“These walls are much higher than those in Kenath,” Dourin replied. “And I do not fancy another trip through the sewers.”
Venick smiled faintly, though he’d been thinking of something else. Just like Irek, Parith would have an escape tunnel—perhaps even multiple escape tunnels—built under the city. The locations of such tunnels were always kept secret, though there was usually a point of access somewhere within the palace walls. Venick explained this to Dourin.
“A secret tunnel in an uncertain location?” the elf had replied dryly. “That solves everything.”
Now, Harmon walked a little ahead as she led the way through the Elder’s castle. Her steps were sure. The castle guards nodded when she passed, making no move to stop them.
Venick felt a tick of apprehension at that. He could be an assassin. A spy. If nothing else, Venick and Erol were lowlanders and Dourin and Lin Lill were elves. That alone should have warranted questions, but they were not questioned. They were not searched or disarmed. They passed through the castle uncontested.
Harmon halted before a set of wide double doors. “The great hall,” she said. Behind the doors, Venick could hear the midday feast underway: the muffled chatter of a hundred men, the clink of plates and goblets, the light trill of a flute. “When I give the signal, the guards will open the doors. I will step back and allow you to go first.”
Dourin crossed his arms. “This is your city. You go first.”
“It is a show of strength,” Harmon explained. “Whoever enters a room first commands it.”
“Whoever enters a room first getsambushed.”
“They are not my rules. If you want the Elder’s support, you must first gain his respect.”
“How do you know so much?” Dourin’s agitation was growing. “Do you serve on the Elder’s court?”
She gave a laugh. “The Elder has no court. His opinion is the only one that matters.”
“Then you are a noblewoman of some kind. You have spent time with him.”
“I was raised here. And the Elder’s ways are no secret. Anyone could tell you what I just did.”
Dourin shot Venick a look. Idon’t trust it, his eyes seemed to say. Harmon had paraded them through this city—hell, through this country—utterly unchallenged. She’d arranged a meeting with the Elder, despite his reputation for holding no court. She’d done it with ease.
Harmon watched their silent exchange. “You’ve trusted me this far,” she said with a prick of offense. She looked at the guard. “Open them.”
The doors swung at her words, sliding smoothly on oiled hinges. The room appeared before them, a wave of color and noise. The hall had been outfitted with a single long table running down its center, and ten dozen men occupied its seats. Venick felt a hand nudge his back.
No turning back now.
He entered the hall.
Venick knew the Elder at once—it could be no one else. The man sat at the head of the table, dressed in richly dyed purples and reds, his fingers and neck draped in gold. He appeared both older than Venick had expected and more haggard—until he smiled. Then his face showed an unmistakable youth. “Our lowlander friends have arrived at last,” the Elder said. “Come, and be welcome.”
THIRTY
They were given a seat at the hall’s center. Servants came with heavy helpings of stew and ale, which were refilled before the dishes were even half empty. This attentive service—and hell, the meal itself—was not what Venick had expected, but he had sense enough not to refuse. Harmon had warned that the Elder liked things done a certain way. Perhaps this was tradition in Parith: to serve your guests first, even if you later planned to slit their throats.
Venick ate in silence, spooning the stew into his mouth without really tasting it. Slowly, the volume in the hall rose. Lin Lill and Erol sat to Venick’s right, speaking quietly and eating what was offered. Dourin sat across the table. He didn’t seem to care about traditions or courtesies, and left his food untouched.
Harmon had taken a seat a few places down the table. She was the only woman in the hall, aside from the servants who returned again and again with more food and drink, offering sweets and wet hand towels, their faces like smiling dolls, stitched into place. Finally, the Elder raised his hand and the plates were cleared. The chatter quieted, the room swelling with anticipation. Even the servants stopped to listen.
“The time has come,” the Elder said, “to properly greet our guests.” He motioned to Venick. “Rise.”
Venick stood from his seat. He felt the weight of a hundred gazes.
“You have come for a purpose,” the Elder said. When Venick began to speak, the man cut him off. “There is no need to explain. I know who you are and why you are here. We, too, have heard of the Dark Army. Do you think we are blind? We keep our eyes and ears open. The Dark Queen wants another purge.” It was that word again,purge. The one that so easily rattled men, that got the hall humming—until the Elder raised yet another hand, and the men fell immediately silent. “But we are not friends, you and I. Our countries share a history of bloodshed. And you have brought with you an army that will—as far as I can tell—attack my citizens as soon as they are allowed within these gates.” He steepled his hands. “You wish, no doubt, to convince me otherwise.”
Venick didn’t like speeches. Not hearing them, not giving them. Give him a sword and a good fight—he was no diplomat. But this, too, Harmon had warned.You must not stutter, you must maintain eye contact. They say the Elder is like a shark hunting blood. He can smell even the slightest weakness.
“It’s true,” Venick began, his voice low and clear. “Our nations have been enemies. We’ve fought each other for generations, but I’m asking now for a change. We cannot defeat the Dark Army alone. Stand with us and let us fight together. We need each other.”
“Need,” the Elder repeated. He’d remained gracious thus far, his expression one of pleasant interest. Now, however, his eyes seemed to shimmer. “That word is so…slippery. An alliance would benefit the lowlands, clearly. You are the weaker fighters. You have the smaller army.”
