Akell and beyond, and I will not listen to the filth it has to say.’
Styrax looked from the priest to the small figure of Ruhen. ‘Then get out of my sight,’ he said. ‘If you think a child of eight winters capable of preaching grave heresy, then you’re a fool, and I do not treat with fools.’
The high priest opened his mouth to respond, but before he could Knight-Cardinal Certinse touched him on the arm. The pair conferred quietly, Garash’s eyes widening with anger, but Certinse’s expression was hard.
‘Go,’ he said softly, ‘the piety of a small boy is not the concern here.’ He looked past the priest to where his adjutant stood. ‘Captain Perforren, please escort the high priest back to Akell.’
Garash scowled, realising he would have to physically resist if he wanted to remain at the discussion. He gave Ruhen one last hate-filled look before he rose and turned his back on them.
‘Thank you, Knight-Cardinal,’ Styrax acknowledged. ‘Duchess Escral, perhaps your man would take the child away, and leave negotiations to the adults.’
Before the duchess could reply Ruhen turned towards her and fixed his shadow-filled gaze upon her. She froze, lost at once in the hypnotic swirl.
‘Do you not want peace?’ he asked, looking around at them all. ‘Do you not think the bloodshed should end?’
‘This is ridiculous,’ Certinse muttered. ‘What does a child know of diplomacy? Duchess, would you — ’ He stopped dead as Ruhen stared straight at him, the words dying in his throat.
Ilumene had to suppress a smile. So Certinse intended to use Ruhen for his own ends? Ruhen could have that effect on many when he wished . . .
It was a strange sight; the small boy standing like a presiding magistrate between the opposing parties. Ruhen was dressed in a simple fawn tunic and calfskin trousers. There was a small pearl at his throat, but apart from that the boy could have been a shopkeeper’s son.
‘Very well, what do you suggest, little prince?’ Certinse asked.
Ruhen gave Certinse a small smile before turning to the envoys from Raland and Embere. ‘Do you want to make war?’
The generals exchanged a look. ‘Ah, of course not, if it can be helped,’ one said hesitantly.
‘Then do not fight.’ Ruhen’s high childish voice had them all transfixed now. His words were spoken without guile or inflexion, so plain that they sounded completely out of place around these men of politics - and that gave him his power.
‘It is not quite so simple,’ began the general, tailing off when he realised he was about to justify himself to a little boy.
‘He does not want to fight,’ Ruhen insisted, pointing at Lord Styrax. ‘Murderers came to Byora to kill my mother, and he must fight them. But he only wants peace with you.’
All eyes went to Styrax. ‘My offer remains, now that tempers are less heated. Sovereignty over your own lands, if you acknowledge my empire and rule. No occupying forces and only modest tribute, in return for protection against any and all enemies who may threaten your borders.’
‘What of those of our Order in Akell?’
‘They must remain,’ Styrax said apologetically, ‘for no less than a year. Their safety relies on your adherence to this non-aggression treaty.’
‘We cannot treat with a heretic,’ growled another priest, a bearded man who’d barely spoken throughout the negotiations.
‘Why not?’ asked Ruhen.
The priest looked startled at the question. ‘He has turned away from the Gods, and such behaviour cannot be condoned!’
‘How do you know that?’
‘Our reports were quite specific.’
Ruhen blinked, and summoned an expression of innocent puzzlement. ‘You want to fight because of a rumour?’
‘One I deny,’ Styrax broke in, ‘if that’s any help?’ His face was inscrutable. The white-eye was careful not to let his lively enjoyment of the situation show in any way that might give offence.
‘Can you not forgive?’ Ruhen said. ‘Does your God not allow forgiveness?’
The priest purpled. He wore the black robes of Death. ‘Forgiveness is my God’s prerogative, not mine.’
‘What about judgment?’
There was a pause. ‘Judgment is His alone,’ the priest muttered, aware that the dogma of his cult was too plain on the subject to argue, ‘but that does not mean we should comply with the threats of tyrants.’
‘Is it a threat to ask for peace?’
Knight-Cardinal Certinse laughed. ‘No, little prince, I don’t believe so.’
‘Then do not judge, unless you want men to kill each other.’
The little boy turned and headed back towards Ilumene, leaving a stunned silence in his wake. When he reached Ilumene and raised