IronStar (44 page)

Right,
Kirrah thought,
remembering her protocol lessons with Slaetra.
For appearances’ sake, we may
not suggest we are in trouble, and for courtesy’s sake neither does he.

“Your interest is well informed. I
am told by Delima Guildmaster that our crop of oilseed is good this year,
already nearing first harvest. As you may have noticed, the O’dai seem to enjoy
sleeping in the open near our small lake. It is only their Kruss-weapon that
keeps us from entertaining them more thoroughly, although I
have
heard
they suffer from hunger by day, and have …bad dreams, at night.” Shrewd looks
were exchanged.

“We hope to learn more of your
tactics in the next few days, Kirrah Warmaster.
Whuff!
Dazzled by your
wit and beauty, I forget my manners!”

Despite her initial caution, Kirrah
found herself being charmed by the big, cheerful stranger.

“I show you Tova, a merchant trader
in our modest village, and a personal friend. The poor man was so interested in
the rumors of trade with your
Reg’num
that he begged me leave to come
along and speak with you himself.”

Kirrah clasped hands with the
stocky, ruddy-haired man.

“And last I show you Vesai,
delegate from our good King Tannakoi to our humble court at Uttra, and present
to observe, on his behalf, our discussions.” Kirrah clasped hands with the
elderly woman, and reminded herself to respect the quick intelligence behind
those bright violet-flecked gray eyes. She was surprised to notice a slackness
down the left side of the woman’s body when she moved.
Stroke. That’s the
first sick person I’ve seen on this planet, and she’s still working
…

“Your presence graces us,
Vesai-of-the-King
.”
The woman’s eyes widened slightly in approval as Kirrah used the Talamae
equivalent of her formal Pavattan title.
Thanks to Janna’tha for the
briefing.
“May I offer you a pillow or a more comfortable chair? And
perhaps refreshments for everyone? These chairs seem designed to keep meetings
short and on-topic, but we have much to discuss.” Six hours later, these words
were deemed prophetic on both counts.

“Victory goes to the player who
makes the next-to-last mistake.” - Savielly Grigorievitch Tartakower, early 20
^th
century (pre-digital) Chessmaster; Russia, Terra

“I still do not understand how he
was killed.” Issthe was thoughtful, and as close to worried as Kirrah had ever
seen the tall pale priestess.
Or perhaps it was simply professional
antipathy to a mystery in one’s own field
. And truth be told, Kirrah had no
idea herself what had caused the odd wound. Unlike the previous three, this one
pierced the skin under the left triceps, and according to her suitpack’s probe,
it exited between the third and fourth ribs beside the sternum. But exactly
like the others, the four or five millimeter wide lesion passed directly
through the dead man’s aorta, and all the victims had bled rapidly to death
inside their chest.

“At least we had an eyewitness this
time, Issthe. We spent hours trying to imagine how the other three dead scouts
could have been standing, to make a straight line of their wounds. And indeed
this damage here,” Kirrah indicated the probe’s view of the long, narrow entry
wound, “…looks a little like a bullet wound.”

“One of those
Reg’num
weapons
that throws solid objects like arrowheads.” Issthe’s smooth brow formed a tiny
unconscious wrinkle above her nose, at the thought of deliberately causing an
object to penetrate another’s flesh for harm.

“Yes, but those projectiles are
travelling so fast, they bruise the tissue. See, there is very little bruising
here, except where the man beat at his own arm. His partner said he suddenly started
screaming and tearing at himself, and moments later collapsed. So whatever it
was, was not a sudden strike in a straight line. Does your
ath'lae'mara
have
anything to add?”

“
As
with many killed in war, there was a faint taste of anger left on the body.
With this man it has seemed both more distant and …colder, somehow. It was wise
to have the bodies brought back here, I think.” Kirrah had had enough
experience with Issthe’s abilities at both diagnosis and healing, that she was
unwilling to discount almost any hunch the calm woman expressed. The doorlatch
to the small infirmary rattled and at Kirrah’s word, Janna’tha entered.

“Warmaster, your transport is
ready.”

“Thank you, Janna’tha, are…”

“Armsmaster Opeth and Irshe-
ro’tackh
are already waiting, Warmaster.”

