Legacy of Kings (50 page)

For a moment Salvator was silent. Studying him. He knew that he would be taking a great risk to broach his business directly. Normally this kind of negotiation would take months to launch, as diplomats danced around peripheral issues, only slowly edging their way toward the one that really mattered. Making sure that all the proper diplomatic wheels were greased before the cart started rolling. But Salvator didn’t have months. He didn’t even have weeks.

“What do you know about the Souleaters?” he asked, leaning forward on the table.

Farah’s face did not betray a flicker of emotion. “As much as any man does, I expect. Civilization was once destroyed by them. Now it appears they are returning. No one knows how to fight them, or even where they have gone.” He paused. “I hear you are hunting them. Is that true?”

Salvator nodded.

“Well, then, if you have half your father’s capacity in warfare, I pity the poor creatures. So is that what all this peace talk is about, then? You do not want to have to worry about your southern border while you are hunting these creatures?” His eyes gleamed with subtle amusement. “Given that Anshasa will ultimately benefit from your efforts, along with every other human kingdom, that is a goal I would consider supporting.”

Salvator nodded solemnly. “Your gracious offer of support is appreciated and accepted. As for the peace treaty . . . that is, I regret, only one part of what I seek.”

Farah raised an eyebrow.

“What do you know of Jezalya?” Salvator asked.

Farah narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “I know the name. A trade city in the southern region. Older than the sands themselves, I am told. What is your interest in it?”

“Is it under your sovereignty?”

“No. It lies farther south, in the heart of the great desert. Anshasa did claim a bit of that region once, but the nomadic tribes there proved to be more trouble than they were worth.” He leaned forward on the table, his posture mirroring Salvator’s own; his gaze was a challenge. “What is Jezalya to you, Aurelius?”

Salvator drew in a deep breath. “I believe that is where Siderea Aminestas is hiding.”

Sulah looked visibly startled at the pronouncement, which was certainly interesting. Meanwhile, Farah muttered something in his own tongue and glanced at one of his morati attendants. Also interesting. Salvator had been told that Farah knew about the Souleaters and was fully aware of Siderea’s connection to them, but since that information had come to him through a long chain of second-hand sources, including several Magisters, Salvator had been hesitant to rely upon it. This certainly confirmed that Farah knew a lot more about the situation than he’d been letting on.

He didn’t know about Jezalya, though. No one had been told about Jezalya save the four people sitting on Salvator’s side of the table and Gwynofar. Until now.

“How do you know this?” Farah demanded.

Salvator nodded sagely. “Those who have the power to see things across great distances have seen her.”

Farah scowled. “That is damned vague, Aurelius.”

“Apparently she can hide her presence from all but the most skilled observers. And even those who can see her can’t focus on her very well. So that is all we have.”

Farah sat back heavily in his chair. It was clear the information didn’t sit well with him. “You know what you are suggesting, do you not? That one of the most dangerous creatures in all the human kingdoms is sitting just south of my border. And you are hunting her. So you want to send men down there to deal with her, is that the idea? Which would put me between your armies in the south and your armies in the north? Not to mention all your people having to travel through the heart of my kingdom to get there.” He snorted. “A plot worthy of Danton Aurelius, to be sure. Did you seriously think I would agree to it?”

“There is no need to travel through Anshasa,” Salvator said quietly. “We will go to Jezalya directly.”

Farah raised an eyebrow. “This, from the man whose god commands him not to do business with Magisters? Transportation is costly magic. Many witches would die, to provide you with such a service.”

“Many may die,” Salvator agreed. “But in service to God, not to me.” He folded his hands on the table before him. “Our enemy has wings, King Farah, not to mention witchery. She would see any forces approaching by conventional means long before they got there. And then she would flee, and we would have to start all over again, searching the world for her. So even though it’s unlikely we can surprise her, we must do everything within our power to attempt it. Even if that requires a greater sacrifice than witches would normally provide.”

