Campas’ eyes darted from one Brodaini to the next, and then to the heads that Grendis held in her hand. He swallowed. “Aye, bro-demmin,” he said.

  Tegestu smiled grimly to himself. The poet knew how to put on a brave face. “Please repeat them, ilean, I beg you,” he said.

  The poet repeated his words. Tegestu nodded. “Take my words to our lord,” he said, and as Campas turned to go, he added, “Do not forget the heads.”

  The shaken messenger withdrew. “It is true, then, bro-demmin?” Grendis asked. “Is Calacas our own?”

  Tegestu faced the thin edge of dawn that crept above the blackness. “It is,” he said, and smiled. “If the gods bless us, it is. We may not unbraid our hair yet, ban-demmini, we must always be vigilant. If we are not watchful against all treachery, and against all who would take Calacas from us, then we shall not deserve this fine city.”

  “Aye, bro-demmin,” Grendis said in an awed whisper as she realized what Tegestu had done: he had moved his forces into the middle position, squarely between Tastis and the Elva, where he and he alone held the balance of power.

  Treachery, they would call it, and treachery it was. But Tegestu had given them all a city where there had been nothing but landless exile, and hope where there had formerly been nothing but duty.

  “The gods bless this beginning,” Grendis said, and turned with Tegestu to face the dawn.

  CHAPTER 21

  Necias, standing with arms akimbo on the afterdeck of his barge, looked at the Brodaini banners dotting the tops of the towers of Calacas and felt the anxiety gnawing at his heart. Tegestu’s camps were abandoned, every one of them, with every stick of baggage — that superb Brodaini staff work had shown itself to advantage once again. The latest convoy of supply barges had been shepherded into the city, which would leave Necias’ agents madly scrambling to find food in the countryside. The Brodaini galleys had entered the Outer Harbor and were safe behind their boom, and they’d taken with them all the Brodaini marines from the ships not directly under Brodaini command. Two attempts to enter the city, by some of Palastinas’ staff, and then by Palastinas himself, had been turned away at the gates by junior officers who claimed they were not authorized to let anyone enter. And of course there had been Campas’ message, which he had refused to believe until the confirming evidence had started trickling in. The city of Calacas, which Necias has given us... . Whenever had he done such a mad thing as that? Hadn’t he specifically forbidden it? What absurd claims was Tegestu making?

  He smashed a huge fist into his hand repeatedly in time to his bursts of irritation. “What’s he up to?” he barked, seeing the frightened, uncomprehending looks from the faces of his staff. “What in the name of the Netweaver does Tegestu want?”

  Had he joined Tastis? But he had sent Necias the heads of some of Tastis’ best advisors, including two of his aldran. Necias even recognized one of them: one scarred visage was unmistakably that of a grey-haired old bastard who had headed a delegation to Arrandal a year ago.

  Necias scowled at the battlements, planted his fists firmly on his hips, and turned, seeing Palastinas sitting abstractedly on a coil of rope, stroking his little white beard and frowning down at his boots.

  “What the hell does it mean?” Necias bellowed. Palastinas winced slightly at his volume, but otherwise didn’t change expression, didn’t even look up.

  “No telling, just yet,” Palastinas said. “Tegestu will let us know when he’s ready.” He looked up at Necias, cocking an eye against the glare of the rising sun. “I’d like to stand the army down. No sense in tiring them until we know why we’re doing it.”

  “No!” Necias barked. “Not yet!” He was keeping thirty thousand armed men between himself and Calacas until he understood the situation, and that was that. Tegestu’s eighteen thousand added to the twenty-five thousand or so of Tastis’ force could give the enemy a terrifying advantage — and if Prypas’ Brodaini had joined them the Arrandalla could not count on any help from Handipas.

  “He said he’s ready to fight against Tastis,” Palastinas said, his gaze turning to his boots again. “He’s told us he will never be disloyal. Tegestu’s a man of his word. Why not stand the army down?”