“Thank you, Janna’tha. Most
appreciated.” Kirrah rolled her eyes at Issthe, who smiled a small smile in
return and followed the Regnum lieutenant into the courtyard where their
carriage was waiting. Kirrah and Issthe joined Irshe and Opeth already seated
in the carriage. They pulled through the school’s gates and made their way
south past the palace. On the way through the military barracks they were
joined by a troop of Wrth guards. Peetha had come as close as her ingrained
deference to authority allowed, to objecting outright to Kirrah facing the
O’dai without her. They compromised that she would come along, but stay on the
ship unless there was trouble.

The sound of the carriage horses’
hooves on the paved street punctuated Kirrah’s thoughts. She turned to ask, “I
was a little surprised when I learned we have a parley, Armsmaster Opeth. How
has it been arranged?”
“Warmaster, it was agreed to meet on the south shore, we four and four of the
O’dai, no guards. The meeting shall take place on a raised wooden platform with
three walls, to protect the O’dai from our arrows. They shall keep all their
forces back one hundred eighty hab’la except for one observer eighty hab’la
distant. We shall land and our ship shall stand twenty hab’la offshore. Their observer
or ours on our ship can signal for a withdrawal at any suspicious movement.”

“Very well negotiated, Armsmaster.
Safe against treachery, even-handed. Thank you for doing this.”

As arranged, their steamship pulled
up to the south shore of the lake, to the same decrepit wharf where their first
raiding party had landed some forty-four days ago. The four stepped down the
ramp and onto the low bank. With the Geera’s tributaries and the lake’s water
level just beginning their decline from the winter runoff, the bank was only
about a third of the one meter height they had climbed last time. The day was
past noon, the sky that beautiful deep cerulean blue at the zenith and a
glowing blue-green toward the horizon. Dozens of small to medium cumulus clouds
marked the tops of thermals. The usual abundant wildlife on the southern
peninsula was absent, replaced by the gear and litter of almost ten thousand
besieging enemy soldiers. Kirrah cautiously scanned the area immediately around
their meeting place, verifying it was open and deserted as promised.

As Kirrah, Irshe, Opeth and Issthe
moved toward the small platform, five riders broke from the O’dai camp and
approached, one stopping the agreed eighty hab’la (about thirty-four meters)
away and the other four stopping a few meters on the other side of the
platform. One splendidly plumed and caparisoned individual stood in the center,
with two slightly-less-brightly attired men in front, and one large fellow
behind and to the right, in page’s uniform but looking far more like a
bodyguard. With a small start Kirrah recognized under-Captain Staegro as one of
the two men in front. According to the carefully choreographed protocol, the
two groups somewhat warily mounted the platform at the same time and took their
places at one of the two tables. Where the O’dai sat, they were indeed shielded
from any arrows shot from the ship, by a three-meter high plank wall.

Irshe introduced the Talamae
contingent, and the blond man at the left of the table opposite them introduced
“His Exalted Personage, Paedako Prince of O’dakai, Supreme Commander of the
Nineteenth O’dai Imperial Army and Fourth Son of His Astral And Terrible
Majesty King Oka’sse Wielder of the Sacred Staff, Ruler of Plains, Lord of the
Sea and Sky and Universal King of O’dai". Kirrah suppressed a giggle,
partly because she was impressed by the man’s lung capacity and partly because
she knew from her briefings that there were at most three O’dai land forces and
she was in the presence of the largest. What she could see of Paedako behind
the regalia was a youth about Janna’tha’s age, well-muscled, heavier built, not
fat but somehow soft-looking, mild brown eyes under a dark brown mane of hair,
and a mouth that seemed born to pout. Apparently the names of the other O’dai were
deemed irrelevant, as introductions ceased at that point. A small awkward
silence followed the introductions. As Kirrah was about to open her mouth, the
young Prince spoke:

“We hoped to see our countryman
Fleet-Captain Schmado returned as part of this meeting. I am sure whatever
duties he may have conceived he had in Talameths'cha are fulfilled, and trust
he is well and free to return to his honored place in our service.”

