“Fascinating information, Minister. I shall tell the Prince about it immediately.”

Koir shook his head. “No, you will not. I, on the other hand, will convey that information to Count Vroan, and couple it with an accusation that you betrayed his son-in-law to the Prince. You will have to admit that it plays well, since it allowed you to do the Prince a favor-and to rid yourself of the most-difficult-to-control of the westron lords.”

Pelut allowed himself a little chuckle. “Well played, but you miss the point, Minister. You, in fact, don’t know if I betrayed Count Turcol or not. I may well have, for reasons well beyond your ken or care. Of greater interest to you might be the fact that I have enough information to destroy the westron rebels whenever I desire.”

Koir bowed his head for a moment, then smiled as he looked up. “But you have not, because you need them to unsettle Cyron. You wanted him to die because you knew Turcol would be unable to administer the nation without you. Cyron, prince that he is, could do your job and do it well. He’s exceeded you in his program of exploration, in fact. And were I to tell Prince Eiran of your complicity in the assassination attempt, he would tell Cyron, and you would be dead.”

Fear trickled into Pelut’s stomach. He drank more tea, but it had turned sour. He could easily deny what Koir told Prince Eiran and claim that the Helosundians were trying to blackmail him into betraying Prince Cyron because Pyrust was pressing them. Doing that, however, would force Cyron to acknowledge Pyrust’s progress south. He might pull troops back from the Virine border, which would leave his nation open to invasion, or call up more troops from the interior to stop the Naleni. That option would increase westron anger, further ripping the nation apart, and would leave Nalenyr open to conquest from the north.

The horror of Desei conquest shook Pelut, but only for a moment. He looked past it because of one of Koir’s other comments. He’d been correct: Cyron could administer the nation without Pelut. While that did make him an impediment, it also made one other thing perfectly clear: Cyron was no general. Pyrust was, and the threat from the south was an invasion. The Desei Prince could defeat it.

Cyron could not.

If Cyron continues to rule, all is lost.

Just for a heartbeat Pelut pitied Prince Cyron. Time and circumstance, the gods and fate had put on the Dragon Throne the leader most capable of completing the healing of the world. Cyron had sent grain north to Pyrust to buy the Desei leader off, but also because he didn’t want the Desei people to starve. Such compassion, while laudable in a time of peace, was weakness in a time of war.

Pelut set his cup down. “What is it you desire, Minister?”

Koir smiled graciously. “We want our mercenaries returned north so they may march against the Desei. We want all grain shipments to Deseirion to stop. We want a Naleni fleet to set sail for Felarati and burn it in punishment for what Pyrust has done.”

Pelut bowed his head. “Ambitious and impossible. You know that. There will be no fleet. Grain shipments will slacken, though the Desei likely liberated a great deal of rice from Moryne. We will move troops north again.”

“And attack immediately.”

Pelut shook his head. “Pyrust is overextended. Cyron cannot allow him to have Moryne, and Moryne cannot be held without supplies. We will cut it off and strangle it. This is the best I can offer.”

“It’s more than I expected.” Koir nodded slowly. “Your position is safe.”

“Thank you.” Pelut poured him more tea. “I hope you like this.”

“It is excellent, especially after such a hard ride.”

“It does fortify one.” It shall also be the last tea you ever drink, so I am glad you are pleased.

Though Koir tried to be gracious, he planned to betray Pelut-not because he had to, but because he could. Koir had never accepted that Helosunde had ceased being a true nation and that he would never be treated as an equal in court. He would destroy Pelut and hope that the next Naleni Grand Minister, by some miracle, would not see him in exactly the same light.

Pelut read all that in the expression that passed over the man’s face, and knew he had to prevent Koir’s plan from succeeding. He could do it easily by having the man assassinated and the blame put on a known Desei agent. Pelut would then tell the Prince that the Desei had killed him to keep the news from the north silent. And Pelut would delay that news long enough that the only reaction Cyron possibly could have would be to call up more troops, then Pelut would deal with Count Vroan personally.

And perhaps it is time to deal with Junel again. While it was too soon to introduce the Desei into the Vroan household, using him as a liaison would work to position the man for later use.

In Helosunde, Pyrust would be victorious. Vroan would rebel, either seeking Desei support or rising to oppose the Desei. Either way it did not matter, since both would weaken the nation enough for it to be taken. Pelut himself would be able to negotiate a peace that would not ruin Nalenyr, and Pyrust would head south to stop the invasion.

And Pelut, having shown a genius for coordination, would rise to be Grand Minister of all three nations. Four. Doubtless Pyrust will take Erumvirine, too.

Imperial Grand Minister. Pelut liked that.

He raised his cup to Koir Yoram. “To your health, Minister, and that of our nations.”

26th day, Month of the Dragon, Year of the Rat

10th Year of Imperial Prince Cyron’s Court

163rd Year of the Komyr Dynasty

737th year since the Cataclysm

Kelewan, Erumvirine

I heard Captain Lumel enter the armory behind me, but I did not turn to face him. Instead I tightened the cords binding my armor on. There were only two things he could say to me. One, and I would have to kill him; the other and he would be the man I thought he was.

“So, you are abandoning us.”

“A statement, not a question; good.” I smiled, but didn’t let him see it. I concentrated on knotting the orange cords with a tiger’s-head knot. Despite my crest’s being a tiger hunting, I’d not used that knot in a long time-since before I became Moraven Tolo apparently, because my fingers fumbled at it. Still, I managed, working black cord in for the stripes and eyes. The knots made nice targets for archers with cord-cutting heads on their arrows, but so far the kwajiin had not employed them.

I turned, and he covered his surprise well. The armor I’d chosen had been last worn by a Morythian general who died at Bakken Rift, when the Bears had charged uphill and routed their enemies. The Tiger crest on the breastplate did not match mine, but the alternating black and orange cords, as well as the background stripes, suited me.

“You know I’m not abandoning the city. I told Prince Jekusmirwyn at the first that his city was lost. I never intended to stay.”

Captain Lumel wore the Jade Bears green-and-black armor well. He cut an imposing figure, and even a few cuts through the paint had not lessened his image. He’d defended against the enemy’s first forays, and had already become something of a legend within the city by challenging a kwajiin and defeating him in single combat. I’d watched the duel and felt the tingle of jaedun. If he survived the siege, Lumel would be a Mystic.

“It was assumed that you would stay because you did not flee with others as the kwajiin surrounded the city.”

“But that wasn’t an assumption you made.”

He smiled slightly, then shook his head. “I knew you wouldn’t stay. Your first analysis was correct. The city is indefensible. Those who got out early are likely to be the only ones who survive. Why did you stay?”

“To see how they fight. I’ve engaged them in small bands, and the kwajiin have changed things. I wanted to see how they would handle a city.”