Jala frowned and moved around the table to sit in her own chair once more, balancing Legacy carefully on one leg. “I remember him. I remember him from his father’s visit to my lands as well,” she said slowly. Shaking her head she sighed. “I won’t promise you I will spare him, Sovaesh. I will give my word that I will offer him terms though. That is more than I had intended to do when I reached the city.”
“Then I will be grateful that you are willing to do that much,” Sovaesh said bowing his head to her. His gaze moved to the Bendazzi as he slowly slid his hand into his coat pocket and pulled a folded piece of paper from it. He held it up for Jala and the two cats to see before setting it down on the table and sliding it toward her. “That is a map of the city and an accurate accounting of its defenses,” Sovaesh explained as he lowered his hands to his lap once more.
Jala reached across the table with one hand and unfolded the map, glancing down at the writing before looking back up at him. “How do I know this isn’t a trap?” she asked cautiously.
“Because I hate the High Lord of Avanti as much as you do, Jala. The bastard killed my son. I give you the information freely in return for your mercy to Truce. The decision on whether or not to use the information is solely yours. Regardless of what you decide, I will kill Donrey Avanti the moment I see your army at the gates,” Sovaesh said, his gaze dropping to the Bendazzi once more. “With your permission, I would go. I have been away from the city too long as it is.”
Jala nodded slowly and motioned for the Bendazzi to back down. “Your other son is in my camp, you know,” she said as she watched him rise from the chair.
“And has less desire to see me than you did, I assure you. Sovann despises me for my work and I respect that and keep my distance,” Sovaesh said with a note of sadness in his voice. Bowing to her once more he pulled his mask up and then paused at the tent door. “For future reference, when dealing with my ilk, Lady Merrodin, there are contact poisons that can be placed on paper that will soak through your skin and kill you within minutes. Gloves will protect you from such poisons,” Sovaesh said before stepping out into the night.
Jala dropped the map she had been holding and let out a sigh. If the paper had been poisoned she would likely already be dead. Just to be on the safe side however she cast a quick healing spell to cleanse her body of toxins. She had already been poisoned once this month. She had no desire to make it twice.
Chapter 31
Avanti
“What do you mean you had to piss?” Donrey Avanti’s voice rose to nearly a scream as he spoke. The vein in his forehead was throbbing and Truce knew his father well enough to know that someone would die today.
“It was like that for everyone, Milord. Even the bloody horses, Sir. Then the dragon fell and she used necromancy to turn it against us.” The man stammered. He had been one of the few survivors from the first engagement with Jala Merrodin and had already made the report to his superiors, of course.
“She attacked during a parlay, father,” Cassia added, her voice almost a whine.
Truce leaned farther back in his chair, watching, and let out a long silent sigh. His sister shouldn’t have been anywhere near the encampment, but she had insisted on seeing the Merrodin defeat. If not for Sovaesh, Cassia would still be a prisoner in Jala Merrodin’s camp. The Assassin had returned her safely the night before and Cassia had been whining non-stop since then.
“Are you suggesting to me that Lady Merrodin used magic to make you have to piss?” the High Lord asked in a low voice, his eyes narrowing dangerously.
There was a faint snort of laughter toward the back of the room and Truce glanced back at Sovaesh who was bowing his head and obviously losing his fight to remain silent.
“Do you find it funny that we are losing a war against a girl and her rabble of an army, Sovaesh?” Donrey snarled, his eyes rising from the wounded soldier to settle on Sovaesh.
“No, Milord. I find the reason they lost the battle amusing,” Sovaesh returned, his voice holding far too much amusement for the mood the High lord was currently in.
“I find nothing about this amusing,” Donrey snarled and whirled on the second man sitting before his desk. “You are one of my elites. You had support from mercenaries as well as Blights and you still lost the bloody battle,” the High Lord snarled, his face twisting in his anger.
“It was all but won, Milord. Then the dragon attacked. Milord, there was nothing we could do about a dragon,” the man explained. He was seasoned and steady in the face of the lord’s fury, unlike his comrade in arms who sat fairly quivering in his seat.
The mention of the dragon gave the High Lord pause and his attention turned to the last man in the room. The visitor was large by any standards, close to seven foot in height if Truce was guessing correctly. He stood with his arms crossed over his massive chest, a look of boredom on his face. Both his swarthy skin and scarred leather armor made him seem more like a backstreet thug than anyone Donrey Avanti might associate with. Truce had been watching the man off and on throughout the meeting, trying to determine exactly who he was and why he was here. Now it seemed he would finally get his answers.
“What color was the dragon?” the large man asked in a deep voice.
“Black with gold on the wings and neck, Sir,” the soldier replied at once.
“Do you know this dragon, Lord Margundrak?” Donrey asked, his voice slowly returning to a normal pitch.
Truce watched the stranger, his eyes roving over the tattered leather vest and the thick rawhide bracers he wore. The man certainly didn’t look like a Lord, but then his father never used a title unless it was deserved.
“Nigel Rivasa. He is a half-breed. It will be no difficulty dealing with him,” Margundrak said shrugging one shoulder.
“I would highly appreciate your doing so before this half-breed reaches my city. I was assured by High Lady Wilameir that Nerathane was on our side. I find myself wondering now, however. Is she playing both sides of the fence?” Donrey said, his tone scathing.