Gathering of the Titans: The Tol Chronicles Book 2 (5 page)

“Indeed. It is quite feasible that titans from other continents could even hear the alarm, but they will wait for those of us who live here to send out invitations once the city has been reclaimed. It is our way.”

“You mean this sort of thing has happened before?”

“Yes. Twice, according to our records, has an ULF-pulse been employed in summons. Not from this location, however.”

“Begging forgiveness for my inexcusable ignorance, but what it the normal lifespan of a titan?”

Tartag seemed pleased at Tol’s humility. “Ignorance is inexcusable only when no efforts are made to correct it. We live on the order of 150-200 turnings of the seasons, normally, although a few of the great elders claim to be over 300. Without verifiable records we cannot be certain. I am recently turned 112; of that I
am
certain.”

“Titans are longer-lived than goblins, then. That is interesting, given that the scholars say we came from the same stock.”

“Indeed, our wise also say that we are all cousins. Titan folk belief is that our longevity is due to the fact that we eat meat only on rare occasion. This is not so much for religious or ethical reasons, but more due to the difficulty in obtaining enough meat for our large appetites. However, there is no scholarly evidence to support this; only anecdotal.”

“Titans sure don’t seem to want to mingle with the rest of society. Why is that?” Tol asked.

Tartag hesitated before answering. “As you have already alluded to, Titans are rather different from the other races. We have found that these differences seem to cause anxiety amongst non-titans. We don’t wish to be the source of anxiety, nor deal with its negative consequences. As a result, we’ve found that isolation is the most comfortable course; the path of least resistance, if you like.”

“You seem to be highly civilized and cultured. I’m certain any distrust or dislike would dissolve rather quickly once contact was made. We are not barbarians or brutes, at least for the most part.”

“Alas, isolationism is now so deeply rooted in titan society that removing it would be a significant undertaking.”

“I would certainly be willing to help titans reintegrate into society if they decide to do so. In the meantime, let’s see what we can negotiate regarding your claim.”

“I find you a most reasonable person, Tol-u-ol. I can see why your king dispatched you specifically to handle this situation. He must know you well and trust you.”

“Yeah, I suppose he does, although there are times when I don’t understand why.”

“Sometimes the wise see in us that which we cannot see in ourselves.”

“I can’t argue with you there.”

“So, while we understand the titans’ desire to reclaim this magnificent city, the law is very clearly on RSCA’s side here,” said Bosk Belbomit. “Allow me to quote: ‘Places of habitation which have been declared abandoned by dint of no occupation and no registered claim to ownership within the last thirty diurnal cycles are subject to review by the Royal Society for Cultural Antiquities, who are charged with discovering and preserving such artifacts as have historic value prior to releasing the site for new ownership. If the site itself shall be considered historically important, that site and sufficient right-of-way to provide access to it shall become the property of the Tragacanthan government, subject to RSCA management.’”

“Yes,” countered Tartag, “But under the ‘exceptions’ clause later in the edict it states: ‘Nothing in this Edict shall be construed to interfere with or supersede the Ancestors’ Graveyard Edict, wherein any site containing bona-fide remains interred in a facility or area dedicated to that purpose shall be the sole property of the extant race who occupied it formerly, at such time sufficient claim shall be laid.’”

“So, you are formally claiming this entire site as an Ancestors’ Graveyard?” asked Bosk.

“Not exactly. We are petitioning that no excavations or removals take place until it has been established precisely where the interments lie, so that no defilement of our ancestors occurs. Once that petition has been granted we will make a decision as to the extent of our occupation claims.”

“The RSCA does not feel this to be necessary. We have scholars who specialize in removing artifacts carefully and with great respect. If and when those scholars encounter any remains or ritual artifacts used in the interment process, we will notify a representative of the titans so that they may take possession after cataloguing has been completed.”

“Your idea of ‘great respect’ and ours differ significantly,” said Tartag, with some visible agitation, “You would notify us only after our ancestors had been defiled, at which point the damage is done and irreversible. This we cannot accept.”

