24 The Pact

“Otherwise, I will have no choice but to send my army against Lamasta,” Todakwa was saying.

Dashvara stopped a few steps away from Zefrek. His eyebrows were furrowed.

“Your brother is in perfect health,” the Shalussi replied at last. “So are the other prisoners, including the eighteen Essimeans captured last night. The word of a Shalussi does not lie.” He glanced at Dashvara and added, “I am willing to exchange your prisoners for ours, but in the case of yesterday’s Essimeans, the decision belongs to Dashvara of Xalya. He was the one who made the capture.”

Dashvara suppressed an incredulous grunt. So they were talking about a prisoner exchange? Seeing no better opportunity to get rid of these captured Essimeans, he replied:

“I accept the exchange.”

Todakwa approved the exchange in turn, as if he was doing them a favor. Zefrek immediately sent one of his men to free the prisoners, and Dashvara stepped aside to call Tinan:

“Follow him and tell everyone that everything is fine for now.”

Tinan nodded and hurried after the Shalussis. Good. One problem less. Now came the question of Ashiwa and the siege, Dashvara guessed. Obeying a slight gesture from Todakwa, three young Essimeans approached an imposing, ornate chair, and the Essimean leader sat like a king as he was wrapped in a large cloak so pure white it looked as if it had never been used. That he should sit while the others remained standing seemed out of place to Dashvara. Others would have thought he was showing signs of weakness by doing so… but Todakwa was an Essimean, he had a different way of thinking, and Dashvara bet that his purpose was to assert his authority and stand out as the little ruler of this meeting.

“The illegitimate rebellion you have started, Zefrek,” he pronounced from his seat, “has resulted in the deaths of part of my people. I will hardly be able to forgive such an offense, but today I am willing to be merciful. The best you can do is to surrender, evacuate Lamasta, and abandon the steppe as soon as possible.”

“That’s not what we came here to do, Todakwa,” Zefrek replied, his voice strained.

“No,” the Essimean conceded. “But, if you were to open your eyes, you would see that my army is larger than yours, that Titiaka is willing to send more men, that the weapons they can provide us with are better than those of the Republic, and that the Republic is not helping you… If I wanted to, I could make you disappear like a grain of salt in the water, at any time.” He clasped his hands together under the loose sleeves of his immortal blue tunic and gave them a slight smile as his vivacious eyes detailed them all calmly. “Do you know what I see, steppemen? I see primitive tribal leaders facing a modern civilization and unable to accept that they must submit to it for the sake of their people. Xalyas, you have lost much of what the Ancient Kings taught you. Shalussis, you have never been more than uneducated shepherds who will never see beyond your flock… You are doomed to failure. You stay behind for fear of being defeated and you do not realize that you have already lost. Essimea brings the steppe back to life. And it will continue to grow, no matter how many obstacles stand in her way.”

And he believes it, the damned snake… Dashvara grinned fiercely at him and exploded first in a biting tone:

“It brings us back to life, eh? Well, I’m sorry to say that your modern civilization isn’t going anywhere, Todakwa.” He glanced tensely towards the Ragails and Kuriag before stating, “Diumcili is using you. It is selling you illusions of wealth, and all the while, it is extracting gold and salbronix from your mines, devouring your livestock… It will eventually devour your people and your modernity. Even the ancient kings did not succeed in destroying the steppe as you do. You want your land to grow, you say,” he huffed sarcastically. “I suppose you already know that he who grows much falls from greater heights and the fall is harder.”

Todakwa’s smile had widened, becoming truly obnoxious.

“Hmm. I chatted once with Vifkan of Xalya, perhaps eight or ten years ago,” he commented calmly. “A straight, rigid, stubborn man… He had no ambition other than to continue living as he had always lived. He and his father before him led your clan to its doom. Too bad you chose the same path. By now, you and your people could be on a ship to Titiaka. But you chose war.”

“I chose freedom,” Dashvara retorted with a dull roar. “If it were not for your army, Todakwa, if it were not for the slaves that you have subjugated and that wish to be free, I would long ago have gone to some part of the steppe where your abject modernity and your glorious Skâra are not heard of. And know, Todakwa,” he added angrily, “that my father did not lead my clan to its doom. You caused its doom by attacking it. You abuse your power as the Lords of the Steppe and the Ancient Kings once did against the weak. But you act differently. Instead of pushing back the neighboring tribes, you enslave them, you indoctrinate their children, you force them to worship a deity that is not theirs, you deform our Dahars by poisoning it little by little… If you think you have succeeded, you are mistaken. My people are still faithful to the Eternal Bird.”

Todakwa raised his eyebrows, looking unimpressed.

