Kings of the North - Elizabeth Moon [147]
Interesting history, but what he needed now was some useful information, something that would help him persuade the Pargunese not to attack Lyonya.
On the third day, the Pargunese king and his escort arrived in Chaya. The king rode well, as Kieri expected. He watched from an upper window, and saw his people greet the king courteously. He would have delayed their meeting to give the king a night to recover himself from the journey, but he could not, with the Pargunese army poised to attack. The king would be fed, bathed, and dressed in what Kieri could only hope were acceptable clothes, and then they must meet.
Kieri chose to receive the king in the smaller reception room. When he went down to check the room, it was prepared as he had asked. No weapons in the room, no breakable carafes or goblets … and the guest’s chair, massive and deep, would not make a throwing weapon.
“I still think you must bind him,” Berne said. Arian nodded.
“It is gross discourtesy; he has been humiliated enough,” Kieri said.
“He said he wants to feel your blood on his hands.”
“I know. I was there. But he will not want it less for being bound. He talks of honor; let us see if he will give his word, and keep it.”
“And if he does not?”
“He has no weapons, and no poison on him; he has been bathed and dressed in our garments. Aside from that, if he wants to fight me barehanded and is foolish enough to do so here—I am not incapable.”
“I know, my lord king, but your life is our responsibility.”
“You will be within call.”
“We should be in the room with you. What if he calls up an evil demon?”
Kieri shook his head. “He could have done that to escape those who captured him. Let us not make up trouble for ourselves. Just outside the door will be well enough; he can’t lock it against you.”
He moved to the door himself, hearing approaching footsteps. The king, under close guard, was coming down the passage. He wore the garments he’d been offered, a velvet tunic over heavy wool trousers and low soft-soled boots. He stopped abruptly when he saw Kieri.
“You!” he said in Common. “You are the king? You lied to me.”
“No more than you to me,” Kieri said, “when you sent that old woman to spy at my coronation and she said you wanted peace. She should have described me better.” The king said nothing. Kieri went on, this time in Pargunese. “You spoke to me of honor. If you give your word that you will not attack me while we talk, you will not be bound, and my Squires will leave us alone. Will you?”
“Why should I?”
“Because, if I wished it, you could be bound like a herdbeast and killed, or locked in a cell. If you are intent on killing me, you will have time. If there is a way of having peace between our people, yours and mine, I want to find it. And you will be more comfortable unbound.”
“I cannot swear never to kill you.”
“No one could swear that,” Kieri said. “That is not what I ask. Swear not to attack me for one turn of the glass.”
“And then you will kill me?”
“Not if I can avoid it,” Kieri said. “Though I do not expect you to believe it.”
The king looked at the King’s Squires to either side of him, and shrugged. “It makes no difference, I suppose, one glass. You can lie, and I will listen, if that is what you want. But one of us will die, and if it is I, your land will suffer.”
“If either of us dies, both lands will suffer,” Kieri said. “My people would like to hear you say it in Common, if you will.”
The king uttered an oath in Pargunese, then said in Common, “I have given my word not to attack your king for the full turn of a glass. I would see the glass.”
“Here it is,” one of the Squires said.
The king looked, and nodded. “Well, then. I am ready.”
“Come in,” Kieri said. “And be seated.” He waved at the chair, and the king sat in it, gingerly at first, and then leaned back.
“It is too soft,” he said. “A man would learn to slump in such a chair.”
“My apologies,” Kieri said, sitting in his own. “I was thinking of your long ride. I can