Book 5: Chapter 33: Parley

Book 5: Chapter 33: Parley

Victor sat atop a titan-sized Guapo, dwarfing his companions and their mounts. Rellia rode to his left, Valla and Borrius to his right. Borrius, like Rellia, rode a vidanii, a beautiful creature with dark gray hair and shorter horns than those on Starlight and Thistle. It was barded in glittering brass-colored chain armor, a showy creature, clearly never before used in an actual battle by Borrius, but still impressive looking. “Do you think he knows who I am?” Victor asked, nodding toward the distant figures waiting under a bright blue standard—the Empire’s signal for parley.

“He knows much about you, no doubt. He’s fought you for one thing,” Rellia said—they’d seen through her spyglass that it was the spiked Ridonne, the burly tough bastard Victor had tussled with outside of Persi Gables, who’d come to talk. The other two beside him, riding simple armored roladii, were Shadeni, both wearing Legion regalia. “He no doubt has spies among the nobility in Persi Gables and Gelica, and the Ridonne are well known to have powerful Augurs in their ranks.”

“Despite all that, I’d like you and Borrius to do the speaking. I’ll listen and interject when I think it will be effective. I may just lurk behind you and glower the whole time. Don’t prompt me to speak. Act like I’m not there.”

“A clever ploy.” Borrius nodded. “Keep them guessing about his standing among us.”

“Don’t attack them.” Valla’s words were soft, clearly meant for only Victor. Of course, the others could hear her, but they held their tongues, and Victor wondered if this had been discussed earlier; were they leaving the dirty work up to Valla?

“I know what parley means, Valla.”

“I’m sorry.” She reached up fruitlessly; his hands were well out of her reach while he rode the gigantic Mustang.

“No worries,” he chuckled, “I’ve done some boneheaded things in my day. You guys don’t suppose he’s here to surrender, do you?”

“The Empire doesn’t surrender,” Borrius said, but then he amended himself, “Not mere mortals in the Legion, at least. Perhaps a Ridonne could suffer a loss and not be killed outright.”

“Mortals?”

“The Ridonne view themselves as something more than the rest of us. They think their bloodline makes them special and gives them the license to treat us as lesser beings, even though anyone who improves their race enough could extend their lives similarly. I suppose it comes from them having access to more racial advancements than most of the populace. Some say the Emperor has been alive since the forming of Fanwath.”

“Hah. What is that four hundred years?” Victor scoffed. “They should meet the Warlord, eh, Valla?”

“I hope not. I’d hate for them to learn the things he knows.”

“Shit. No kidding.” Victor scowled, memories of his time in Coloss flashing through his mind.

“If he doesn’t wish to surrender, the best we can hope for, Victor, is for you to goad him into an early assault. If the right moment seems right, don’t hesitate to impugn his honor, to give him an ultimatum that may push him into hasty action.”

“Is that wise?” Rellia looked at Borrius, eyebrows arched. Victor could see she was irritated at not being consulted about Borrius’s machinations.

“I believe so. The more time they have to recover and prepare, the less we can hope to seize from the boon their losses in the night granted us. We should be quiet, however. We’re close enough for good ears to hear us now.” Borrius demonstrated his caution by speaking in a harsh whisper.

Victor grunted his agreement, and everyone stopped talking. He watched the Ridonne’s raptor-like mount grow larger as the distance closed. It was an impressive creature, but he thought it looked ugly and small compared to Guapo. Its bumpy flesh was dark black, but the orange and yellow stripes on its side and head were kind of neat, he had to admit. It had a broad, flat skull and big, vertically slit eyes that shone amber in the bright sunlight—the black clouds had nearly all drifted away.

As they came to a stop a dozen yards from the Ridonne’s delegation, Rellia in the middle, Valla and Borrius flanking her, and Victor looming largely behind, the Ridonne said, his voice booming, “Rellia ap’Yensha, I presume?”

“That’s correct. I’d love to hear your name and reason for using an Imperial army to attack my troops unlawfully.”

“I am Pazra-dak, and nothing I do on these lands is unlawful, for I am Ridonne.” His mount fidgeted and snorted through its slit-like nostrils, its thick hide pulling back from a dense row of dagger-like teeth. A low growl rumbled in its chest, but Pazra-dak jerked his reins, and it quieted.

“Ridonne you are, sir, but we’re at a loss.” Borrius gently stroked the neck of his beautiful vidanii, calming it in the face of the enormous raptor’s show of hostility. “Would you be kind enough to explain why your army has been so hostile? Surely, the murder of small children can’t serve to further the storied history of this great Empire.”

“Where a threat to this Empire exists, I cannot afford to be sentimental. Come, ap’Yensha, do your people not know why we are here? Will you feign ignorance?”

“I cannot feign that which is genuine, Lord Pazra-dak.” Rellia’s brows turned down in a scowl. Her vidanii hadn’t budged, standing stock still, and Victor had to admire her poise in the face of the Ridonne’s accusation. He was an intimidating figure, golden armor gleaming, black spikes protruding from his shoulders and legs, but most of all, his great bulk dwarfed the others—all save Victor.

