A Plague of Giants (Seven Kennings #1) - Kevin Hearne Page 0,139

You are not he, nor is your puffed-up superior over there. When Viceroy Lohmet appears here in the flesh and formally requests that we leave, we will agree to leave. The Raelech delegation bears witness.”

“We do,” Numa said, and I saw how we had been outmaneuvered. Hearth Sefir could speak with Hearthfire Gorin Mogen’s authority, but we could not speak for the Triune nor could Nasreghur speak for the viceroy. She therefore had the advantage and could play on that.

Nasreghur ignored the exchange and tried to bluster his way through. “We are the viceory’s duly appointed representatives and speak for him.”

“I do not recognize this. I require his personal request.”

It was a transparent delaying tactic, and we all knew it. Nasreghur continued, always probing. He might be bereft of all subtlety, but I had to admire his determination to score whatever points he could.

“Recognize my request that you dissolve your naval blockade immediately and allow ships to pass freely up and down our own coast.”

“Or what?”

“Or we will be forced to make you comply.”

The Hathrim hearth snorted. “You must of course do as your conscience dictates, Junior Tactician. But know that the citizens of Baghra Khek will defend themselves if you attack.”

“You are the former citizens of Harthrad and have no right to be here whatsoever.”

“Do send your viceroy down to tell us that in person.”

“You can be sure I will.”

“Is there anything else?” She turned to us with a raised eyebrow, and Numa shook her head. “Very well. I will send the Raelech stonecutters out to you as soon as I return.” Her gaze swiveled back to Nasreghur, and she beamed at him. “Good day to you, friends. But I should warn you all that we have established a perimeter around our walls marked by a trench. Please do not cross that trench or we will be forced to consider it an attack on our people and defend ourselves accordingly.”

“That trench is on Nentian soil and means nothing,” Nasreghur asserted. “If we cross it and you attack us, then you will be at fault for beginning hostilities. This is our land, and by definition we are the defenders here, not you.”

The hearth shrugged. “A disagreement, then.”

Sefir and La Mastik bowed in concert and turned their backs on us, leaving us bemused and the junior tactician frustrated.

We reported the details to Tactician Ghuyedai, and he cursed once and spat before nodding to another one of his officers to proceed with some prearranged orders. Shouts and shuffling ensued, and it looked like they were forming ranks to march forward.

“Before you proceed, Tactician,” Numa said, “may we ask you to wait until our stonecutters are returned? They are supposed to be coming directly.”

“Perhaps,” Ghuyedai said. “Will you march with us against the invaders?”

“We cannot directly attack without permission of the Triune Council,” Numa replied, “but we can aid you in other small ways.”

“How?”

“They mentioned a trench. You’ll need passage over it. Tarrech can smooth the way for your troops, fill it in.”

“But you won’t fight with us?”

“As the junior tactician stated during the parley, it’s your land to defend. You have to defend it before the provisions of the Sovereignty Accords can be triggered.”

Ghuyedai was not pleased by the answer, but he couldn’t argue the point. And our offer wasn’t insignificant: bridging the trench quickly with Tarrech’s kenning would be far more convenient than breaking out spades.

“However,” I added, “if they do not return our stonecutters as they promised, that will be a different matter.”

Numa and Tarrech both nodded, and Ghuyedai grunted. “Very well,” he said. “Let me know when you have them back. I have preparations to make in the meantime.”

We three Raelechs strode ahead to find the trench the Hathrim had spoken of. It was only a hundred lengths away from where the parley had taken place. The Hathrim had merely stepped over it with their long legs, but it was a bit too wide for us to do the same thing. Its smooth sides and the shallow stone trough in the bottom marked it as the work of our stonecutters. The trough was filled with oil. Try to cross it and the lavaborn would spark it, turning the trench into a ring of fire. And once they had fire to work with, they would spread it quickly. Whoever crossed here first would almost certainly burn to death: that was always the promise of the lavaborn.

We waited at parade rest, and the sun had sunk only a smidgen toward its