Devastating Hate (22 page)

Starowig, not over the shock, but manifestly pleased with this turn of events, got to his feet and said loudly: “You have your alliance.”

Ishím Voróo (Outer Lands), Dsôn Faïmon, Dsôn,

4371
^st
division of unendingness (5199
^th
solar cycle),

early autumn.

Polòtain was giving a dinner for all those whose opinions the Inextinguishables would listen to—his own voice was not sufficient.
I want to bring a whole chorus together.

He scrutinized the room where twenty of the most influential älfar left in Dsôn would soon be gathering: male and female, Comets and Constellations alike. This was to be a unique event where political adversaries would come together around the same table.
And they will come because
I
have invited them. Everything must be perfect.

The guests soon began arriving and by the appointed time all of them were there, seated at the table with Polòtain at the head, visible to all. None was younger than thirty divisions of unendingness.

“Before I open the proceedings I'd like to thank you all for attending,” he said, standing to address the company. “It is a great privilege to have members of opposing political camps coming here in peace. I must ask for your tolerance and understanding regarding tonight's revelations: there are some painful truths that have to be confronted. But it is for the good of our nation that I bring up these uncomfortable issues. Terrible events have been set in motion and we must inform the Inextinguishables of them before they become imminent. If we fail to do this there will no longer be any Comets, nor Constellations.” He sat down again and ordered the wine to be served.
That should have aroused their curiosity . . .

“In the past, when you were more in the public eye, you were always feared by your Comet colleagues, Polòtain,” said Ratáris with a smile, breaking the tense silence. “But now you are a burned-out star rising again, and you want to take over both factions? I wonder if it will work?”
She looked at the other dinner guests. “We, the Constellations, are eager to hear your plans, but we are . . .
suspicious
of them.”

Nobody from the Comets wanted to speak. They preferred to bide their time.

“There are several hot topics being discussed in the streets and squares of Dsôn,” Polòtain began. “We have the situation in Tark Draan, for example. My sources—”

“What sources are these?” Ratáris interrupted.

“Benàmoi of the smaller älfar units who are unhappy at how the war is going,” Polòtain continued. The easier he made it for them to understand, the readier they would be to believe the truth. His truth, at any rate. “The nostàroi have sent small units out to accompany the barbarians, óarcos, trolls and ogres so that the älfar can keep the allies in order. That's how it was supposed to work. But there is a snag.” He grabbed the edge of the cloth in both hands and yanked it off the table, leaving plates and cutlery undisturbed, to reveal a huge map of Tark Draan painted on the wooden table. Polòtain took up the pointer at his side. Nothing had been left to chance this evening. “I have no wish to detract from the victories Caphalor and Sinthoras have won. These are excellent warriors and they have led our troops to a glorious triumph in the Golden Plain. But the way they are deploying the allies, or the scum of Ishím Voróo, as I refer to them privately,” (at this point there was polite laughter on both sides of the table), “puts them at the end of a chain—and the chain is no longer holding. Greed is responsible for the disintegration of the alliance. They all want the land they were promised, and of course, they are squabbling over who gets the best bits. My sources”—he went on, looking particularly at Ratáris—“say that the barbarians are starting to quarrel among themselves and the Kraggash óarcos have put the half-giants' noses out of joint. Our warriors often have to face the resistance from Tark Draan on their own. As soon as the local kings have got over their initial shock and have their armies sorted, it will be even more difficult for our soldiers.”

“You are saying that the nostàroi are not up to the task?” Demenion, of the Comets faction, said. “Their mission was to conquer Tark Draan for the Inextinguishables and establish a vassal state—but judging by
what you have said, it looks as though they are awarding the whole place to the scum!”

“I thought this campaign was about destroying the elves?” objected Ratáris. “And that's surely what the nostàroi are working toward. Or have I misunderstood?”

“It is wrong to send our soldiers to Tark Draan in the first place,” said Landaròn, who was sitting next to her. “So far our catapults on the island fortresses have managed to hold back the dorón ashont. But where are our forces if, by some incredible mischance, the Towers that Walk effect entry into Dsôn Faïmon? We're left with nothing but raw recruits led by a handful of veterans, plus the slaves we could use in an emergency. But can we depend on their loyalty? What if our serfs turn against us and join forces with the dorón ashont? At first sight it may seem that we are secure enough, but if you dig a little deeper you have to admit that the älfar empire has never been in such danger.” He shook his head and stared over at the Comets. “Say what you like, this campaign has proved a disastrous mistake.”

Polòtain was delighted that the discussion had gone this way. “Even if I belong to the expansionist camp, I find myself agreeing with you, Landaròn,” he said, for all to hear.

Every head turned toward him in astonishment.

He addressed the other älfar. “The nostàroi talked the Inextinguishables into using tactics that were created in arrogance and over-confidence. Sinthoras and Caphalor were working on the assumption that they had made the borders of Ishím Voróo secure as they had enticed all of our enemies to Tark Draan under the guise of new alliances. It was thought the nostàroi would be returning in triumph by now, with the whole of Tark Draan conquered. Not least because of the demon, who they said would be able to break any last pockets of resistance.” Polòtain crossed his arms. “The reality is that they have hardly made a start. Winter will soon call a halt to the whole campaign and Dsôn Faïmon will be left weak and vulnerable. Look toward the northwest where the dorón ashont are up against our borders!” He raised his right forefinger. “I am not saying the war was a mistake—but the way they are going about it will bring disaster. The nostàroi have got things wrong and they've
put us in grave danger.” He took a mouthful of wine and waited for his guests' reactions.

They were all looking at the map with worried expressions.