Bosk stood and seemed about to pound the table with his hand. Tol decided this had gone far enough and was about to intervene when a swirling, shimmering manifestation appeared directly in front of him. It resolved into an odd-looking smooth-skinned biped with longish fur all over its head. Tol rolled his eyes. The others stared in frank amazement.

“Greetings, Plåk,” said Tol,“What brings you to the middle of an important negotiation? Did you want to try another earthquake spell to liven things up?”

“Nice to see you, too, Tol. Bite me. I just dropped by to tell you that I’ve poked around in that huge hole and I think the answers to your questions are all down there.”

“So, you think we should mount an expedition?”

“If you want to get all fancy-schmancy. I’d just go poke around.”

“Yes, well, you aren’t subject to being pummeled, asphyxiated, or lost, so ‘poking around’ is a bit more practical for you.”

“As you like. Gotta split.” He sparkled into oblivion. Tol turned back to the table as though nothing had happened.

“Thank you both for your input, gentles. As you may know, the Crown of Tragacanth has sent me here to negotiate a fair and equitable settlement…”

“Which cannot ignore the enormous cultural value of this site!” Belbomit shouted, having completely forgotten about Plåk in his agitation.

Tol put on his best edict enforcement scowl and glared at the RSCA representative until he sat down again meekly. When he was once again firmly in charge, Tol continued.

“Now, as I said, I am here to negotiate a settlement that is satisfactory to both sides. I won’t be ignoring anyone or anything germane to the issues.” Tol reviewed what he had just said and marveled at how unexpectedly lucid it was.

“I propose to begin by forming an exploratory party whose purpose it is to establish whether there are titan remains to be discovered and, if so, where precisely they are located.”

“Wait,” said Koxo, “You’re taking the advice whatever that thing was?” Tol glared at him and continued. “This party shall consist of myself, a representative of the RSCA, a representative of the titans, and a representative of the Royal Engineering Corps as they have jurisdiction here until such time as the further disposition of the site has been determined.”

“And who is to make that determination?” demanded Belbomit.

“These lands belong to the King of Tragacanth; I am His personal representative here. As a Knight of the Crimson and a member of the Tragacanthan Royal Family,
I
will decide that matter, subject of course to review and confirmation by His Majesty and CoME. Is that clear to everyone?”

Tol seemed to have grown almost to titan size during his speech. Everyone, even the titans, nodded their mute assent.

“Good. Now, if I can get representatives from all concerned parties to meet with me here in ten minutes, we will plan the exploratory expedition. Mr. Nilred, may we requisition supplies from you for the expedition? I have an open Treasury writ for that purpose.”

“Certainly, Sir Tol-u-ol. I will bring a manifest of the available gear for your selections.”

An hour later Tol, Nilred, Episk Grato (for RSCA), and Tartag stood at the edge of the crevasse that led into the underground city, carrying full packs and hung with ropes, hooks, lanterns, and other assorted tools of exploration. They synchronized timepieces and comm units with those remaining at the surface. “Keep one of these comms tuned to arcane and one to conventional,” instructed Tol, indicating two commercial comm base stations, “That way we can use either encryption channel without having to pre-arrange it.”

“All right gentles, we’re ready to get started. I would like for Mr. Nilred to take the lead, as he is primarily concerned with our safety in respect to the structural integrity of the caves and associated formations. Please follow any instructions he may give in that regard. If we get separated, the smaller party stays in place while the larger searches. Do not wander off on your own or take any side trips without reporting your intentions to me first. The authentication slash covert trouble code word is
Tropsalla
. That means if you need help but can’t say that out loud or want to verify that who you’re talking to is really one of us, use that word or ask us for it.”

“Why would we need precautions such as these?” asked Episk.

“Hopefully we won’t,” Tol replied, “But when heading into an unknown tactical situation it’s best to be prepared for any reasonable eventuality. Gear up!”

With Tol and Koxo in the lead, the explorers stepped down into the crevasse.

in which Boogla uncovers an ongoing crime and the King travels to an unusual woods

“Good morning, Your Majesty,” Boogla said in a sleepy voice, rubbing her eyes, “Did you sleep well?”

