so much air, it has no binding force.’ He drew in a thoughtful breath. ‘Indeed, if we're being meticulous about this it also means that your very presence here is a breach of the treaty, even an act of war.'
There was a stirring among the crowd and the envoy looked set to speak again, but Ibris ploughed on. ‘However,’ he said affably. ‘We're not lawyers, are we? It's their fault if such details haven't been attended to correctly. You've come a long way. Indeed, without our protection, it must be admitted, you've come a dangerous way. I commend you on whatever disguise you adopted, incidentally; not all our people take the broad view of our past differences that we perforce must for the general good. That being the case I see no reason why we should allow this relatively minor omission by some scribe to set your journeyings at naught.’ As if seeking their support he looked round at his advisers and was greeted by much sage nodding of heads. Satisfied, he turned back to the envoy, chuckling as he did so. ‘After all, it's hardly likely that the seal of the Handira could be forged, is it?’ He settled himself back in his chair again. ‘Now, Grygyr, if you still have no desire to eat or rest at the moment, then let's hear your message.'
Arwain stood very still behind his father's left shoulder and listened and watched. ‘We'll be riding the avalanche,’ Ibris had said, and, listening to him, Arwain felt the shifting ground under his feet and began to absorb the nuances of his father's performance.
Apart from what he was saying, there was the manner in which he was saying it and the small gestures and expressions that, combined, would subtly play on the Bethlarii's arrogance and must surely lead him into some indiscretion eventually. And the food and the luxurious chair were master strokes in their simplicity.
Perhaps, Arwain thought, it was because he was still peculiarly alert from his training that he was suddenly aware of these things that he must surely have seen on many occasions before. He had, after all, attended several battlefield truce meetings in the past, but by comparison with even the few exchanges that had been offered here so far, these now seemed to have been little more than a mixture of posturing displays and market-place bartering.
Perhaps, too, it was that there had never been such a strange meeting before. Whatever the reason, however, he knew that his father was teaching him something that could not readily, if at all, be taught in words, and he must have the wit to learn it.
The envoy cast as disdainful an eye around such of the crowd as he could see without wriggling incongruously in the soft chair. As his eyes met Arwain's there was a brief spark of hopeful recognition which was followed almost immediately by disappointment.
Not a shadow of my mind in my face, Arwain thought. In fact, not a shadow of it in my entire posture. But I see your mind in your face, envoy, as clear as if it were written there. You saw me, soiled and simply clad, standing at the Duke's back, and for the moment you thought I was one of your own. Then you knew me. And now you think, they are like us, these degenerates, and it unsettles you.
'Are you sure you'll not eat?’ Ibris was saying, pleasantly throwing another small handful of rounded stones under the hooves of his opponent's horse.
The envoy's face twitched and he clenched his hands tightly several times, then, as if a spasm had slipped from his control, his right arm swung out violently and sent the contents of the table crashing on to the marble floor.
There was a gasp from the crowd, but Ibris ignored the outburst apart from signalling some nearby servants to pick up the mess.
'Leave it,’ said the envoy fiercely as the servants began fussing about him. They froze, looking first at the envoy and then at the Duke. Ibris motioned them to abandon the task, then leaning to one side of his chair, casually rested his head on his hand and waited for the envoy to speak.
He had set the scene well. Grygyr Ast-Darvad looked faintly ridiculous. Ensconced in the large and luxurious chair in front of a table that was a little too high, his stern presence was lessened considerably, and in his soiled tunic he almost had the look of a dirty child; an image that was aided greatly by the food and dishes scattered about the floor around him.
Suddenly seeming to realize his position, he stood up, brushing the chair back noisily. For a moment it looked as if he were going to sweep the table to one side as a splendid gesture, but presumably noticing that it was of an extremely heavy construction, he resisted the temptation and stepped around it instead.
