'This one's fine,' Islir announced. 'I'm strong enough to sense power without needing to touch the rest of 'em — which is just as well, 'cause I'm not touching no bastard aligned to the Wither Queen. All their power's deep down and locked tight; they couldn't light a fire if their lives depended on it. The only magic they got is in those daggers, and that's latent.'
'What do you mean, "latent"?'
'Latent means it ain't doing nothing at the moment. It's a ritual weapon, so 'course there's going to be some trace o' power in it — but not enough to take on an army, so don't you worry 'bout that.'
'You're certain?'
Islir squinted up at Major Teral. 'Cardinal Sourl's orders are that any witchfinder who makes a mistake is to be executed as a traitor, no second chances. Believe me: I'm damn sure.'
'Satisfied, Major?' the priest asked. 'We are no threat. May we now go and pray, or must we dance for you next?'
There was an edge to the man's voice now, a note of warning that Teral had heard often enough over the last few months. Offending a priest with influence within the Order had become tantamount to heresy. Even this unknown wanderer could cause trouble for him.
Teral tried to look contrite. 'Of course, Father. I apologise, but our regulations are quite clear and I must fulfil my obligations, which I have now done. Your request is granted.' He looked up to the men hanging around on the gantry and shouted, 'Open the gate!'
'What is this?'
Lord Styrax turned to his right with an expression of excessive innocence. 'This, Lord Celao? It is called "food". I had not been aware that scarcity had turned to nonexistence so you no longer recognise it.'
The Chosen of Hit, unable to match Lord Styrax's gaze for long, scowled down at the bowl before him instead.
It took all Major Amber's efforts to not to stare at the white-eye. He had an enormous, spherical head, currently red with fury, and Amber thought he looked more than ever like a red melon wearing a wig of straw.
Celao was nearly as tall as Lord Styrax, and he was one of the few men in the entire Land to out-weigh the Menin lord. He was not just fat; he was a corpulent monstrosity who would not be able to walk were it not for his Gods-granted strength. The wings sprouting from his back were significantly larger than either Kiallas's or Gesh's, but there was no way they would lift Celao even an inch off the ground.
It would take a dragon to lift that body, Amber mused. He'd probably make quite a snack for one too. If I were him, that's what my nightmares would be about.
'Peasant food,' Celao declared petulantly, shoving the bowl of mushroom soup away, slopping it onto the table. The Lord's companions leaned back from the table, unable to eat what their lord had rejected.
'You could usefully miss-' Kohrad started, but was cut off short by his father.
'A little civility over lunch, if you please,' Lord Styrax said sharply before his belligerent son could say anything more. 'Lord Celao, I apologise for my son's demeanour, and also the food. I am a man of simple needs; I have no taste for such delicacies as swan's liver pate or white-thrush tongues.'
Amber noted the differences between Styrax's perfect calm and the boiling bag of emotion that was his white-eye son. Lord Celao was a huffing whale wrapped in what looked like a tent of cloth-of-gold, and he betrayed his discomfort by a host of fussy mannerisms, but he at least was touched by a God's strength. Kohrad had only the frustrations of young manhood in the presence of at least two men above him in the food chain.
Gesh and Kiallas sat at either end of Lord Celao's table. The lord himself sat between golden-haired noblemen with androgynous faces who looked near-identical, though their badges of nobility showed no family link. Both appeared unaware of either the Knights of the Temples or the Duchess of Byora; their attention was fixed on the Menin, their historical enemy.
Amber wondered what exactly they were expecting Lord Styrax to do, for they sat like rabbits just waiting for the dog to notice them and attack. Do you think him Deverk Grast reborn? Has the Land changed so little for the Litse!
'Your food and hospitality is ill-fitting to a man of my position,' Celao announced after a long moment.
Amber saw Kohrad's mouth open, the words 'ill-fitting' forming on his lips, but his father cut him off with a look.
'For my part, I am quite content,' announced the man sitting opposite Lord Styrax. 'I have spent too much of my life travelling to consider a fine soup anything less than a pleasure.'
All eyes turned to the man at the centre of the Devoted table. Except for the High Priest of Belarannar, the men were dressed almost identically: scale-mail hauberks of black-iron over red and blue tunics with red sashes bearing the white runesword of the Order. The speaker, who was half a hand taller than his companions, was clearly no local, his dark hair and elegant Farlan features marking him out from those around him. His expression was amiable and he ignored the scrutiny, supping a spoonful of soup, then helping himself to more bread as they stared.
'I am pleased we are of a similar mind,' Lord Styrax said, picking up his own spoon, which looked tiny and fragile in his hand. 'I hope that continues.'
'Perhaps,' the man said calmly. 'It rather depends on whether you revise yesterday's threat.' He gestured towards Messenger Karapin, who was standing stiffly at one side, a pair of Devoted officers on either side.
Amber had almost missed the man as the Devoted party approached the Scholars' Palace — until he realised Cardinal Sourl was walking half a pace behind him, not leading the group. When Lord Styrax had planned this meeting, he had not expected Knight-
Cardinal Certinse, Supreme Commander of the Knights of the Temples, to be anywhere within a hundred miles — and yet here he was, making quiet inroads into his lunch while everyone else waited for Lord Celao to begin. Amber wondered what this unexpected turn of events would mean for their plans.
'Message,' piped a child's voice. Amber looked past his lord to where Ruhen sat beside Natai Escral. The boy sat in the centre, between the big sergeant, Kayel, and the duchess, looking like a mismatched set of parents from some ridiculous romance story. Curiously enough, Sergeant Kayel — to whom Amber bore no similarity, now they were in the magic-deadened valley — was as attentive to the child's needs as the duchess. The man was a better actor than Amber would have given credit.
'Yes dear,' the duchess said in a soothing voice as she gave Knight-Cardinal Certinse a sharp look, 'the message. Lord Styrax, you wish our surrender. Now, while I may be a feeble woman, I cannot but remark that you are a long way from home. The dull little men I employ to pay attention to such matters, they tell me that in the business of war this is considered bad.'
'Yours will not be the first army to have marched from Tor Salan,' Lord Celao added bluntly.
'I have no desire to force anything on you, my honoured guests,' Styrax said smoothly. 'I wish only to present certain inescapable facts.'
Amber recognised his lord's tone of voice; when he spoke in that overly polite way, Lord Styrax was not bluffing a weak hand, but was confident he could back up his threats. There was no need to force the issue, so he could be reasonable. This lunch was so he could look each of the Circle City's rulers in the face and tell them the plain truth: that he could crush them utterly.
Their intelligence had led them to believe that the duchess, a ruthlessly pragmatic woman, would accept her vassal status easily enough. Lord Celao was a coward without an army. The only problem was in Cardinal Sourl's quarter, and that problem was worsened by the presence of Knight-Cardinal Certinse and his army.
Ego, Amber thought, that's what it'll come down to. They're too proud to accept the threat, and perhaps with good reason under normal circumstances our supplies are limited, and Roland and Embere are still Devoted city-States; they may be squabbling for primacy within the Order, but that isn't going to stop them realising who'd be next. They'll prefer to march to Akell's aid than fight us one by one.