  “Because he’s Brodaini, that’s why! Haven’t you heard of aspistu?” Necias demanded. “If he’s after revenge he’ll hand us a hundred lies if he thinks they’ll work — that’s what aspistu’s all about!” Gods, he thought, what if that assassin didn’t come from Tastis at all, but from Tegestu’s camp? There was no way to tell. And it had been Tegestu who’d tried to suggest that Little Necias be killed for his failure — and who would that benefit but the rebels? Gods, how could he ever know?

  He spun away from Palastinas at the sound of hoofbeats, and saw Campas pull his horse to a halt on the bank. Necias strode to meet him.

  “Tanta’s men are still in their lines,” he said, smiling grimly. “Handipas said they fought well against the sortie last night — drove Tastis right back to the moat, in fact.” A worried look crossed his features. “But they’re under arms in their camp — standing ready.”

  “Ai, gods, that does it,” Necias said, twisting his rings in anxiety. “I’ve got to tell Handipas.” And lose every piece of cimmersan I’ve ever had with the man, he thought. Admitting that I’ve let Tegestu and his entire force get away and fort up in a situation in which he can join the enemy and outnumber us. There’s no getting Handipas to accept a subordinate position now... no possibility in the world. And it would weaken him with the Elva as well.

  Aiee, the Elva! With Tegestu protesting loyalty and claiming the city as a gift, how could he ever convince the Elva ambassadors, and their Denorrin-Deissin back home, that he hadn’t intended to give the city away as part of some plot to increase his own territory by gifts to his Brodaini? They’d all lay the credit for this disaster at his door, however they chose to interpret the matter, and who could blame them? The only way to keep the Elva on his side would be to disavow Tegestu entirely, and that would mean losing him to the enemy.

  Necias looked up at the grey towers of Calacas, feeling sweat popping up on his forehead as the midsummer morning heat lapped at him. Gods, he had to get the gates of the city open and quickly. He had to think. Take the first galley back to Arrandal, disassociate himself from this disaster? No, too late. He’d expected to take the credit for a victory; now all blame would be his.

  Think! There had to be some escape. He pounded his fist rhythmically into his hand. He couldn’t see Handipas until he had explanations for him, and as yet there were no explanations. What could he do?

  He glanced up, irritated, at the sound of hoofbeats; but when he saw it was one of the mercenary officers from the outposts near the city pounding up on a sweating horse, he turned to face him. How much did the flenssin and the militia know? he wondered. They were standing to arms, facing the banners on the city wall they knew were friendly: surely they were aware that something was wrong; but did they know what? Rumors must be circulating frantically in the camp. He’d have to make them an announcement soon.

  “Abeissu!” the officer called from his horse. “Messengers from Tegestu, come to see you!”

  “How many? And who are they?” Necias barked, feeling relief and anxiety mixed. At last he’d find out what was happening — but how badly did he really wish to know?

  “A man named Hamila. His standard-bearer, and an escort of four.”

  Necias gnawed his nether lip. Hamila he knew, one of Tegestu’s trusted commanders, but not a major figure by any means, which meant that Tegestu was not risking sending one of his welldrani lest he be taken hostage or killed in return for treachery. Necias reached into his memories about Hamila, and produced the fact that he was absolutely ignorant of Abessas. Why was Tegestu sending Necias a herald who couldn’t speak his language?

  “Captain Acragas!” he barked to Little Necias. “Alert all your guards! You and three of your best to be with me at all times. Only Hamila is to be allowed on the barge — the others are to wait on the bank.” He turned to Campas. “You’ll greet him as he’d expect to be greeted, then escort him below to meet me.” he said. He jabbed Campas in the chest with his thumb, seeing him wince, and grinned. “We’ll get to the bottom of it yet, hey?” he said. “Hamila can’t speak Abessas — so you tell me what you think he’s thinking as well as what he’s saying. He may be able to understand what you’re doing, but he won’t understand what you say. Understand?”

  “Yes, Abeissu Necias!”

