similar situation. He’d seen the decrease in dwarren on the plains, although the dwarren would recover much more quickly than the Alvritshai. In that respect, the dwarren were like the humans. They bred like rabbits.
But the attacks by the Andovans were more immediate and more pressing.
Aeren saw the commander frown, his chin dropping slightly.
Then he turned away again. But before he kicked his horse forward, he said bitterly, “I’ll inform King Stephan of your request.”
Aeren watched him and his escort gallop back across the plains to their ranks for a moment before turning to Garius.
The dwarren clan chief eyed Aeren shrewdly. He’d been listening to the conversation intently, and he now fingered the hilt of his sword as he stared Aeren down.
“You already know why we must talk of peace,” he finally said.
Aeren nodded. “The sukrael.”
Garius glanced in the direction of the forest, too distant to actually see on the horizon. “The urannen.” His lip twitched as he said the name, and he spat to one side.
When he turned back, he said, “I will tell the Cochen of your talk.”
Then he spun his gaezel around, calling an order to the rest of the dwarren. Their gaezels leaped forward, leaving Thaedoren behind on his horse.
He cantered forward, to face Aeren. “You risk much for this peace.”
“I risk everything,” Aeren said darkly.
Thaedoren measured him with a glance, then nodded. “I’ll remain with the dwarren until the meeting can be arranged.”
“I’ll inform the Tamaell.”
Thaedoren pulled his horse around and charged out after the dwarren.
Aeren met Eraeth’s gaze.
“That could have gone better,” his Protector said blandly as they headed back toward the Tamaell and the rest of the Alvritshai army.
“It gives us a chance. Let’s hope the talk itself is less anger fueled.”
It wasn’t.
Aeren could already feel the tension radiating from the men, dwarren, and Alvritshai gathered about the tent that had been erected in the center of the battlefield. All of those assembled were glaring at the other two contingents, even as each party sent a single member into the tent to verify that everything had been set up as established during the two days of negotiations. The dwarren had demanded that their own meeting tent be used, but King Stephan had refused on the grounds that he was unfamiliar with their setup and layout. An argument had ensued, with Tamaell Fedorem finally offering the compromise that they use a human tent, with the stipulation that one of the dwarren shamans be allowed to sanctify it. Both sides had grudgingly agreed.
Then the question of how many men each leader would be allowed to bring with them into the tent. Tamaell Fedorem had requested fourteen, intending to bring the seven Lords of the Evant, with one aide each. The dwarren had immediately demanded twenty. Aeren suspected that the number itself didn’t matter to them, it only had to be higher than the Tamaell’s choice. Stephan had scoffed and said he would only need seven.
They’d finally agreed on ten additional men each.
After that, they’d argued about how the tent would be set up, how they’d verify that the tent was safe before the other leaders entered, how the guards would be positioned outside, what food and drink would be available, whether weapons would be allowed, and how many weapons each guard would be able to carry.
As soon as all of these matters were settled, the argument within the Evant began over who would accompany the Tamaell. The dwarren had demanded that both Thaedoren and Fedorem be present. Moiran had protested. Thaedoren was the Tamaell Presumptive-it made no sense to risk both Fedorem and Thaedoren at the meeting. Her voice had been quiet and controlled, but Aeren had heard the tremor beneath it, had seen the fear in her eyes. A mother’s fear. But Fedorem had overruled her. Daedalen, their second son, still remained in Alvritshai hands, ready to take Thaedoren’s and Fedorem’s place if something should happen to them both.
Moiran had pursed her lips, but she said nothing.
That left nine places to be filled. Some would have to be reserved for the Phalanx. Fedorem didn’t intend to enter the tent without some guardsmen. He allocated three places for his own personal guard, leaving six at the disposal of the Evant.
In the end, after nearly an entire day of exhausting discussion, of tirades and brittle conversation, of anger and heated words, it was decided that Aeren and Khalaek would accompany the Tamaell. Each would be allowed two others of their own chosing.
Aeren’s brow furrowed as he glanced toward Khalaek, the lord dressed in formal black and gold. He caught Aeren’s stare and held it
… then smiled before turning away, back toward the two aides he’d chosen to bring along with him.
Eraeth leaned forward and murmured, “The one on the right is the man Benedine met with in the courtyard.”
Aeren faced Colin questioningly and received a nod in return.
He frowned, considering the man. He could see the training of the Phalanx in the way the man held himself. When he sensed Aeren’s attention, he looked over, met Aeren’s gaze, held it a long moment without moving, then returned to waiting, without a second look back.
Then the scouts-all three-emerged from the tent, giving an all-clear signal as they retreated back to their respective groups.
Aeren drew in a deep breath, glancing around at the rest of the escort gathered, including those who would wait outside the tent. They held the banners of those present-the black and gold talon of House Duvoraen; the white and red eagle rampant of House Resue, the Tamaell’s colors; and the blue and red wings of Aeren’s own House Ryhssal. The dwarren shaman stepped forward, chanting as he gestured with the feathered spear he carried and spread what Aeren had verified were tiny grass seeds into the wind. Aeren caught King Stephan muttering impatiently to his commander, both of their expressions dark. Aeren had learned the commander’s name was Tanner Dain.
And then the shaman stepped back, his chant dying.
Tamaell Fedorem turned to Aeren and nodded.
Drawing in a deep breath, Aeren stepped toward the tent, Eraeth and Colin following in his wake. He saw representatives from each of the other two races doing the same.
The tent had four entrances, each one leading to a small room sectioned off from the large interior where the same wide, low table the dwarren had used in the previous meeting tent had been set up. There were no chairs on the dwarren’s side of the table, and none on the Alvritshai side, but when Aeren stepped past the fold separating the entrance chamber to the main room, he noticed the human King had brought in three wooden seats. Pillows had been positioned for the Tamaell and the Cochen of the dwarren, with a few set to either side for those that accompanied them. In the center of the table sat a shallow bowl containing a sheaf of grain, a few eagle feathers, and assorted fruits. Otherwise, the tent and table were bare.
Even as Eraeth and Colin emerged from the outer room, Colin using his staff to push the tent flap aside, Aeren caught the whiff of smoke, followed by the incense the dwarren used. But the braziers he’d seen in the dwarren’s meeting tent were absent.
“They must have lit one inside their own chamber,” Eraeth murmured, nodding toward the southern side of the tent.
Even as he spoke, a clan chief Aeren was unfamiliar with stepped into the room, followed by three others. He glared at Aeren, arms crossed over his chest, then scanned the room.
The entire tent shook as the Legionnaire Tanner Dain shoved through. He rested his hand on the hilt of his sword meaningfully, frowning as he caught sight of Aeren, his stance shifting slightly, more on guard. When two other Legionnaires entered behind him, he motioned toward the table.
They inspected the room, even though they’d already sent in one person to look things over, then fell back to Tanner’s side without comment. He spoke to one in a whisper; the man ducked back outside, but Tanner kept his attention fixed on Aeren and the dwarren clan chief.
“Tell the Tamaell that everything is ready,” Aeren said.
