Tegestu’s gaze was steady. “Aye,” he said. “Ataman will do as he promises.”
A grin tugged at the corners of Necias’ mouth. “We’ll take Calacas, then?” he asked in laughing amazement. “That’ll show Handipas a thing or two, hey!”
“Ataman,” Tegestu said, “will open the Inner Harbor Gate and the White Tower Gate four nights from now. But he has a condition — he wants only my own Brodaini to enter the town, to take it in the name of our aldran. Are you agreeable to this?”
Necias thought, for an instant, that he saw a strange gleam in Tegestu’s eye, as if something was hanging on Necias’ assent... but what could hang on it but the keys of Calacas, taken from Tastis by treachery?
“Yes, Tegestu, of course!” he said, and saw the strange look fade. “Our city forces will support, and will be ready to enter the city whenever you can get the other gates open.”
Tegestu, his eyes hooded, nodded slowly. “Very well, Abessu-Denorru. I beg you, inform Palastinas of this, but let it go no further.’’
“Oh, aye,” Necias said, feeling a laugh bubbling up in him. This would show the other Elva cities that Arrandal was still head and shoulders above them all! he thought. What a lovely coup.
“Please reward this Ataman for his loyalty,” Necias said. “I’ll support you in whatever you think is appropriate — I trust you in these matters.”
“I thank you, Abessu-Denorru,” Tegestu said. He bowed. “I will begin preparing immediately.” He leaned back. “Amasta is leaving for Arrandal tomorrow,” he said, speaking in a more normal tone of voice — Necias realized the secret part of the conversation was over. “I hope you will receive her before she goes.”
“I will be pleased to see her,” Necias said, suppressing his reaction to Amasta — a cunning, frigid bitch, he thought, as murderous as Tastis. “She leaves on the tide, I assume?” he asked. “Just after noon?”
“Aye.”
“I will see her in the hour before noon, if that is convenient,” Necias said.
“Aye. I will inform her. She will be honored.”
“The honor is mine, old friend,” Necias said, his mind still bemused by the prospect of the city delivered into his hands. That would almost force Tastis to negotiate his surrender — he’d have no hope shut up in one of the twin cities, and midsummer not even passed.
Tegestu tried to come out of his seat to kneel, but lurched forward, his armor jingling, an expression of agony on his face. Alarmed, Necias reached out to support him and briefly took his weight. In spite of his armor, Tegestu seemed light as air.
“I am sorry, Abessu-Denorru,” Tegestu said slowly, his eyes downcast. “I didn’t mean to...”
“It was a little slip, Tegestu,” Necias said. “Who doesn’t slip from time to time?” He took Tegestu’s arm and led him toward the pavilion entrance. “You’ll have to take better care of yourself, drandor. Don’t exhaust yourself — you’re too important to us.”
“Thank you, Abessu-Denorru,” Tegestu said. He seemed steadier now, walking with more confidence. When he came out of the pavilion and joined his escort he could walk unaided.
Necias watched Tegestu’s torchbearers disappear into the distance, feeling his heart lightening. Calacas in four nights! And without Prypas’ help! It was a lovely prospect.
His own escort fell in around him and he began walking briskly toward his barge. Luco would need help getting over her upset — nothing like a lusty husband, he thought, to cheer a girl up!
Calacas, four nights from now, and Luco tonight. He grinned. The population of Calacas would need feeding, he thought, and there was no organization better qualified to feed them than the House of Acragas. For, of course, a reasonable profit.
But, he thought as he saw the barges ahead, bright with lantern-light, first things first. And the first thing scheduled for tonight was his comforting of Luco. And her comforting of him.
CHAPTER 20
Tegestu, contemplating his treacheries, stood in the approach trench outside of the White Tower Gate of Calacas. Behind him he heard the sounds of the assault columns assembling in the dark: the muffled chink of armor, the whisper of officers, the treading of feet on the duckboards. His staff were back some distance in another trench: he’d wanted a quiet look at the enemy gates himself, alone. A dark figure loomed out of the night: Tegestu recognized Cascan.
“I have placed watchers, bro-demmin,” Cascan said. “They will let us know the second the bridge is lowered.”
“Very well, ban-demmin,” Tegestu said. He glanced nervously over his shoulder, then chastised himself for it. The night was black — only Third Moon was in the sky, the least of First Moon’s husbands, and there was black, scudding high cloud — but that was no reason to assume that his guards weren’t doing their job. He lowered his voice.
“Is the hermit in his cell?” he asked. “The hermit” was the code name for his messenger, the young cambranu who had journeyed to the city at night, carrying his words to Tastis.
“Aye, bro-demmin.”
Tegestu considered for a moment, wondering if he should change his plan. The cambranu had performed well, and with discretion; it would be reassuring to have such a man on hand if needed. But no: the man knew too much that could be dangerous, a long list of betrayals and crimes. It was unfortunate, but the exchange was fair: one man for a city.
“Let the hermit drink his cup,” Tegestu said. “See to it personally.”
“Aye, bro-demmin.” Cascan bowed. He turned, then hesitated. “A favor, bro-demmin,” he said.
“Speak.”
“May I inform him of the contents of the cup before he drinks it? I would regret the necessity of sending such a man into Ghanaton without his being prepared.”
Tegestu considered, then shook his head. “Nay, ban-demmin,” he said. “I ordered the man to make his will before setting out; he should have dedicated himself to Death at that time.”
“Very well, bro-demmin,” Cascan said. “I understand the necessity.”
“Perhaps,” Tegestu said, allowing his annoyance to show at Cascan’s presumption. Cascan could have guessed most of what had passed, having provided a young man with passwords to move freely among the lines, then suddenly being ordered to assist in moving the Brodaini forces to the gates of Calacas. But Cascan could not have guessed the why of it, nor the promises he had made to Tastis, or the multiple betrayals of enemies and allies. It was best that such knowledge remain only in Tegestu’s mind — there, and with the dead.
“See it done,” Tegestu snapped.
“Aye, bro-demmin.” A bow and Cascan was gone. He would see the poison in the man’s evening drink, and watch while the messenger drank it. Half an hour afterwards the man would sleep with his ancestors and the blessed gods.
The death of a loyal, brave man; another treachery laid to Tegestu’s account. Ah, he thought, this is an infamous thing I am doing. I am glad the night is black, to shroud my shame.
According to the emissary, Tastis had been surprised to hear that Tegestu wished command of only Calacas, rather than accepting Tastis’ full offer of both the cities. But after Tegestu had assured him that he would never surrender the city to an outside overlord, Tastis had agreed swiftly enough — happy, Tegestu supposed, to retain supreme command over at least one city.
Two runners came carefully through the darkness of the trench.
“Bro-demmin drandor, a message from bro-demmin Grendis. Her party is ready at the Gate of the Outer Harbor.”
“Very well.”
“Bro-demmin drandor, a message from bro-demmin Acamantu. The barges are secured and await your signal.”
“Very well. Thanks to you both.”
Tegestu felt relief slip into him. The long line of supply barges moored along the canal were the key: with them, Tegestu could feed his army in Calacas for as long as a year, longer if Tastis actually left him part of his own supply, which was promised in their agreement but which he was inclined to doubt.