  Little Necias put his hand on the hilt of his sword and gave a grin as if he enjoyed the possibility of having to give a swipe at Hamila. Necias frowned at him, hoping it wouldn’t come to that, and wished he was wearing armor. For a moment he considered donning his breastplate, chain skirts, and helmet, but decided against it: it might indicate he was afraid, and that would cost him cimmersan. At the moment, he thought, the little he had left had become just that much more precious.

  Followed by three guards, Necias went below decks to his receiving room, placed a Brodaini stool about ten paces before his own massive chair, placed the three guards in positions to intercept Hamila if he lunged out at him, and ordered tea and cakes. He sat in his chair and drummed his rings on the arm of his chair until Campas entered, followed by Hamila and Little Necias. Hamila stood by his stool, knelt, then rose again. Necias looked at him carefully for a long second, locking eyes. Hamila’s seemed lively, as if he were interested, perhaps even enjoying himself. Gradually, as Necias stared at him, the liveliness faded, was replaced with hooded stubbornness. There was a trace of uncertainty there as well. Good, Necias thought; he doesn’t know for certain that Tegestu holds trumps.

  “Sit,” said Necias.

  Hamila was elderly, seventy or so, burly with a face leathered by the elements. He was wearing light leather armor of the sort that was easy on the limbs of an old man, with a mantle of chain that covered his shoulders and upper chest. The chain rang lightly as he sat.

  Hamila leaned forward earnestly, spoke in rapid Gostu to Campas — Necias had the impression that he was reciting a speech he’d been given — then he straightened and watched Necias with interested eyes as Campas translated. Necias watched him back. Neither of them watched Campas.

  “He carries a message from lord Tegestu,” Campas said. “Tegestu kneels before you as his canlan and lord and does you homage for the city you so generously have awarded to his aldran. Lord Tegestu believes that his folk will prosper in their new domain, and that he will order a ceremony which will do public homage to you as the benefactor of the Calacas Brodaini and all their dependents.”

  “Ah,” Necias said, and held up a hand. He thrust out a finger and pointed it at Hamila. “Tell General Hamila that the Abessu-Denorru appreciates the homage that Lord Tegestu has paid us,” he said. “But that the Abessu-Denorru knows that he had forbidden lord Tegestu and his people from taking Calacas for their own. The Abessu-Denorru would like to know why lord Tegestu has disobeyed his explicit command.”

  Hamila listened to the translation with a placid expression and no hint of surprise. His answer came back swiftly, as if, once again, it was memorized.

  “General Hamila says that the lord Tegestu was surprised when you yourself reversed the order, and was so surprised to hear it that he forgot to thank you at the time, for which he apologizes.” Necias snorted in disbelief. “The lord Tegestu begs you to remember,” Campas continued, “the conversation after the banquet four nights ago, in which he renewed his request for you to allow him to seize the city in the name of his aldran. He says that you granted the request at that time, Abeissu.”

  Necias stared at Hamila in astonishment, then anger. What in blazes had Tegestu asked him that night? He could not remember exact words — but no doubt Tegestu would be able to quote the conversation verbatim, the skinny old schemer! Tegestu would not have to lie, he did not doubt; he would have been clever enough to word his request such that Necias didn’t realize what favor he was granting. Necias slammed his meaty hand down on the chair arm. “Tegestu did not make the nature of his request clear!” he blurted.

  “General Hamila is certain the lord Tegestu would not make that kind of mistake,” Campas replied smoothly. No doubt, Necias thought, he hadn’t, the cunning old white-haired bastard. And no witnesses to the conversation, either.

  “The lord Tegestu is certain that you would never break hostu — that would be to create disharmony — by ignoring the bonds of nartil — that’s obligation, Abeissu — between a lord and his subjects,” Campas went on. “He is confident you would wish nothing but harmony between his people and yourself.”

  “If he wishes harmony, he will leave the city immediately,” Necias said flatly. “As his lord, I order it. I will occupy the city with my own troops.”