Polòtain was convinced that the views of the two opposing factions were starting to draw closer.
That is exactly what I wanted to happen.

“I cannot fathom where you are going with your speech,” said Ratáris after a while. “Do you intend the Comets to support the Constellations in trying to get the troops recalled?”

There was lively dissent, but the reaction was less extreme than it would have been before Polòtain's presentation.

“I am merely pointing out that we find ourselves in a situation where our differences pale into insignificance.” Polòtain placed his wine cup back on the table. “I have a proposition to put to you all. I think it is a reasonable suggestion that will be acceptable to both factions and at the end of the day it will be Dsôn Faïmon that profits from it—and that means us, of course. If you hear me out we can discuss it together.”

Ratáris signed to him to go ahead. “You have us on tenterhooks.”

“In order to protect our people we need to recall a large contingent of our soldiers from Tark Draan; some will remain to hold their position over the winter and keep the allies under control. Our soldiers will defeat the dorón ashont upon their return and make their way back to the front with the coming of spring, when they can join the attack on Tark Draan once more. But, in my opinion, the war should be under different management. Caphalor and Sinthoras have botched their opportunity through their conceit, and it will not serve us in the future. My way, the interests of both the Comets and the Constellations are served and each faction can see one of their principal demands being met.” Polòtain's mouth was dry, not only from speaking, but also from the tension. Polòtain took a few deep breaths. He had done his part. Now to see how convincing he had been.

The Comets and the Constellations put their heads together.

A servant came up to him and whispered, “Master, you have a visitor. It is Timanris.”

“Timansor's daughter?”
The traitor bitch?

“Yes, master.”

“What does she want?”

“She did not say. She wants to speak to you urgently. Straightaway, she said.”

“Get rid of her.”

“Master, she looked very upset. It must be important.”

Polòtain was unsure.
Does she want me to forgive her for betraying Robonor? Or might it be something I can turn to my advantage? I can't miss that.
He got up. “Please continue your discussion, my dear friends and valued opponents. I shall be back shortly.”

The servant took him to a small reception room where Timanris was waiting. She was wringing her hands nervously. When she saw him approach she stood up.

“My dear,” he said kindly. He concealed his distaste behind a mask of feigned courtesy. “To what do I owe the honor of your visit?” He indicated to the servants that they should leave the room. “Have you come to apologize for sleeping with my great-nephew's murderer?”

Timanris stared at him, then dropped her gaze. “I—” she said quietly, taking a deep breath. “I heard that you have called all the leading members of society together. Everyone in Dsôn knows you are attacking Sinthoras because you believe he is responsible for Robonor's death. But you are wrong! I wanted to ask you not to—”

Polòtain snorted, then gave a cold laugh. “I have proof, Timanris! And I have a witness whose evidence clearly incriminates Sinthoras. He has sworn on oath that Sinthoras was implicated in a conspiracy targeting Robonor!”

“But that is impossible!” she cried. “He swore to me.”

“You know what people say about Sinthoras and how he came to gain his present office!” he cried. “He is a Comet and his trail could not burn more destructively. If there is something he wants or something that gives him some advantage, he will have it, come what may.” He stepped toward her. “He saw you, he wanted you. That sealed my great-nephew's fate. His death had to happen. Such a convenient
accident
, wasn't it? But I'm not giving up and I'm not going to be lulled, like you, into believing his protestations of innocence.”

Polòtain realized that it was sheer desperation that had forced her to come and plead her lover's case.
You know that I am plotting to bring
him down and it's driving you crazy.
He looked at her face and wanted to strike her. “He is also responsible for the death of the outstanding artist Itáni—”

“No!” she exclaimed, seeming relieved to be able to contribute something toward clearing Sinthoras's name. “No! That's utterly impossible! He spent the night with me!”

Polòtain froze. “What did you just say?”

Timanris winced. “Nothing. Only that he spent the night with his troops in—” She swallowed hard and her face went as white as samarkit dye. “Tark Draan. He—was in Tark—Tark Draan . . .”

Polòtain stepped forward again so he and she were close enough to touch. “The nostàroi has been in Dsôn?” he hissed, holding her gaze. “By all the infamous ones, Sinthoras was here! Here in Dsôn!” he exclaimed with a laugh. “Betrayed by his partner after she'd betrayed my Robonor for him. O god of the winds and of justice, Samusin, that is priceless!”

“No, I said nothing of the sort!” Timanris said. “You must have misheard!”

“It doesn't matter what you said or how much you deny it. I shall seek an audience with the Inextinguishables and lodge a murder accusation against Sinthoras. I'll interrogate your father and his whole household. I'll cross-examine all the neighbors and all the island fortress teams. There'll be someone else who will have seen him. You have given me a good tip.” Polòtain kissed her on the forehead. “This almost makes amends for what you did to Robonor.” He turned away from her and left the room.
Samusin, this is true justice indeed.

“No!” she cried. “No! Don't do that. I beg you, Polòtain!”

He halted and looked at her again.

She stopped short on the threshold, clinging to the doorframe for support, sobbing; her body was trembling “Please—”

“You have no right to ask any favors of me. You have given shelter to a multiple murderer and that is enough to bring you and your entire family down, Timanris. But because Robonor loved and worshipped you until the very day of his death, I shall spare you and your father. I shall find the witnesses I need to confirm that Sinthoras was in Dsôn and then my revenge will strike him! He will lose everything!
Everything!
That includes
you. If you don't want to be sucked down into the maelstrom of his downfall, then wash your hands of him. For the sake of your father and your family. Prove that you have not abandoned all your senses!”