Farah leaned back in his chair. For a moment he just looked at Salvator. Taking his measure. “You know I cannot just accept your word on all this. My own people will have to confirm it.”

“Of course.”

“And if they do? What then? What is it exactly that you want from me? Men? Supplies? There must be something specific, or you would not have asked me here.”

“What I need right now is the same thing you do: information. Magisters and witches can’t seek it out for us, because Siderea may be able to detect their spells. We can’t take any risk that she might find out we know where she is. So we need morati who know that part of the world, speak the language, and can pass for natives. Men whose presence wouldn’t be questioned if they visited Jezalya and took a look around. You can provide such scouts, King Farah.” He spread his hands wide. “I can’t.”

Farah considered it for a moment, his expression grave, then finally nodded. “Aye, I could do that. It would take a few days to set in motion, even with sorcery. And there would be travel time involved, since the scouts would have to approach Jezalya by mundane means. The results might not come in as quickly as you’d like.”

Salvator’s lips tightened. “Time is a very precious commodity in this matter.”

“I am aware of that aspect of the situation,” Farah assured him.

“We’ll also need a metaphysical anchor for Jezalya, so that our witches have a proper focus when it’s time for us to go there.”

Farah’s eyes narrowed. “I am not going to give you anchors from anywhere near my territory until I am satisfied that the situation is what you say it is. And if I do it, then, I will expect safeguards enough that I do not wind up with your armies crawling up my ass when this business is over.”

A corner of Salvator’s mouth twitched. “Understood.”

“I will arrange for the spies we need. Meanwhile, you draw up a draft of your proposed peace treaty for me to look at. Nothing vague or open-ended, or I will throw it in the fire, and you and yours can walk to Jezalya.” He snorted. “I remember Danton’s treaties.”

“I am not my father,” Salvator said quietly.

“No,” Farah agreed. “And rest assured, if you were, I would not be agreeing to any of this, Souleaters or no Souleaters.”

Farah rose from his chair. Salvator followed suit. The others rose to their feet respectfully, some more quickly than others.

“I assume we will be leaving this encampment in place?” Farah asked. “For our next meeting?” A dry smile quirked his lips. “Our people can practice being good neighbors until we return.”

Salvator nodded. “That was my thought.”

“Very well, then.” Farah exhaled noisily. “This has certainly been an interesting meeting, to say the least. Doubtless future historians will write volumes trying to analyze it. Assuming that enough remains of human civilization for there to be any future historians.”

“That is our goal,” Salvator said solemnly.

“And one that I share,” Farah assured him. “Though how it is best to be achieved . . . well, let us see what my scouts have to say before we get into that, shall we?”

Walking the length of the table, Salvator offered his hand to the southern king. Farah stared at it for a long moment, a curious look on his face. As if it were some strange creature whose habits he didn’t know, that might piss on him if he handled it wrong. But when he finally accepted it, his own grip was sure and strong, a good match to Salvator’s own.

“No,” Farah observed. “You are not like your father, are you? I find that most refreshing.”

Chapter 29

“T

HE MERCHANT delegation is here to see you, your Highness.”

Nasaan nodded. “Send them in.”

In truth, it was a hot day even by Jezalyan standards, and he had little appetite for administrative duties. But trade was the lifeblood of his new city, and these were the men who kept it flowing. So he reached for the goblet of crushed ice that his
djira
had conjured for him—now half melted—and held it against his neck while he waited, savoring the feel of the chilled glass against his skin.

The merchant families that oversaw business in Jezalya weren’t overtly hostile to one another, but they were fierce rivals, and outside the city it was rare that they cooperated on anything more complex than “who gets to go through the gate first.” Inside Jezalya, however, was another matter. The most powerful families in this region all had representatives in his city, and they were not shy about offering Nasaan their counsel. Since ultimately they had the same goal that he did—increasing Jezalya’s influence and prosperity—he had been open to such conversations thus far, provided his authority was properly acknowledged.

