Shadow War - Deborah Chester [43]
Caelan circled about in search of a sentry, and found none. Only then did he approach the hut, from the back, and with great care. His feet moved soundlessly over the hot ground until he could press himself against the wall. Back here, there was only one window. Its shutter was warped, and Caelan could peer inside through the crack.
He saw a single room littered with straw and rat trash. The walls were crude daub and wattle. A fire burned on the hearth, smoking as though the chimney was blocked. In one corner the horses stood tied. Weapons, including Tirhin’s fashionable rapier and jeweled dagger, lay in a small stack near a water pail. In the opposite corner Prince Tirhin, Lord Sien, and two other men stood clustered about a tiny, crude altar. Warding fires burned in tiny bronze cups, emitting green smoke as protection against whatever spirits lurked in this place of ancient evil.
The prince looked very pale, angry, and uncertain. Sien spoke and Tirhin shook his head violently. He broke away and began to pace. Doing so gave Caelan his first clear look at the other two men.
One stood in worn battle armor, tall and grizzled, missing one ear and badly scarred across the face. He was Madrun, no mistaking it. The other man, younger and well dressed in a foreign style, was also Madrun.
He spoke Lingua persuasively: “Please listen to the rest of our proposal, Lord Tirhin.”
“No!” the prince said, casting a furious glare at Sien, who stood impassively with the green smoke floating across his face. “I will not betray my own people, not for gain, not for anything!”
“It is not a question of betrayal,” the civilian Madrun said. “It is a question of helping each other. This war has drained us severely. We are an exhausted people. We are a starving people. Our men die in the battlefields, and who is left to raise crops and father children? Help us, Lord Tirhin, by giving us a way to end this war. And we shall help you to take your father’s throne.”
The prince barely seemed to hear. He was still glaring at the priest. “You brought me here to listen to this? What were you thinking?”
Sien’s yellow eyes gleamed in the torchlight. “I was thinking your highness needs allies and support.”
Tirhin clenched his fists. He was white about the mouth, and his eyes were blazing. “I have support—”
“From the army?” Sien said softly. “The way you had its support before?”
Red stained Tirhin’s cheeks. “That was—”
“Need real army,” interrupted the Madrun soldier, his voice gruff and guttural. “Need fighters to tear throne from dying emperor. Wait too long already.”
“I see,” Tirhin said, clipping off his words. “I am to let you into Imperia, let you pillage and destroy my city. And what assurances do I have that you will leave when your work is done?”
“Our word,” the civilian began.
Tirhin uttered a short, ugly laugh. “The word of a Madrun? No.”
The soldier bristled, but Sien lifted his hands. Gowned in saffron with a leopard hide worn across his shoulders, his shaved head gleaming with oil, he stepped between the Madruns and the prince.
“Let us speak openly of our needs and how we may help each other. Sir,” he said first to Tirhin, “you have need of armed support, substantial enough to subdue civil unrest. Without an army, you cannot hold the empire together. We have already seen enough evidence to warn us that the provinces will split from each other if given the chance.”
He frowned slightly at Tirhin, as though conveying an unspoken message, and turned to the Madruns. “And you, sirs, have need of peace.”
The soldier growled.
“An alliance between our empire and yours would allow you a chance to recover. Once your resources were rebuilt, perhaps with the help of advantageous trade agreements between us, you could then wage new wars on your other enemies.” Sien lifted his hands. “It is such a simple solution, and satisfies so many things for both sides. Come, sirs, put aside old grievances and traditions. Consider the future and new ways.”
“We are willing,” the civilian Madrun said.
All of them stared at Tirhin, who still