The autarch was certainly a monster, but Tinwright had to admit he was a fascinating monster, and much younger than Matt Tinwright could ever have guessed: from the stories about the catalog of horrors his armies had visited upon his own continent and in the last year on Eion itself, Tinwright would have expected some wiry, scarred old desert hawk instead of this doe-eyed creature who despite his great height looked to be scarcely grown. The autarch’s character was not what the poet would have expected, either. He seemed quite cheerful, although at times that cheeriness seemed as weirdly stilted as Hendon Tolly’s. Some of the things he said made no sense at all, as though the southerner spoke words straight out of his deepest thoughts, thoughts that ordinary men would never speak aloud.
“… But, of course,” the autarch said at one point, smiling at Hendon Tolly all the while, “others who thought themselves wise died in shrieking ignorance. Just as you will.”
Tolly stared in surprise, but the autarch went back to speaking of the war in Hierosol (which he considered to be all but over with himself the victor) and other strangely mundane topics as if he had never said it.
Hendon Tolly spoke with the cautious manner of someone walking down a path he suspected to be strung with snares. He kept looking to Tinwright each time he made some point as though expecting Tinwright to agree, perhaps even out loud, but it was painfully clear to Tinwright that either of these two men would have his throat slit as blithely as if swatting a fly.
“But now,” the autarch said abruptly, clapping his hands together with a sound as loud and as sudden as the guards’ gun butts hitting the floor earlier, “let us speak of… more important things. You have something I need, Lord Protector.”
“We could equally say you have something I need, Your Highness.”
“Autarch must always be addressed as ‘Golden One,’ ” growled the Xixian priest.
Sulepis waved a long-fingered hand at the priest. “We will not stand on ceremony, good Panhyssir.” The autarch took a moment to admire his long brown fingers, each finger capped with odd little baskets of gold. “We both have needs, Lord Tolly. How will we resolve them?”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” Hendon Tolly’s voice had suddenly gone sharp. “You made several promises to me… Golden One… and I fulfilled my part of the bargain ...”
“Yes, but clumsily,” countered the autarch with a hard smile. “You have the throne, but it is not secure. There are elements inside your own walls that will resist you, and thus will resist me, too. And you have stalled and bungled the simple protection of your island keep so that the Qar are now a factor as well.”
“The fairies?” Tolly shook his head. “No factor at all. They have fled, balked by my defense at first, then frightened away for good by the arrival of your ships.”
“What?” The autarch stared at him, then suddenly threw back his head and laughed, a shrill, childlike bray. “Do you really not know?” He turned to the priest. “Panhyssir, tell him where the Qar may be found.”
The glowering priest said, “They are in tunnels beneath your own castle, Lord Toh-lee. They fled there when we landed.”
Matt Tinwright could tell that Tolly was truly startled. “Impossible!”
“All too possible,” the autarch laughed. “And you still think you bargain with me from a position of strength? Your family has not held power long, have they? Mine came out of the deserts to throw down the thrones of men ten centuries ago, and we had already been rulers there.” He sat up. “Ah. I am reminded. I brought you a gift.”
Tolly was again taken by surprise. “Gift… ?”
The autarch clapped his hands. One of the guards went out and came back with a wooden chest not much bigger than a lady’s jewel box, which he set down in front of Hendon Tolly.
“Open it,” the autarch told him.
Tolly looked mistrustful. He leaned over and gingerly lifted the lid, then let it drop again and sat up, carefully expressionless. Tinwright had only had time to see something with matted hair and blood.
“Your brother Caradon,” said the autarch. “His head, anyway. I sent some of my men to find him while he was out riding.” The god-king grinned mockingly. “A most dangerous pursuit for members of your family, I would say—didn’t your other brother Gailon die that way, too? Ambushed on the road?”
“What… ?” Hendon Tolly blinked. Tinwright had never seen that particular expression on his face before. “But why… ?”
“Because Caradon promised me something and never delivered. Your brother had an enemy of mine—well, of my father’s to be precise, but the enemy of one Xixian Autarch is the enemy of all autarchs—had him within easy reach, but failed to secure him for me. Instead, your brother clumsily let him escape in some miserable little town named Landers Port, and he has not been seen since. Perhaps you have heard of the fellow—Shaso dan-Heza?”
Tolly looked as though he were going to choke on his own saliva. “But… Shaso escaped from me as well.”
The autarch nodded. “Yes. Unfortunate.” He brightened. “But at least now everyone is happy—I am, because your brother has been punished for failing me, and you are because you need no longer look over your shoulder to Summerfield Court. Felicitations! You are now the head of your family, Lord Tolly! I imagine that makes you the… what is the title that your brother held? Duke?”
Tinwright could not help looking at the closed box beside Hendon Tolly’s feet. Hendon Tolly could not stop looking at it, either.
“But, we have distracted ourselves with these family matters when there are important issues to be discussed,” the autarch continued. “You have something I want, Tolly. I feel certain you were not foolish enough to bring it with you… were you?”
Tolly shook his head but did not seem to trust his tongue.
“As I suspected. Panhyssir, how long do we have to resolve this negotiation?”
The priest stirred. “Midsummer is but a few days away, Golden One.”
The autarch nodded. “And I must have everything in place by midnight of Midsummer’s Day or the god will not come to me. Tolly, you will send the stone to me by tomorrow.”
“The… stone ...” Tolly said slowly.
“Exactly—the Godstone. And I promise I want nothing else but that from you, and that in return you will be allowed to do what you please—remain if you wish and continue to rule your little kingdom or go elsewhere, unmolested. When I have summoned the god, it will no longer be of any interest to me what you or anyone else chooses to do.” Sulepis grinned again, the contented grin of a jackal gnawing a shinbone and thinking fondly on mortality. “Do you understand, Lord Tolly? Tomorrow. If not, I will have to come and take it from you, and your suffering will be unimaginable. Understand?”
Tinwright couldn’t understand why Hendon Tolly didn’t say anything—couldn’t he see this man was serious, that the autarch would destroy them all without a thought if it suited him? But the lord protector of Southmarch had the look of a man suddenly feeling very ill indeed.
“But I… I didn’t ...” Tolly shut his mouth with a snap, but it was too late. The autarch was staring at him.
“You have it, do you not?” the autarch demanded. “You told me you had it.”
“Of course… !” Tolly had realized his mistake. “Of course, but I thought…”
“Describe it to me.” The Autarch of Xis leaned forward, his yellow cat’s eyes fixed on Tolly. “Tell me what the stone looks like, northern dog!”
“Like ...” Tolly could not manage even to come up with a lie. He pushed his chair back. His crossbowmen pointed their weapons at the Xixians. The Xixian guards lowered their rifles. Tinwright thought carefully about throwing himself to the floor, but was afraid he might startle the guards and then everyone would die, Matt Tinwright definitely included. For a long moment Tolly and the autarch and their respective guards stared at each other across a gulf no more than three paces wide.