The Negotiations Will Be Short

The horizon was fringed with the sun's last rays when the prince stood and announced it was time to move.

“You don't think it's a little early?”

“This coming watch will be the darkest of the night. If fortune's with us we'll be gone before Tanit-el rises.”

“Yeah, of course,” said Tex. “We all know how it is with Tanit-el.”

Though the forest became thinner as they progressed, the land ahead was filled with gently rolling hills that rose to mountains in the far distance, giving ample cover as the three followed the low ground. Occasionally one would creep to the crest of a hill, look about, and they would then bound to the next vantage point, there to do the same. An eerie stillness pervaded the air as though the world stood at a threshold and had not yet decided which way to step. Neither Tex nor Neteth spoke, as though any sound above a breath would give them away, a precaution they soon felt foolish for adhering to; the first sentry they found was propped against a stump and snoring loudly. The others were hardly more alert, and easily bypassed.

Though surprised at first by the speed of their progress, the prince reminded himself that they were dealing with thieves and cutthroats, dangerous in their element but otherwise no better than an undisciplined rabble. Such men always fell to pieces the moment it became necessary to call on qualities not in their nature.

The camp was laid out on relatively open ground next to a gorge, the nearby hills both concealing and shielding it from the wind. Most of the tents had been in place long enough to accumulate semi-permanent satellite structures, lean-tos and simple, conical huts made of hides and reed mats. One stood above the others, a high-walled tent pitched on a rise and around which a trench had been dug in imitation of a motte fort, and encircled by a palisade on which the bandits displayed trophies, banners and colorfully patterned chiy and a golden staff topped by an eagle. Neteth looked to the captive, who pointed at the tent and nodded.

“Stay here,” he whispered and left Tex with the bandit. Paradoxically the interval between his target and himself seemed to grow, every sound from the campfire on the other side of Hati's tent filling him with the fear of discovery. Only a few men sat about the fire, chatting in the casual but sparse way friends do after a long evening of reminiscence has burned to the last embers. Hidden among long, wavering shadows, he slid into the tent with a leopard's predatory ease. Therein, reclining on a pile of cushions, was the man he sought.

Neteth drew the knife, but as he stood over the sleeping figure he noticed a scrap of parchment pinned to the support pole at the tent's middle. He took it down and held it to a thin stripe of firelight:

“Trap. Hati's gone.”

He moved to the room's far side and cut a slit in the wall. Outside, a host of shadowy figures gradually into the light, the front rank carrying long spears and moving with purpose. Something shifted behind him, cloth on cloth. He spun, caught the blow, and slashed the attacker, whose surprised shout filled the camp. Footsteps pounded like thunder outside; rather than try his luck with the entrance, he opened up the tear he'd made and slipped through while the other man thrashed in the dark. The sound of fighting reached his ears, telling him Tex hadn't been caught off guard either. But even with that strange sword, he wouldn't be able to win alone.

A scream rent the air, accompanied by a heavy impact. Embers flew from the fire, which guttered and went out and in the phantasmal darkness that followed the prince found his way to Tex.

“There's a lot more than fifty of them.”

“They knew we were coming,” said Neteth. “Perhaps we can kill Hati, panic them.”

“I like the hustle, but-”

He was cut off by a long, shrill whistle. Torches flared about them, revealing warriors arrayed in ranks three deep with military precision, spears at the ready. The pair stood at the center of a ring with no way out. Above and behind the rows of men, Hati lounged on a litter, face twisted in amused contempt.

“I wonder what you expected would happen, your majesty,” he said, making an insult of the honorific.

“I could say the same. Do you think you'll go unpunished for the murder of a prince?”

Hati sneered. “If only you knew what I was thinking. Ah, but who's this? I didn't really believe it at first when someone came running back yelping about a magic sword. Your bodyguard, maybe?”

“A traveler who fears your wretched lot no more than I.”

“Is that right? We could always use a bigger crew and you've got no reason to die for this boy. How about you join me? No hard feelings about earlier.”

“I'll think about it if you tell me why you want him dead,” said Tex.

“Because I was paid to kill him. And don't ask by who – trade secret,” Hati said, a wolf-like smile passing over his face.

Tex nodded gravely. “I think instead you should let us go.”

His sword was propped against his shoulder in a way that made it impossible for any of the bandits to ignore, a pillar of unbreakable metal between them and their quarry and the stark reality of its presence stole from them the usual joy of poking at cornered prey. Hati noticed the effect it had on his men and made a beckoning gesture to someone hidden behind the close-packed ranks.

“Asphodel!”

A woman climbed onto the litter, young but with a detached, severe mien. By her robes, the crooked-headed staff she carried, and the foreboding, ethereal air about her, the prince knew her to be a witch. She regarded him with eyes that seemed to look right through him to some aspect invisible to himself.

“Well?” Hati growled, and Neteth felt that he hadn't meant to speak so loudly. The bandit shifted impatiently.

The witch, Asphodel, said something that was lost to the night and dropped gracefully to the ground. The line of spears parted for her, the men giving a wider berth than necessary. Torches were reflected in her eyes like stars burning in the void. After an interval that felt far longer than it must have truly been, she spoke.

“You don't belong here.”

“Don't I know it,” said Tex.

She took hold of the prince's wrist and he was so taken aback that before he could wrench it away she had already taken the sukallu's ring.

“Get me out of here,” Asphodel said in a whispering bordering on a hiss. “I'll distract them.” Without waiting for a response she began to draw a magic circle about them with her staff. Tex looked at Neteth.

“What do you think?”

“Doing something is better than nothing.”

Hati demanded to know what was going on, to which Asphodel replied she had to create a ward against the blade, which she called the Blade of Temur, a name that seemed to settle the matter as far as the bandit leader was concerned.

“You could throw yourself at their mercy,” Tex suggested.

“I'd sooner die.”

He nodded. “Just as long as you know we're crossing the Rubicon.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“It's a river.”

“I have crossed many rivers.”

“Well this one's dangerous. You don't go over unless you know what you're doing.”

“I am not afraid,” Neteth scoffed as the witch completed her work.

 “That's the problem.”