“Allow me to doubt it,” he replied. “I can assure you that you’ll found in your clan young people who think in Galka, pray in Galka, and dream in Galka. The power of Skâra is greater than that of the Eternal Bird, Dashvara. Because it goes beyond our sajit understanding. That’s why it has a greater impact among the young: because they believe in life and death before they understand them.”

Dashvara did not know how to answer that. He was aware that he had been carried away by Todakwa’s insulting words, and he recriminated himself for that. If they had gathered there, it was not to convince each other of their good ideals, it was not to sell deities to each other or to throw cutting remarks at each other, it was to find a satisfactory solution to the siege of Lamasta.

After a brief silence, Todakwa added:

“A conflict does not suit either of us now. The Diumcilians believe that the Dazbonians will continue to support you if you manage to settle, and while Republican support has been rather burlesque so far, a larger conflict between the Republic and the Federation could have disastrous results on the steppe if we do not resolve this in a civilized manner. That leaves us with two options: either I crush the rebellion and neither of us can doubt my victory, or I offer you the opportunity to surrender, but since you have so far only kept refusing to do so, Kuriag Dikaksunora here has suggested I offer a third option.”

Dashvara arched an eyebrow and turned to Kuriag. Seeing the attention focused on him, the young Titiaka moistened his lips. His face was almost as white as Todakwa’s majestic cloak.

“Well, here goes…” The Titiaka cleared his throat, finally breaking the silence, and took on a more ceremonious tone as he continued: “The Titiaka Council has ordered that Federated reinforcements be sent to Ergaika. They will arrive in a few days. The Council recognizes that these lands are Essimean and has condemned the rebellion as a slave revolt. And therefore,” he continued, as solemn as ever, “your claims are illegitimate and are not accepted by either Essimean or his allies. Common sense would dictate that you realize that your situation is untenable. I, Kuriag Dikaksunora, as a master of slaves involved in the revolt and as an official member of the Council of Titiaka, ask you, both Shalussis and Xalyas, to consider this.” He coughed softly, and though everything that Federate said stuck in his throat, Dashvara struggled to suppress a smile at seeing him so uncomfortable. “Essimea is willing to let the rebels live, acknowledge the existence of the Shalussi and Xalya clans and grant them rights. In exchange, the leaders of these clans will have to swear loyalty to Essimea, live under its wing as vassals and…” The gasps from Dashvara, Zefrek, and the Shalussi woman sage drew a grimace from him, and he hastily concluded, “and submit to certain obligations in exchange for certain rights, all of which are detailed in… uh… the written agreement here.”

He held out a paper scroll which a young Essimean took and passed, not to Dashvara, but to Zefrek. Dashvara was seething. A vassalage agreement. Kuriag was trying to sell them a vassalage agreement! He was so bewildered that it took him a moment to realize that Zefrek was looking at the parchment with real embarrassment. The young Shalussi cleared his throat and handed him the paper. Dashvara took it and, glancing at the long list of conditions and verbiage, realized that Zefrek had not read it. Simply because he couldn’t read.

Lucky you, he sighed.

Reading this scroll was going to be torture. Just glancing at it was already shameful. Todakwa’s mocking look didn’t help. He would have liked to throw not only the scroll, but an entire library in his face. However… did they have another option? Letting out a strangled, hoarse sound, Dashvara was about to read aloud, for Zefrek’s sake, but thought better of it. Yira was reading over his shoulder… Dashvara looked away from the sheet and rolled it up again.

“We will need three days to examine this proposal.”

Todakwa rolled his eyes.

“Two days,” he replied. “At the dawn of Alkanshe Day, you will give me your answer and release Ashiwa. If you do not deliver him alive and well, Skâra will fall on your heads.”

Dashvara frowned without answering. The Shalussi sage said:

“Death falls on all heads, and treachery has never been a good match for nature. Storms and drought will wipe out your empire if you are not careful, Todakwa.”

The Essimean leader smiled.

“That Skâra will decide, for everything is born in her and everything dies in her.” He stood up and turned to Shokr Is Set. “I will allow the Steppe Thieves to enter Lamasta if they so desire. However, if you enter, you will be showing your support for the Xalyas and you will have to suffer the consequences of Dashvara of Xalya’s decision. I understand that you come with the intention of uniting your clans… Vassalage would then extend to the Steppe Thieves if accepted.”

Dashvara hissed inwardly. Killing two birds with one stone, vermin? He replied:

“The Honyrs have yet to swear any loyalty to me.”

Todakwa wryly bowed his head as a farewell and gestured.

“May Skâra guide you to the right path and feed you with her wisdom.”

May your Eternal Bird pluck its feathers and burn in hell…

Dashvara bit his tongue and replied with a short, curt, polite bow. The meeting ended. Zefrek was red with anger. The Shalussi sage’s lips were pursed in a thin line of displeasure, Shokr Is Set was grim…

To hell with the snake! Dashvara pestered as he climbed back onto Sunrise.