“May I ask the ilean Ambassador when she will have her answer?” Dellila asked.
“Tomorrow morning,” she said. That would give her time to prepare, to strengthen herself for this meeting with the enemy. She turned to him. “Part of my function in the other negotiations,” she said, “was to keep a third copy of any proposals or treaties in my own language, to refer to in case of disagreement between the parties. Will you require my assistance in this fashion?”
“Bro-demmin Tegestu says, respectfully, that you will not be needed in this regard,” Dellila said. “We do not have the problem in translation, you see.”
“Yes. I understand.”
Suddenly Fiona remembered where she’d heard Dellila’s name before. He was a hero, she remembered; he’d rallied a few villagers early in the war and exterminated a whole squadron of Tastis’ murdering raiders. Now, perhaps, he’d be warring on the same side as the prison scrapings Tastis had taken into his service. What would he think of that, allying with such refuse? She cocked an eye at him, seeing his stolid, scarred, arrogant face... damn these people, she thought angrily, they never smile.
“Can you present yourself at the White Tower Gate at noon tomorrow and give us your answer, ilean Ambassador?” Dellila asked. He had turned to face the half-circle of mercenaries, the bearded faces with their cruel smiles; his voice was pitched for Fiona alone. “If your superiors give you permission to observe the negotiations,” he said, “we request that you bring clothing and anything else you may require, as you will have to stay in the city at least one night.”
She nodded. “I understand.”
“Have you any questions ilean Ambassador?” he asked, turning to her.
“Yes,” she said. “What are the negotiations about?”
She caught a tight smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I have no idea, ilean Ambassador Fiona,” he said. “They wouldn’t tell junior whelkran like myself. I just obey orders.”
“I see. Well. I’ll be at the White Tower Gate tomorrow, noon, and give you your answer.”
“Thank you, ilean Ambassador.” Dellila bowed again, then straightened into an arrogant, iron-spined pose and paced toward his escort. They closed in behind him as Dellila walked toward the grim wall of cavalry, refusing to slow his long strides. The lancers opened a way reluctantly, then closed behind him like a living gate. They moved off together at the walk, the lancers keeping their horses on the heels of the Brodaini party, testing their tolerance, obviously hoping they could provoke them into a fight.
Leaving one figure behind: Campas in his mail shirt, leading his horse. “Necias wants to see you,” he said. She nodded.
“I’m not surprised.”
She began her walk down the riverbank path to Necias’ barge with Campas, leading his horse by the bridle, walking beside her. He looked at her curiously.
“What did they want?”
“They wanted me to attend some negotiations Tegestu and Tastis are conducting.”
Campas blew his cheeks in surprise. “Necias won’t be happy,” he said. “Will you do it?”
“I have to. I’m supposed to be neutral in this war.”
Campas raised his head to look toward where Necias’ banners were waving above his barge. “Are Tegestu and Tastis allying against us?” he asked us.
“I don’t know. I suppose they’re at least talking about it.”
He looked at her with slitted eyes. “Can you keep us informed of their discussions?” he asked.
She shook her head. “You know I can’t.” She saw his troubled frown and reached a hand out to touch his wrist. “I may be in the city for several days. Can you come see me tonight?” she said. “After midnight sometime; I’ll have business until then.”
“Yes,” he said. “I can come.”
“Good.”
Necias’ guards saluted her with their pikes, then escorted her to where he waited on his settee, his fingers drumming on its arm. Campas followed her into the room, not having been told to stay out.
“Ambassador,” he said. His smile seemed strained. “Sit down. Have some tea. Wine if you prefer.”
Necias seemed shrunken: Fiona knew he’d been under strain in recent weeks, ever since the negotiations with Neda had begun to go sour. There had been too many demands: the Neda-Calacan Government-in-Exile had wanted safety for their kinfolk in the cities, even at the expense of giving Tastis much of what he wanted; the other Elva ambassadors had insisted on a position of no compromise; Handipas had argued for one thing or another, less for reasons of conviction than to make himself an important part of the proceedings. In the end both sides had been far apart; they had presented irreconcilable ultimata to one another and retired to their lines to wait.
To wait for what? Fiona had wondered at the time. For Tastis and Tegestu to be driven farther together, perhaps, by the Elva’s inability to agree on policy.
In due course Necias asked her what the Brodainu had wanted, and Fiona, having no reason not to tell him, gave him an exact record of the conversation. Necias seemed surprised.
“They haven’t cautioned you concerning secrecy?” he asked.
“No. Maybe they wanted you to know.”
Necias frowned as he considered that possibility, then nodded. “That’s likely,” he said. “They may be trying to put pressure on me.’’ His blunt fingers thumped several times on the arm of his settee.
“They don’t realize,” he said, speaking more to himself than anyone else, “my hands are tied. The Elva can’t agree, and if I make any more proposals without their united backing they can refuse agreement and leave me hanging.” He gave a cynical smile. “That’s what they’ve been wanting all along, and I won’t let them. I can’t move in any direction without their agreement ahead of time.”
“I’m sorry, Necias Abeissu,” Fiona said.
He looked up at her suddenly, the smile turning sober. “Tegestu is making a mistake if he’s thinking of allying with Tastis,” he said. “That’ll unite the Elva all right, and I won’t be able to stop them from butchering every Brodainu they can find. I hope you’ll find a way of telling that to Tegestu.”
“If you give me a commission to tell him that, I will,” Fiona said.
“You can’t do it unofficially?”
She smiled. “I will, Abeissu, if I can. But as far as unofficial messages go, I can’t make promises.”
Necias nodded. “Your word that you’ll try is good enough for me, Ambassador.”
He rose ponderously from the settee, the stoutly-built furniture creaking under his weight. “Thank you, Ambassador, for your candor,” he said. “I’m afraid I have business to occupy me for the rest of the afternoon.”
Fiona was quick on her feet. “I understand, Necias Abeissu. I’ll see myself out.”
He gave her a careful embrace, as if he was afraid she might shatter in his arms; they said their farewells. Fiona returned to the sun, Campas following quietly. He turned to her, his blue eyes solemn.
“If the other Brodaini ally with Tastis, that will destroy him,” he said in a quiet voice. “That’s how Necias will be remembered, the man who let the mad-dog Brodaini into our cities. The Elva might not be broken, but it wouldn’t be his Elva any more.” His eyes returned to the barge. “He knows that. He also knows he’s run out of choices. He’s got to sit here with his army and take whatever comes. And the rest of the Elva are gloating over it; he knows that, too.”
“Come to my tent,” Fiona said. “We’ll drink a bottle of wine together. After that I’ll have to talk to my superiors, and tell them what’s just happened.” She looked at the horizon, seeing the Brodaini flags dotting the grey walls of the cities. She took a deep breath. “And then I’ll have to get ready to ride into the city tomorrow. And I don’t want to.”