Michael Stackpole - Chartomancy

Pyrust stood and returned that bow solemnly, which seemed to surprise many of them. Good. Surprise means they are not thinking well.

“I would thank you for joining me here. I would have come into Vallitsi and treated with you in your council chamber, but I did not bring a boat.”

The ministers looked stricken for a moment. They exchanged glances, but said nothing.

“That was meant to be funny.”

One or two ministers laughed.

“And serious, as well.”

The strained laughter stopped immediately.

“It was meant to be serious because we all are in the same boat, on a storm-wracked sea. The survival of the world is in doubt. We must work together, and I believe you know that. If you did not, you would not have come here to negotiate.”

Pyrust stalked the carpet as he spoke, turned at the far end and started back again. “One of you is missing.”

“Koir Yoram, Highness.” A young minister bowed deeply. “He was slain a week ago in Moriande.”

“Your name?”

“Karis Shir, Highness. I was chosen to replace him.”

“Very good, Minister Shir. You are Foreign Relations, but that situation may have to change. No, not that you need to resign, but that you need not think of me as a foreigner.”

“As you desire, my lord.”

Let us hope the rest of your fellows are as quick as you are, Shir. Pyrust raised his left hand and removed his glove. He openly displayed his half hand, making certain each of the Helosundians got a good look at it. Most shied from it, a few paled, and fewer smiled.

“You know I lost half my hand in your nation. Desei blood has been spilled here for years. I have had no love for your nation, for you have been an annoyance since before I took the throne. I could easily have you slain and would be happy to turn Vallitsi into another Dark Sea. In fact, were it not for the spirit your warriors have shown me down through the years, that is exactly what I would do.”

He casually tossed his mailed gauntlet onto his chair, where it landed with a heavy thump. “Your warriors are your salvation, or can be. It is not because I feel threatened by them. Moryne should be ample proof I do not. The threat I feel comes from the south-the distant south.”

He mounted the steps to the small dais where his chair sat and plucked the gauntlet up again. “Prince Cyron will not be coming to your salvation because the threat I speak of threatens him as well. Erumvirine is being invaded by forces that have conquered as much as a third of the nation. They may have taken Kelewan even now. This is the reason Cyron pulled his troops from your border and sent them south.”

Pyrust sat and studied the ministers as they mulled over what he had said. Their surprise seemed genuine, and a few of the oldest of the ministers wore expressions of panic. They will likely have to die so more dynamic men may replace them. The others waited for him to continue, realizing the gravity of the situation but interested to hear what he had planned.

Minister Shir raised his head. “Highness, how certain are you of this information?”

“So certain that every Desei citizen capable of holding a pitchfork or paring knife is moving into Helosunde. Things are urgent enough that I have sent them here without sufficient training, weaponry, armor, or provisions. I know many will die, but I will not have Deseirion conquered.”

Pyrust held out both hands, one maimed, one mailed. “You will have to make a choice. You will surrender Helosunde to me entirely and issue calls upon your citizenry to support me. Your troops will move south with mine, through Nalenyr, to face the invaders. You will reap much glory and I shall be generous in my rewards.”

His mailed hand closed into a fist, then he extended his half hand. “If you do not surrender, I cannot move into Nalenyr or beyond. I will still face the invaders, but I will fight them here, in Helosunde. I shall lay waste to your nation, consuming every kernel of grain, burning every stick of wood, flooding the lowlands, flattening villages, slaughtering livestock and salting the fields where I do not sow bracken and thorns. I will make Helosunde an inhospitable wall warding Deseirion. What happens to you and your people will not concern me, because if you do not join me, you are allied with the enemy and therefore must die.”

Shir sat back on his heels while the other ministers kept their heads down. “Even if we accept what you tell us as true-and you have us at a disadvantage, so there is no reason you should lie-getting our people to join with the Desei will be very difficult. Generations of hatred cannot evaporate overnight, no matter the importance of the cause that unites us.”

Pyrust smiled carefully. “Your observation is wise, and has not been lost upon me. I have a solution. You know I took Duchess Jasai to be my wife. You know she is with child. You will elect her child as your next prince, and I shall make Helosunde autonomous beneath his rule. His mother shall serve as princess-regent until he is of age to assume the throne himself. I had sent you a message about this before, but apparently you did not believe it. The circumstances are real. The offer is real.”

Shir’s brown eyes tightened as he considered. Both men knew that Pyrust’s firstborn would also be heir to the Hawk Throne, so in his person both realms would be united. Then again, my son is not yet born, and many treacheries will live and die before he reaches his majority.

For a moment Pyrust realized how awkward a liaison between Jasai and Keles Anturasi would be. Materially it would mean nothing, for the Prince would claim the children and that would be that. He could and might well take other wives and have more heirs to play off against each other. Many treacheries. He slowly shook his head.

Shir nodded. “There is only one difficulty with your suggestion, Highness.”

“The matter of Prince Eiran.”

“Yes, Highness.”

Pyrust tugged his gauntlet on again. “It was this Council of Ministers which made him a prince. Unmake him.”

One of the older ministers sat upright. “That cannot be done.”

“No? I can think of a dozen ways.” Pyrust rose slowly and drew a knife from over his right hip. “In fact, I believe you were hoping I would terminate his reign at Meleswin. I did not simply to vex you. Now his existence vexes me. You do not want me vexed.”

Pyrust raised his right hand and brought it down. Soldiers stationed at the walls loosened ties so the pavilion’s walls flapped down. “I shall allow you to deliberate, but do not take too long. I can be patient when sufficiently motivated, but there has been little motivation so far.”

He strode from the pavilion and let the last flap slide into place. He motioned to the captain of the Fire Hawks. “Ten minutes, then go in and slay the old, fat minister in blue. Cut his throat, but try to keep the blood off the carpet.”

“Understood, Highness.” The man bowed.

Pyrust returned the bow, then walked up to the top of the berm. He studied Vallitsi, with its stout wooden buildings and low stone walls. He actually didn’t like it very much, and would be happy to see it washed down the river like so much debris. The only thing useful in it were the people-people with spirit, who had spent a generation learning how to fight against an organized host.

They are the treasure of Helosunde.

He felt the first patter of rain and watched the lake his men had created dance as drops struck it. Vallitsi’s reflection shattered on the water. Then the rain increased, and the lake reflected only chaos and the wrath of the gods.

He turned and found the Mother of Shadows there, huddled beneath a cloak. “Did you know of Koir Yoram’s death?”

“We had nothing to do with it. Koir overstepped himself and Vniel had him killed.”