"This 'skin,'" Dariel said, "what makes it work? Is it just a paint of sorts?"
"A paint?" Sire Neen showed his disdain for the simplicity of that concept. "Paint is like a condiment to sea wolves. They eat it with the ship, to improve its flavor. Our skin is no paint, but-forgive me-that is all I can say about it."
"I must know what this skin is," Dariel said. "I'm sure we could put it to use, even in the Inner Sea!"
"There are no sea wolves in the Inner Sea, Your Highness, a fact that you should be glad of. As to skin itself, that's a trade secret. The league must humbly hold that information close. We are only merchants, Prince Dariel, allow us our secrets."
Sire Neen opened his eyes again, realizing that his name had been called, pulling him back from his reverie.
Dariel watched him from across the table, a look of amused curiosity on his face.
"I'm sorry," Sire Neen said, "what was it you asked?"
Dariel said, "I asked if there were any other surprises in store for me, Sire."
The leagueman held back the impulse to run his tongue over the rounded nubs of his teeth. He held the prince's gaze with a smiling visage while several others offered wry remarks. Would it surprise you, he thought, to know that I wake every morning imagining your downfall? Would it surprise you to know that I'm not going to make amends with the Lothan Aklun? Instead, I will destroy them. Would it surprise you to know that you are to be offered up as a gesture of good faith to a people who will eat your soul? As a slave, a toy, a plaything for monsters? Would it surprise you to know that once the Aklun are gone, there will be no greater power in the world than the league? Would it surprise you if I said, right now, "Prepare your knees for bending, Prince. Prepare your knees"?
Eventually, the others quieted and it fell to Sire Neen to answer. He said, "Oh, certainly. If there is one thing I can promise you with certainty, Your Highness, it is that surprises await you."
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Barad was picky about the company he kept. He liked honest folk, unselfish and moral and capable of empathy-mothers and fathers who loved, brothers and sisters who cared for each other. He wanted to know that he was listened to when he spoke, and he wanted to believe the words that were spoken to him. He liked people who had known some hardship but who still had the capacity to envision a better future for themselves and others. For all these reasons he tended to avoid royalty. For that matter, he had little use for the upper class in general. In striving for the greater good for many, however, one sometimes had to deal with questionable elements.
That was why Barad had agreed to allow the young Aushenian king, Grae, to attend the first meeting of the Kindred. In his early twenties, Grae was the son of Guldan, a half brother to Igguldan born of the king's second wife. He had been young enough to be spared fighting in the war that took his father and older brothers. He and his younger brother, Ganet, had lived it out in the remote north of Aushenia. He had grown to maturity during Hanish's rule, when Numrek roamed his lands at will, inflicting all sorts of degradations. That must have hurt his heartsore pride.
He had been a fierce leader during the turmoil of Hanish's overthrow. After securing his own lands, he had even marched through the Gradthic Gap and laid siege to Mein Tahalian. He would have won it, too, if Corinn had not sent Mena with Numrek troops to yank him back. Corinn was content to let him keep his throne for the sake of stability, but she would not allow anyone to redraw national boundaries without her consent. They pushed him back to Aushenia, with permission to rule within his borders as he saw fit-as long as that was in line with the various things the empire required of him.
If Grae was thankful for having lived to call himself king, it did not show on his face or in his demeanor. His haughty blue eyes had an edge of disdain in them. Barad imagined many women would find him quite attractive. He was strong jawed; his forehead was high and the hair above it strangely disheveled, windblown but in a manner that Barad suspected was in fashion. It troubled Barad that anyone with a title was aware of his objectives, but many people he trusted had vouched for the king's passionate desire to see the Akarans overthrown. And so he now sat opposite the prophet at a large, low table in the back room of a pub in the port town of Denben in northern Talay.
The resistance representatives hailed from all the provinces except Vumu, which was too distant to be a major force. They made for a strange company. Only Grae wore the finery of aristocracy. Otherwise, the men and women dressed as what they were: a merchant from Bocoum, a tribal councilman from Palik, a blacksmith from Elos, a dockworker from Nesreh, a tavern mistress from Senival, an architect from Alecia, a huntsman from Scatevith, and more. Their complexions and features varied with their races, making them a collage of much of the Known World's diversity. Barad himself looked as he always did, more like an aging laborer in coarse clothes than a dissident intent on overthrowing a powerful empire.
None of them, other than Grae, commanded an army, but all of them had been true to the secret objectives they shared. They had protected the coded language through which they corresponded, often sending communications on the lips of travelers who had no idea they were messengers. For most of them, it had been a long road to get here, to sit in nervous expectation, finally meeting face-to-face as one group united in a purpose that stretched across borders, mountains, forests, and seas.
"It is a blessed thing," Barad began in his deep voice, "that we finally can meet this way. It doesn't matter that this room smells of beer and sweat. It doesn't matter that this is a poor man's pub and that soon they'll be singing bawdy songs in the rooms beside this one. None of that matters. Look around you. The faces that you see are faces of the Kindred. We have always been so, but this meeting marks the day we sit together as one family and drink of the same cup. Let us do so twice: now, to begin our partnership and at the end of this meeting, to confirm it."
Motioning with his large hands, he indicated that he meant this literally. On the otherwise bare table before him sat a large silver chalice. It was a simple vessel, not particularly ornate, wide mouthed and tarnished by age. A dark, rich wine stained the metal as Barad lifted it, held it for the others to see, and then drank. He passed it to the woman beside him. She was drawfed by his height, but she took the cup reverently, drank from it, then passed it on. The chalice moved around in silence until it reached the far side of the table.
"Forgive me, King Grae, but before you drink let us hear from you. Of all the company, you are the newest to join. Confirm, please, that you are truly one of us," Barad added, smiling to lighten the request. "You see, you could turn us in most readily, whisper it right into Corinn's lovely ear if you wished. Tell us why you would never do that." Barad hid behind his smile the fact that this was unlikely. The Kindred had placed agents in Killintich some years ago. Some of them were quite close to the king, close enough to slit his throat while he slept should it seem like he was going to betray them. But, still, much better that such a thing not be necessary.
It was clear that the monarch, young as he was, was not used to being evaluated. He held the chalice for a moment, rolling the stem in his fingers as if he were considering drinking the whole thing down first, speaking later. He set it down, though, and met the waiting faces. "You'll have me prove my loyalty to you? That's easy, because my loyalty to you is twinned with my loyalty to Aushenia. All that I will ever do will be for my nation's good. And my nation has suffered too long. Have you forgotten this? We suffered throughout our generations of independence, when the Akarans did everything they could to break our resolve, to impoverish us. And yet it was Aushenia that first suffered from the Meinish and Numrek onslaught. We suffered the brunt of their attack. We! The Aushenian people. We were the first wall they smashed against. My brother Igguldan died at Aushenguk Fell while the princes and councillors of Acacia fluttered about like upset chickens. We died first-and this was just weeks after offering our soul to Acacia in partnership."