“I assure you he is well, Prince
Paedako,” Kirrah replied, “and invite you to send an ambassador to meet with
him. However my first business is to understand your reasons for being so far
from your homeland.” Another awkward pause. Finally the Prince tapped the first
O’dai spokesman lightly with a thin wand and the man said:

“It is considered impolite to
question the actions of a member of the O’dai royal family. This is forgivable
occasionally, for a foreigner not trained in courtly manners, and as an
indulgence I am allowed to respond where the Prince does not hear.”

“We wish to end this war,” Kirrah
replied. “Both our nations have much to profit from cooperation, and we
appreciate how costly it can be to wage a campaign so far from one’s home. What
do the O’dai seek?”

“Our requirements are modest,” the
young Prince resumed speaking. Kirrah realized that she would need to keep a
tight rein on her feelings. Even the mild, oily, singsong sound of his voice
was irritating her. “We do not intend the
destruction
of your village
across the river, only the
return
of our citizens, of
any
person
who may be in Talamae hands at this time. And a
reasonable
annual
tribute to be paid to O’dakai. Plus reparations for the
damage
to
Captain Schmado’s
fleet
, of course.”

“Perhaps some arrangement can be
found,” Kirrah found herself saying over the cold rage that was condensing
rapidly in her belly. Both Irshe’s and Opeth’s eyebrows began creeping upward.
Issthe’s calm remained untroubled.

“For example, Talam has already fed
O’dai’s sailors, I am
sure
we could provide food for your men here,” a
casual wave of her hand taking in the O’dai camp to her left, “while we escort
them to our
borders
.”
Yes, a pout definitely looks like the most
native expression on that mouth
. “As soon as our merchants have been paid
for their
first
deliveries, to the… what was it, the O’dai
tenth
fleet?”
Under-Captain Staegro’s face had gone quite pale, and the large bodyguard
pretending to be a page behind the Prince looked uneasy.

Kirrah continued smoothly, “We seek
no reparations or tribute, however. In a year or two all of Talam and her
allies will be so wealthy from trade with the Regnum, such small matters will
seem beneath notice. I hope the O’dai nation will be among those so blessed,
don’t you?”

The Prince was definitely staring
into space at these words, studiously ignoring Kirrah’s bright, some might say
predatory, smile. Another pause, another tap to the shoulder of the spokesman,
who bent his ear before the Prince’s lips. A few murmurs, then the man
straightened and replied, “One other matter - Talam should know that the Curse
of Heaven can only be lifted when the Heaven-messenger is returned unharmed to
O’dakai.” The four O’dai stood and made to leave.

A little startled, Kirrah spoke up.
“The Prince’s man speaks riddles. There is no ‘curse of heaven’.”

“Oh, there
will
be,” the
prince said in his mildest voice, and the four departed, leaving Kirrah and her
party looking at one another in puzzled consternation.

“I fear I may have allowed my anger
to interfere with our parley, Issthe. That young …man,” again Kirrah cursed her
lack of fluency in Talamae cursing, “was very difficult to be near, without
wanting to smack his pouting face.”

“Indeed Kirrah Warmaster, your
anger was clearly visible to me. Yet it was a clean hot candle next to his cold
fury. That is a young man very used to getting what he wants, also badly
deprived of what he needs, and unstudied in the way of
shee'thomm
. He
knows only force and fear. I pity him greatly.”

“
Pity
. I suppose so. What do
you think? Opeth?” Her glance touched Irshe and Opeth, sitting across from her
at the octagonal conference room in the Palace. Peetha, Major Doi’tam, Lord
Tsano and the other three Masters were also present.

“I think the matter was never alive
to peace, Warmaster. If Captain Schmado was disgraced before the O’dai court by
your destruction of his fleet, this young Prince surely faces worse if he
returns with his army and no victory. Or
without
his army. I believe he
has no option but the conquest of our Realm. It was always my view that parley
with him was a thing of form, not substance.”

“Irshe, was there anything
constructive you think could have been said?”

“Warmaster, the man’s words were an
insult to the truth as well as to Talam. I especially liked the part where you
pretended to miss-remember the number of their fleet you destroyed down the
Geera. With a single sentence, you reminded him of your past victory, filled
his mouth with the dust of Talam feeding their stranded sailors, and mocked
their boastful habit of numbering their forces starting at ten or twenty. I have
never seen such a polite yet thoroughgoing destruction of an enemy’s pride!” A
few wry smiles greeted Irshe’s praise.