Ibris still made no movement but Ciarll Feranc took half a step forward and spoke softly. The envoy stopped and turned to look at him. Arwain did not hear what had been said, but, partly sheltered by his father's chair, he discreetly drew his knife. Somewhere behind him he heard the soft creak of a bow being bent. That archer would have to be spoken to, he noted.
For a long moment, the envoy looked at Feranc, who returned the gaze unblinkingly. But though Feranc's stare was without overt menace, it had an eerie certainty that had chilled braver men than Grygyr Ast-Darvad in the past and Arwain noticed the envoy breathing more deeply. He forced himself to do the same as he felt the tension in the silent room creeping into his own limbs.
'Your message, envoy,’ Ibris said quietly, still as if nothing untoward had happened. His voice afforded the envoy the opportunity of escaping from Feranc without seeming to have lost the battle of wills.
'My message concerns the city of Whendrak,’ the envoy said, turning sharply to the Duke. ‘Our citizens there have petitioned the Hanestra complaining of abuse at the hands of the authorities. As those authorities are dominated by Serens, we consider that their treatment of our citizens is at your express wish and we demand that you order an end to this persecution immediately and take steps to ensure that the rights of our citizens are fully restored and where necessary due compensation paid.'
There was a strong ‘Or else’ implicit in his tone.
Ibris, however, affected a relieved indifference. ‘Ah, the Whendreachi again,’ he said knowingly. ‘I'd not heard of any trouble there recently, but it doesn't surprise me. But I am surprised that you've come to me about it, Grygyr. Whendrak's a neutral city as you know. And not without good reason.'
He shook his head and looked up at the ceiling as if contending with a flood of old memories. ‘It's been fought over so often that half the citizens are of Bethlarii stock and half of Serens, and neither knows which. And there's more than a few foreign mercenaries stamped their features on them as well. The Hanestra knows well enough that they can be a quarrelsome people who pick whatever ancestors best suit their immediate squabble. And when Bethlar and Serenstad have fought themselves to a standstill over them, as, god knows, they've done often enough in the past, what happens? They go their own way as they always have. Curse us both and solemnly vow to be neutral-again.'
There were murmurs of agreement from the crowd but Grygyr seemed unmoved. ‘I'm not here to debate this matter,’ he said, still assiduously avoiding using Ibris's title. ‘The treaty binds us to protecting our citizens wherever they might be. I have come here openly and honourably to ask you to fulfil your obligations by restraining your people in Whendrak. If you do not do this then we will have no alternative but to do it ourselves.'
Ibris frowned paternally and waved his hand gently as if to quieten a petulant child about to commit some folly. ‘Grygyr, the Whendreachi are the Whendreachi. As I've said, they're neither Bethlarii nor Serens and, apart from its strategic position, that's why their city was declared neutral when the treaty was negotiated. Declared neutral I might add with their full compliance. If either of us takes troops there, for whatever reason, and it'll need troops if they're fighting among themselves again-then it's a major breach of the treaty and will be considered an overt act of war.'
Grygyr pursed his lips impatiently. ‘That is not our reading of the treaty,’ he replied tersely. ‘We…'
'Whose reading?’ Ibris interrupted sharply.
Grygyr faltered. ‘Our lawyers and scribes,’ he said irritably, after a momentary hesitation.
Ibris nodded as if something had just been made clear to him. ‘The same lawyers and scribes who were responsible for that?’ He pointed to the letter lying on the floor amid the spilt food and broken dishes. ‘Lawyers and scribes who know so little about the treaty that they didn't have your message signed by the senior Handiran? Indeed, didn't even have your letters credential signed correctly and could have had you executed as a spy as a result? So ignorant of the treaty that they breached almost every major clause, sending you here both secretly and armed, without even a token of concession towards the agreed procedures; the issuing of notices, the exchanging of heralds? You'd
He paused briefly. ‘You can read, can you, Grygyr?'
Though spoken with the concern that had filled all Ibris's words so far, the question hissed through the