  He saw Campas hesitate, and then the poet turned back to Necias, looking troubled. “Are you positive you want to give that order, Abeissu?” he asked. “I think that’s what Tegestu is getting at with all this talk about nartil. As it stands now, the Brodaini are obligated to you, both as their lord and because they believe you’ve given them the city. If they think they’ve got a right to the city, and you order them out,” Campas said, “that would be the act of a bad lord. It would break nartil, and that would serve as an excuse for Tegestu’s people to declare all treaties void. They’d have the city for their own, and you wouldn’t have any hold over them at all.”

  Necias felt fury bubbling up his spine. “What’s the point of being their overlord if they don’t obey my orders?” he demanded. “Why not have it out in the open right now, if it’s to be war?”

  “They say they’re willing to fight Tastis for you,” Campas said. “That’s one hold you’ve got over them. And another is their dependents back in the city, and out in the country and island garrisons. They’re your hostages, tens of thousands of them, and you’re controlling the lines of communication between them.”

  Necias looked down at his hands, which always betrayed him, and saw they were gripping the chair arms with fury, the knuckles white. He relaxed them. Think! he demanded of himself. Campas was a bright boy; perhaps he knew what he was saying.

  “Very well,” Necias said. “Tell the lord general that Tegestu and I will disagree on this, and that I will issue a formal statement later, with which I hope the lord Tegestu will agree.”

  The answer was swift. “General Hamila agrees.” No doubt he does, Necias thought. It’s to no one’s advantage but Tegestu’s... unless I can use it to buy a little time.

  “Tell the general,” he went on, “that the Abessu-Denorru and the Denorru-Deissin of Arrandal will be certain to look after the welfare of such of lord Tegestu’s people as are still remaining in our lands and the lands of our allies.”

  “General Hamila hopes that it may be arranged for these people to be moved safely to Calacas as soon as possible.’’

  Sometime after I take my trip to the Third Moon, Necias thought fiercely. “We will discuss this at another time,” he said.

  This time the answer was not as swift. “General Hamila will agree, but hopes the time will be soon,” Campas translated. Necias looked deliberately at Hamila and allowed himself a slow, predatory smile, catching a brief flash of uncertainty in return. I’ve got your people, you murdering bastard, Necias thought. Most of them are right in the old quarter of Arrandal, and many of the rest are on islands where they can’t get away. You may have Calacas in the end, but your dependents will pay for it dearly, of that you may be certain.

  Hamila leaned forward to speak to the translator again. “General Hamila,” Campas reported, “begs that he be permitted to continue his message from lord Tegestu.”

  “Very well.”

  “Lord Tegestu reports that the city has been seized, but that it is far from secure.” Campas opened his mouth to speak on, but Necias spoke quickly.

  “Tell him that if control of the city is uncertain I will send city troops to assist lord Tegestu in securing it.”

  The answer was quick. “General Hamila says,” Campas reported, “that the city troops will not be necessary.”

  “Say it will do them good. They are tired of sitting in their lines and doing nothing.”

  “General Hamila says it would only cause confusion.”

  “No doubt it would,” Necias murmured, and leaned back in his chair with a frown. He caught himself tapping his rings on the arm of his chair and ceased at once. Campas wisely did not translate his remark.

  “Lord Tegestu says that as the city has not been secured,” the message continued, “it would not be wise for yourself to enter the city at present, as there is danger from spies, murderers, and an unruly population.”

  Necias nodded. He had no intention of going into the city, not as long as Tegestu controlled it alone.

  “Thank the lord Tegestu for his concern,” Necias said.

  Hamila bowed in reply, then continued his message. “Lord Tegestu wishes to suggest that the army be united with that of General Handipas, before the city of Neda, so as to surround the rebels.”

  “I will consult with Marshal Palastinas,” Necias replied. “It will, of course, be necessary to maintain a force on this bank of the river, to prevent any rebels from escaping the lord Tegestu’s forces in the city.”

  “My lord does not believe that will be necessary.”

  “I believe it will,” Necias said. “The lord Tegestu admits the city is not secure, and a blockade will be necessary to prevent any of Tastis’ sympathizers from moving in or out. Particularly if they hope to profit from the war by moving supplies into the city.”