Heirs of the Blade_ Shadows of the Apt_ Book Seven - Adiran Tchaikovsky [252]
One of the soldiers, a Grasshopper-kinden with short greying hair, stepped forward and took a deep breath. When Thalric failed to strike him dead, he bowed slightly. ‘Come with me,’ he beckoned.
Word had clearly outstripped his arrival because some semblance of a court had already assembled, with Salme Elass, partly armoured, at its heart. Thalric regarded the Dragonfly matriarch speculatively: whatever rage she harboured for the death of her son was kept deep within her. Her glance towards him was merely imperious. Even so, there were a great many spears directed his way, some arrows too, and he saw plenty of sidelong glances and people shuffling a few inches back as he passed by. It was as though death by Empire was something that could be caught merely by proximity.
If I cried ‘Boo!’ now, I’d make half of them crap themselves. And I’d get shot, too, about nineteen times, so over all not worth it.
‘Emissary!’ He held up the rag tied to his wrist. ‘Sent from Dal Arche of Rhael to Salme Elass of Leose.’ He only hoped he had the province names the right way round. And no wonder his people had renamed most of the places they conquered. The place was easy enough to get lost in, as it was, without all their baffling and oddly pronounced towns and villages.
‘“Dal Arche of Rhael”?’ echoed Salme Elass archly. ‘The villain styles himself thus, does he?’
‘I’d assumed this was the heart of your disagreement,’ Thalric replied easily, as though he was not the focus of such utter fear and hatred. ‘You’ll forgive me, but these Commonweal customs are unfamiliar to me. I merely bring you the message.’
She gave him a calculating look. ‘So this is not the Empire’s fight, then?’ and it was plain that the subtraction of one Wasp-kinden from the equation was greatly to be desired, most especially if that Wasp might then just walk away. ‘What is your name, emissary?’
‘Thalric,’ he stated simply, for the momentary luxury of having an audience to whom it would mean nothing. Then, because he had a reputation to keep up as a figure of terror and nightmare, ‘Major Thalric.’
Salme Elass affected to look bored. ‘Every Wasp lordling from across the border is a colonel at least.’
‘Whereas I come from the Empire itself, and not your lost principalities, and so am only a major,’ he replied equably. ‘But you’re right: this isn’t the Empire’s fight, nor mine.’ He had to bite his tongue to keep it at that, because the idea of the Empire even noticing this petty little brawl was ludicrous. This was not war. It was barely civil disobedience.
And yet people have died, and will die. It remains to ensure that Che and I are not amongst them.
‘What is your message, emissary?’ Elass snapped.
‘I am sent to invoke an old Commonweal practice, as I understand it. We challenge you.’
An expanding ripple of silence followed his words. When Salme Elass’s only response was to stare at him, he added, ‘Dal Arche challenges Salme Elass or, as tradition will have it, his champion shall meet yours.’
‘And what victory does your bandit-prince offer me, should I lower myself to accept this challenge?’ she hissed.
‘Himself and his followers, with no further loss of life amongst your servants,’ Thalric elaborated. ‘If he wins, he and his are pardoned, absolved, let loose to leave your lands unmolested. I think that’s what they have in mind.’
‘He and his half-dozen are now trapped inside a pile of stones, just waiting for my spears to pry him out, like a snail from its shell,’ she pointed out with a slight smile. ‘Is this the only way he could think of improving his odds? He is no prince,