“I can explain that,” said Balasar. “Your traders fought like hatchlings from spoiled eggs.”

Perra elbowed him in the ribs.

“Isn’t it likely,” Zan-akar persisted, “that in fact, as the genasi assert, these two dragonborn attacked them by surprise?”

“No, my lord,” said Medrash, “it isn’t. Balasar and I emerged from the fight unharmed because officers of the city guard came to our aid. And any fair-minded person would accept that as the truth because the watchmen say so too.”

“But their involvement,” said a plummy bass voice, “raises other questions.”

Balasar turned. The speaker was Luthen, one of Shala’s counselors, a big man running to fat in his middle years. His round head with its receding hair and neatly trimmed goatee looked small atop his massive shoulders.

Apparently he meant to take Zan-akar’s side, which puzzled Balasar a little. He hadn’t heard that Luthen was any great friend to Akanul, although he supposed he could have missed that particular nugget of information. His mind tended to drift when his associates discussed the labyrinthine alliances and rivalries of Shala’s court.

Lean, broken-nosed Nicos Corynian gave his fellow advisor a level stare. “What other questions, my lord?”

“For starters, why weren’t they wearing their tabards?”

A man Balasar hadn’t seen before stepped up beside Nicos. He was muscular and thick in the torso like Luthen, but short rather than tall. His head was as hairless as a dragonborn’s, and a mask of tattooed marks surrounded his weirdly luminous blue eyes.

“Because they were off duty,” he said. “But they still recognized their responsibility to restore order. Would you want them to stand idly by while blood spilled?”

Balasar inferred that the tattooed stranger must be Aoth Fezim, commander of the sellswords who’d just entered Nicos’s service.

“I would wish the sorceress,” Luthen replied, “to obey the laws of Chessenta and carry the mark of her essential nature at all times. And frankly, war-mage, were it up to me, I’d require the same of you.”

A goodly number of the assembled retainers murmured in agreement.

“We’re not going to stay in Chessenta forever,” said Aoth, “and Her Majesty has given us a dispensation.”

“What she’s granted,” said Luthen, “she can rescind. And she might want to consider doing precisely that. She might want to reconsider whether having you in Luthcheq is a good idea at all.”

“We discussed this,” Nicos said. “Until the unrest subsides, we need additional watchmen on the street.”

“Why?” Luthen said. “To protect wizards?” He waved a contemptuous hand. “To skulk around in disguise and spy on your behalf?”

Nicos directed his gaze at Shala. “Majesty, that insinuation is preposterous.”

“How so?” Luthen said. “The fact of the matter is, you’ve brought a private army into the capital-a force commanded by a Thayan mage and with other Thayans, wizards, and dwarves among the ranks.”

“Actually,” said Aoth, “I’m a Thayan renegade, with the torture chamber and the block awaiting me should I ever return. The other ‘Thayans’ in the Brotherhood are the descendents of men who came with me into exile a century ago. And at the moment, I only have one true wizard and one dwarf. Too bad-I could use more.”

Luthen kept his glare aimed at Nicos. “You claim to have placed this band of reavers and sorcerers at the service of Her Majesty. But the reality is that since you pay them, and rogues of their stripe care only for gold, they answer to you alone.”

“Well, I answer to Her Majesty,” said Nicos, “so even if your assessment were true, all’s well.”

“Far be it from me to impugn your loyalty, my lord. But history abounds in nobles who insinuated an excessive number of their personal troops into their sovereign’s capital, then turned them to some treasonous purpose. It’s simply poor policy to permit such maneuverings.”

Nicos looked to the throne. “Majesty, I know it takes more than empty prattle to make you doubt a vassal who has always served you loyally. Or to make you doubt your own decisions.”

Shala grunted. “I’ll consent to keep Captain Fezim’s sellswords patrolling the city until they prove unworthy of the trust.”

“Then if it pleases Your Majesty,” Zan-akar said, “may we return to the true business of this meeting? It’s vital that we discuss the crimes Tymanther has committed against both our realms.”

Perra snorted. “Get a grip, my lord. A scuffle in a tavern, however deplorable, scarcely warrants such a description.”

“That particular outrage,” said Zan-akar, light seething along the silvery lines in his skin, “was the least of it. Dragonborn are slipping into Akanul, slaughtering the inhabitants of remote settlements, and retreating back across the border.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Perra said.

“We have witnesses,” said Zan-akar. “Your marauders didn’t quite manage to murder everyone. And as Your Majesty knows, Akanul and Tymanther lack a common border. The only way for dragonborn raiders to reach us is to cross Chessentan territory. In light of the vows of friendship between our two realms, I assume you haven’t given them permission to do so.”

“No,” said the war hero, “of course not.”

“Then they’re trespassing on your lands just as they are on ours.”

“If these raiders actually existed,” said Perra, “then that would be a logical conclusion. But they don’t.”

“I repeat,” said Zan-akar, “we have witnesses.”

“Where?” replied Perra. “Not anyplace that Her Majesty or anyone else impartial can question them, apparently. Let’s be rational. If companies of dragonborn warriors were crossing Chessenta, then some of her own people would have noticed. Akanul wouldn’t need to tattle on us.”

“Western Chessenta is sparsely populated,” Zan-akar said, “and the hills and gullies offer excellent cover. Tymanther could sneak a whole army through.”

“Be that as it may, my lord,” said Perra, “since you didn’t bring any witnesses along with you today, in the end, this matter simply comes down to Akanul’s word against ours.”

“Perhaps I’ll send for the witnesses,” the stormsoul said, with such malevolent assurance in his tone that for just a moment, Balasar wondered if rogue dragonborn might actually have committed the alleged atrocities. “Meanwhile, I’m more than willing to discuss which kingdom’s word a sensible person ought to trust.”

Perra snorted. “Surely you aren’t going to suggest that the genasi’s reputation for honesty and steadfastness compares favorably to that of the dragonborn.”

“What I’m saying,” Zan-akar replied, “is that since the day we arrived in Faerun, Akanul has been purely and unequivocally a friend to Chessenta. Tymanther claims to be her ally, but you also profess the same to High Imaskar. The same degenerate horde of wizards and slave-takers currently sacking villages along the Chessentan coast and sinking her ships up and down the length of the Alamber Sea.”

For once, Perra seemed at a loss, at least momentarily, and Balasar didn’t blame her. Zan-akar, damn him, had landed a shrewd stroke. The war hero had made no secret of the fact that she resented Tymanther’s continued friendship with High Imaskar.

Maybe the dragonborn should pick a side. Or maybe Balasar simply thought so because at heart he was more a fighter than a diplomat. A person could certainly make a case that when a realm only had two allies, it would be a mistake to relinquish either.

“When you put it that way,” drawled Aoth, “the choice seems clear. But actually, Majesty, Lord Zan-akar is claiming a difference where none exists.”

“What do you mean?” Shala asked.

“I spent the first part of last year working for the Simbarchs,” the sellsword said, “and Aglarond and Akanul are friends. So there were genasi hanging around Veltalar. I didn’t make any special effort to pry into their affairs, but I didn’t need to in order to hear that not long ago, the queen of Akanul forged an alliance with High Imaskar. It’s no secret-except, evidently, when Lord Zan-akar and his associates are talking to you.”