But in all their prior meetings they had chosen one representative to speak for all the families; never before had they come to him in a group like this.

As they entered the room, he saw that there were half a dozen of them, and each appeared to be from a different family. That didn’t surprise him. Most of the merchant caravans passing through Jezalya were controlled by extended family groups, and the men in charge usually choose wives from among their own relatives in order to maintain control over inheritance rights. The result was that it was fairly easy to pick out the more influential merchant families by their common features. Nasaan had dealt with them often enough by now to recognize that the six who stood before him represented the so-called Great Families, vast tribal networks whose elders effectively controlled all commerce within Jezalya. That each one had sent a blood relative to this meeting, rather than agreeing upon a common messenger, was not a reassuring sign.

“Thank you for receiving us, your Highness.” The lead speaker was a man Nasaan actually knew quite well. Hatal et Sarosh had been one of his secret agents in the city in the days before his conquest, and had helped him plant the rumors he’d needed to undermine support for Dervasti. They kept their distance from one another in public now, so few people knew of the connection, but occasionally Sarosh slipped him a choice bit of information, and now and then Nasaan slipped his family a choice bit of royal favor. A man could never have too many loyal agents.

“The masters of trade are always welcome here,” Nasaan responded. “Though I’m not used to seeing such a large delegation.”

The men looked at each other. It was not hard to pick up that they were ill at ease about this interview. Since Nasaan had never been one to punish the messengers of bad news, that made him even more wary.

“News has come to the Great Families that they believe might be of concern to the Prince of Jezalya.” Sarosh folded his hands in front of him as he spoke the last phrase; it was the signal they had established for him to warn Nasaan that serious trouble might be on the horizon.
As if I hadn’t already figured that out,
he thought dryly. “Each felt that they should provide a representative for our meeting.”

Witnesses, then
, Nasaan thought darkly.
The one role none of the Families would trust an outsider to fill
. Eyes narrow, he sat back in his chair, his battle-roughened hands steepled before him. “Speak, then. What’s your news?”

“There is word of trouble in Bandezek.” Sarosh told him. “Rumors of the Black Sleep are circulating. Though we are told no actual cases have been verified yet.”

Bandezek was an oasis town two days’ ride from his own city, a place that he had earmarked for his future military expansion. The place was not nearly as large or as prosperous as Jezalya—few towns were—but by the measure of the wasteland surrounding them it was worthy of notice. For the terrible wasting disease to come to Bandezek would be a disaster on many fronts, not least of them the fact that many desert folk believed the best way to protect themselves from the Black Sleep was to burn everyone and everything that could possibly be infected. Which usually translated to
everything in sight
.

“You say there are no confirmed cases,” Nasaan said. “This is only rumor?”

“At this point,” Sarosh replied.

It was not necessarily comforting. Towns had been burned to the ground for less.

Sarosh looked to his companions, then back to Nasaan. “There’s also some kind of unknown disease spreading among the nomads. It brings on a terrible weakness, like the Blood Sweat does, but it lacks all the other signs of that illness. Several families are said to have disappeared from the region, though of course with nomads it’s hard to confirm that kind of thing. But if it’s true . . . then they might have died of the sickness, or else been killed by others who feared infection. Either way, it is not a good sign.”

Indeed, it was not. Nasaan was silent for a moment as he digested the information and considered its implications. Such problems might all have a common source . . . and one that was uncomfortably close to home. That was a very dark thought indeed, and he took great care to see that his expression did not betray the true tenor of his reflection, lest one of these men guess at the cause.

“This is all taking place outside my borders, yes? None of my people have caught the sickness yet?”

Sarosh’s eyes narrowed slightly. “If you mean, is this happening outside your sphere of influence? Beyond the territory controlled by the tribes who have vowed their allegiance to Jezalya? Yes.” There was a slight edge to his voice now. “No one who owes fealty to you has been affected.”

“Then at least it will be clear to all that I can protect my own.”