Elva. Victory. Very well,” Necias muttered “I’ll announce a change in passwords at noon. Good.” He looked up, and Tegestu saw his expression had changed, his eyes full of lively curiosity and a kind of tigerish intensity. He had committed himself, and now seemed eager for the battles that would come.
Slowly, holding Necias’ gaze, Tegestu lowered himself to one knee. “Canlan,” he said.
Necias, knowing this to be the final time, looked down at him solemnly and nodded as if confirming something to himself. “Bro-demmin drandor Tegestu,” he said. “Please rise. You are no longer mine to command.”
Tegestu rose with difficulty, Necias assisting him at the end, and then threw his hood over his face again. He made his way out of the barge, then down the bank to the waiting boat. “The city,” he said.
As he sped past Necias’ barge he saw the vast figure of the Abeissu brooding on the foredeck, looking down at the water — and then Necias glanced up and saw him, their eyes crossing once again.
Wordlessly, they sped out of one another’s sight. Necias had released the Brodaini from their oath of allegiance to Arrandal, and confirmed another relationship. They were equals now, and allies.
And fellow conspirators, whose conspiracy would hatch in blood.
The boat sped swiftly down the river, entered a canal, moved through the water gate and to the Deissu’s palace that Tegestu had made his headquarters. “Call Dellila and Cascan to me, and tell the staff they will meet at dawn,” he ordered, throwing off his cloak. “Bring tea to me now, and breakfast in an hour.”
Dellila, who had charge of the hostage guard, came stamping in full armor just seconds before Cascan arrived hastily lacing up his coat of light chain and blinking sleep from his eyes.
“Ban-demmin Dellila,” Tegestu ordered. “You will call the guard together quietly at dawn. When the hostages are brought their breakfast, you will enter with the guard and kill them.”
“Bro-demmin?” Dellila said in astonishment; and Cascan cried out in surprise. Tegestu fixed them with a furious stare.
“Ban-demmini,” he spat, “The hostages are traitors. They deserve death, and all shall die.”
Dellila swallowed hard. “Aye, bro-demmin Tegestu,” he said.
“Tell your people not to strike for the face. We want them all recognizable. Afterwards, strip their bodies, wash them, and report to me.”
“Aye, bro-demmin.” Dellila bowed.
“Questions? Nay? You are dismissed.”
The warrior bowed and turned. Cascan was still staring. “Bro-demmin, are you certain?” he asked. “Our own people — “
“Their fate is in the hands of the gods, ban-demmin,” Tegestu said, and closed his eyes. Grendis, forgive me! he cried in his heart — and then he opened his eyes and gave the orders that would, he hoped, make good the sacrifice.
CHAPTER 29
Alone in the darkness, Fiona woke with shrilling nerves, her lips parted and ready to cry out — or had she cried already? Gasping for breath, her pulse thudding in her ears, she listened carefully, but detected no sign that any of the hostages had heard her.
No, then, she hadn’t cried out. She swung her legs out of bed, feeling an instant of vertigo as she came upright, then put her head in her hands, gulping air. She couldn’t remember the dream that had brought her awake; but there was no need. She knew well enough what it was.