“Your family was granted a writ of conquest, yes?”

“More than a century ago, sir.”

“And in that writ, were the restrictions on household army sizes waived?”

“Household army sizes . . .” Rellia genuinely sounded puzzled.

Guapo lifted his front hooves, whinnied loudly, and then charged after the others, leaving Pazra and his lackeys to watch with mouths agape. When he caught up, Rellia looked at him, something like fear in her eyes, and said, “I can’t believe you just threatened the entire Imperial family.”

Victor pulled back his aura and let his Core absorb his fear-attuned Energy. Then he said, “I mean, could I really make things worse?”

“No,” Borrius chuckled. “I don’t believe he’ll take his army away, however. No, I believe he’ll muster his troops and attack us with everything he has. Excellent job, Victor; he’d never be able to live down such a disgrace. No, he’ll gather his forces, his allies, and he’ll try to win a decisive victory tonight.”

“I thought maybe he’d be scared enough to bail. I am going to kill him if they don’t leave.”

Borrius nodded to Victor, smiling. “You did us a favor. Rather than wear us down, saving his troops, he’ll come at us madly, and his soldiers are, indeed, going to be wary—after his losses in the dark, we’ll have a good chance.”

“We have more than a chance,” Valla said. “If Victor rides forth and kills that giant bastard, they’ll break.”

#

Pazra fumed. He rode atop Xinz, the great raptor his father had purchased from the world of Era’neh, and he contemplated murder. He wanted to kill that bastard giant who’d dared to speak to him with such insolence, but he wasn’t sure he could. That doubt troubled him the most; had the brute been right? Was Pazra afraid? If he didn’t think he could win, he must contemplate flight, and if he genuinely took that possibility seriously, he had to consider the men who rode with him. At the very least, he would have to murder them. Better he murdered all his commanders and blamed the rebel army. He knew the folly of that road, though; his mother would see through his lies.

Pazra looked at his two tribunes. They avoided his gaze, eyes down, no doubt wondering if they were about to die. “Do not speak of this meeting. It will further degrade our morale. I will know, and I swear to you, if you utter one word of that mongrel’s ultimatum, I will have your hearts fed to Xinz.”

“Yes, Lord!” they both said in unison.

He waved their words away and continued, speaking calmly, regally, if he were any judge, “Of course, I’ll ignore that buffoon’s demands. We’ll crush these worms; I don’t care how strong he is; he won’t stand against my brother and me.”

“Is the prognosis good, then, Lord?” Venis-dak asked, and Pazra decided to indulge him; after all, the man had shown promise.

“Even now, Senena works with him. She will purge the poison from his mind, have no doubt.”

“Wonderful news, Lord. We’d feared she’d been lost in the fray . . .”

“Fool,” Venis said, distancing himself from Ghel-dak. “Lord, I had no such fear.”

Pazra scowled at Ghel-dak and finally settled on sighing with displeasure. Let the man stew on things, wondering how angry Pazra was, how he might find himself punished when the time was right. He turned to Venis and said, “Get me a full accounting of the troops, make certain you’ve enforced new contracts on the promoted officers, and report to my tent in an hour. I will speak with Senena and my brother.” Without awaiting a response, he urged his raptor to run, and soon he’d left the two men behind.

When Pazra entered his command tent, he stepped through the foyer and sitting room into the rear, curtained-off area where his bed, study, and bath lay. Through another curtain, he found Senena burning incense and muttering over the shivering form of his withered brother. “How goes it?”

She didn’t answer at first, and he contemplated slapping her. He decided her aid of his brother was too important to interrupt. Perhaps she couldn’t speak; she seemed strained, her lips rapidly moving as she feverishly muttered her nonsense. He stared at her for several long moments and was about to ask her again when her eyes shot open. She began to cough, a great racking cough that left her face dark purple and her eyes watering before it calmed. Wheezing, gasping for air, she looked up at him through the dark, black hollows of her eyes.

“Well?” he pressed.

“He comes back to us. I fought the poison in him, took much of it, and destroyed it in my Core, but some still lingers and festers. He’ll need my betters at the capital to make him well.”

“Will he recover enough to fight?” Pazra eagerly stepped toward the bed, reaching down to grasp his brother’s long, golden arm. It was clammy and cool. “Sickly,” he tsked, “unseemly.”

“Brother,” Rosh-dak croaked, cracking open one blood-washed golden eye. “Did we flee?”

“No, brother. We still encircle the upstart and her army.”

“The nightmare, the . . . the beast . . .”

“Yes, brother. I know it hurt you.”

“It’s too strong. We must perform the rite, no matter the cost.”

“The rite?” Pazra recoiled, released his brother’s arm, and began to pace. He glanced at Senena and jerked his fist toward the curtain. “Get out.” She ducked her head, the bones and charms clicking in her braids, and scurried away. Pazra looked at his brother and said, “Will you bear the cost?”

“I’m ruined, brother. I will bear it.”

“So be it,” Pazra said, and in that moment, he couldn’t have been prouder to call Rosh-dak brother. A true champion of the Ridonne, a true, glorious paragon. It was time to make that bastard giant pay the price for his insolence!