Aspet ran his fingers down her arm. “I always sleep well after... that. How about you?”

“Like a baby. I had no idea how fulfilling married life was going to be.”

Aspet laughed. “Nor did I. I’m looking forward to fulfilling you for a long time to come.”

She grinned. “Don’t get me excited or you won’t get any work done this morning, my king.”

“I guess I better watch myself, then. The Solemadrina trade delegation talks start today.”

“You’ve got a Minister for International Commerce. He can handle them just fine.”

“Yes, I know, but the formalities have to be observed, and that includes the monarch formally opening the meetings. Goameel would never forgive me if I deviated on a point of protocol.”

“He is a bit of stuffed shirt, isn’t he?”

“I can’t really blame him. Some of the trade delegations he deals with are downright rigid about that sort of thing. He needs to be that way in turn to keep face. If he’s seen as weak or out of favor they will tear him apart in negotiations and that hurts the entire country. If I can keep the price of woven baskets, dray wheels, and trolda sprouts down just by showing up wearing the crown, I think I owe that to the Tragacanthan economy.”

“Oh, very well. Duty calls, and all that. There will be tonight.”

“Indeed there will. I have the string quartet scheduled for eight to nine, on the terrace.”

“Oooh,” she squealed, “That’s so romantic. I think I love you.”

“Glad to hear it. Keeps the rumors down, you know?”

Goameel Jigha was a distinguished career bureaucrat who accepted the Minister for International Commerce position when the previous MIC retired upon Aspet’s ascension. He was not a goblin of particularly strong wit or good humor, but he was solid, competent, and a tough negotiator who knew the vagaries of Tragacanthan industry and its economy inside and out. He had given Aspet no reason to doubt his suitability for the cabinet position.

Aspet opened the meetings in his own style; he was quickly becoming known on the world stage for his razor-sharp wit and ability to herd even difficult parties down the negotiating trail, making it look much easier than it actually was. In many ways he was born to be king, a fact not lost on CoME.

After the formalities were concluded, he retired to the Royal Chambers for some paperwork while the trade negotiations got underway for real. The trade treaty between Tragacanth and Solemadrina had been in place for centa, but by statute had to be renegotiated and renewed every deca. This would mark the fourth time Jigha had been involved, although the first as Minister. His role was to offer concessions, negotiate new and existing contracts— in short accomplish everything except actually signing the treaty renewal. Only the Sovereign could enter into or renew international treaties. Jigha had at his fingertips every conceivable metric regarding commerce, industry, and production in Tragacanth, as well as a staff to manage it all. He always went into negotiations of this sort exquisitely well-prepared.

The meetings were set to happen over a period of three days. The first day went quite well, and a fair amount of progress was made. So much, in fact, that Jigha reported to His Majesty that the treaty signing might need to be moved up to the morning, rather than evening, of the third day. That would involve a little Royal schedule juggling, but Aspet said it could be achieved if necessary.

The morning of the second day brought dawn showers quickly giving way to sunshine. The delegates gathered after breakfast in the conference room and were pouring glasses of water for themselves and going over notes before the formal continuation of the meetings when Jigha suddenly put his water glass down and slumped over. At first no one really paid any attention, but when the time to start the meeting came and went without any response, or indeed movement at all, from the Minister one of his aides tapped him on the shoulder. Jigha slowly raised his head and everyone gasped. He was bleeding from the corner of his mouth and unable to talk.

The Minister was rushed to the Royal Infirmary and His Majesty notified via comm.

“Looks like Goameel has taken suddenly ill. Suspiciously ill. Think you can handle negotiating a trade treaty?” Aspet said to Boogla over breakfast.

“I... don’t know. With enough background material, I suppose.”

“Great. All the material you’ll need will be in the conference room. Goameel always takes a veritable library with him to these things. I’ll go introduce you and ask them to postpone the meeting for an hour to so you can read some papers and talk to his aides. Let’s go before the Solemadrinans get restless and decide to raise their prices.”