The Ashes of Worlds - Kevin J. Anderson [48]
“I’m afraid you’re not in a bargaining position.” Despite his words, McCammon’s eyes showed a depth of feeling that surprised Nira, a compassion that he could not entirely cover. “And we are in no position to grant you anything.”
“Done,” Sarein said, putting a hand lightly on McCammon’s arm. “I will write up the document, in my own hand.” Then she threw in her last bargaining chip. “And the Chairman will have to let you use a treeling, at least for a little while. Keep that in mind.”
Nira considered the advantages of even a brief contact with the worldforest. Yes, she could inform King Peter — and all green priests around the Spiral Arm — of their captivity, maybe learn something more about the faeros on Ildira. Whatever the Chairman had in mind must be important to warrant such a risk; he wouldn’t make an offer like this unless he needed her.
Through green priest memories that were accessible through the worldforest, Nira was familiar with the grandeur of the Whisper Palace, but she paid little attention to the majesty of her surroundings. Behind all the fabulous architecture and shouting crowds, Nira saw the rot deep in the Terran Hanseatic League.
Sarein led her to a colorful orange pavilion at one corner of the Palace Square; it had been decorated as a special box for the “esteemed Theron ambassador.” Sarein had probably done it herself, since Nira doubted the Chairman would display any particular respect for the Confederation’s new capital.
From the pavilion, they could view the central speaking podium, the rapt crowd, the numerous guards. As twilight deepened into dusk, numerous torches blazed atop the Whisper Palace towers. The whole District was extravagantly lit, as if for a celebration.
Nira wrestled with second thoughts. “What am I expected to do?”
Sarein said, “The Chairman wants to make certain King Peter hears this announcement — immediately. Report what you see. Deliver your message and let Peter decide what to do. Be a green priest!” She lowered her voice, and her words surprised Nira. “Afterward, I have to take the treeling away, so make the most of this time. Do what you need to do.”
Chairman Wenceslas sauntered up, accompanied by a guard who carried a small potted treeling as if it were a time bomb. Nira realized how much she had hungered for the touch of a worldtree. For years she had been completely deprived on Dobro, and again recently in her captivity on the Moon. She could not hide her longing.
The Chairman gave her a stern look. “Once you connect to the world-forest, I know I can’t control what other details you send into the verdani mind. I don’t intend to try. So long as you share what you see here tonight, Peter will have his hands full.”
Nira stood her ground, forcing herself not to take the potted treeling. “And the Mage-Imperator? When are you bringing him back? I demand to know — “
“Don’t presume to dictate the terms of this agreement. Sarein has already convinced me to recall Admiral Diente’s warliner if you cooperate today, though I still have my reservations. A little cooperation from the Mage-Imperator would have made many things so much easier. When he gets back in a few days, he may find that public sentiment has changed toward him somewhat.”
The Chairman looked around the crowd. He smiled as Nira’s own image was displayed on the spectator screens surrounding the huge square, a battered old photo that showed her haunted eyes, her gaunt features, her obvious suffering. The mood of the crowd grew decidedly uneasy, even ugly.
“What — what are you telling them?” She looked around wildly. Sarein averted her eyes, obviously upset.
The Chairman explained. “I decided to take down the Mage-Imperator’s supposed ‘nobility’ by a notch. My press corps has released the full story of what the Ildirans did to you: