Benjamin Tate - Well of Sorrows

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.

Eraeth grunted, gave Tanner one last dark glance, then slipped through to the outer room.

The dwarren clan chief simply nodded. He hadn’t moved since he’d entered.

King Stephan arrived first. He wore a yellow shirt, a sheaf of wheat-like the one in the bowl in the center of the table, Aeren noted-embroidered in black on the front, the contrast stark. The shirt was formal, but plain, with no frills around the cuffs or neck and nothing adorning the shoulders, as Aeren knew the Andovans favored. This was practical, and with a shiver Aeren realized that the King wore armor beneath.

Stephan straightened, his gray eyes taking in Aeren, Colin, and the dwarren with one casual sweep, while one of the guardsmen held the tent flap back as what Aeren guessed was one of the Governors followed in the King’s wake, six other Legionnaires coming in after him. The King moved to the central chair and sat, Tanner and the Governor taking the other two seats. The rest of the Legion spaced themselves out behind them.

Even with eight guardsmen behind him, Aeren knew that Stephan posed the biggest threat. Each of the humans carried a sword, and they all radiated a cold, wary hostility.

Harticur entered next, followed by Thaedoren, Garius, and two other clan chiefs. Three other Riders joined the two dwarren already present, as Thaedoren nodded at Harticur and moved around to the Alvritshai side. Stephan watched the interaction with a suspicious glare, his hands clenched where they rested on the arms of his chair, but Thaedoren ignored him. The rest of the clan chiefs moved to the edge of the table and sat, but Harticur remained standing.

“Lord Aeren,” Thaedoren murmured in greeting. His gaze flicked toward Colin, brows rising in slight surprise. “Was bringing him here a wise choice?” He nodded minutely toward Stephan and the Legion. “We could have used one more of the Phalanx, if things go bad.”

“One more member of the Phalanx would mean little.”

“Perhaps. Or it could mean the difference between life and death.”

Aeren was spared a response as Eraeth returned, holding the tent flap aside as the Tamaell, Khalaek, and the rest of the escort arrived. Khalaek seemed unnaturally nervous, his gaze darting about the room as if he were searching for something, his hand never far from his cattan. The casual smile he’d given Aeren outside had vanished, replaced by a hard expression, grim and apprehensive.