Hell's Gate

Chapter Forty-Six

Dorzon Baskay, Viscount Simrath, had dropped the "chan" from his name for his new role. It was possible that the Arcanan diplomats had discovered that the word indicated military service, and Platoon-Captain Simrath wasn't being a member of the military just now. After all, a diplomat as young as he was wouldn't have had time to become a military veteran, as well, so he couldn't be one, either, because right this minute he had to be a diplomat. A very convincing diplomat.

He wasn't at all happy about that, but he didn't have much choice. Sharona didn't have a real diplomat within less than three months' travel, and no one was prepared to admit that to the other side. They'd already delayed for the better part of two days while Company-Captain chan Tesh had conferred by Voice with Regiment-Captain Velvelig, but chan Tesh and Velvelig had both been aware that the possibility offered by the Arcanan contact might well be fleeting. If it wasn't seized now, it could slip away and never be offered again. Neither of them wanted to lose any possibility of avoiding an all-out war, and so Velvelig had finally made the decision which had led to chan Baskay's present unhappiness.

"We don't have an official diplomat, and we don't have time to get one," chan Tesh had told chan Baskay bluntly. "I don't have any idea whether or not these people are sincere. Even if they are, they've made it fairly clear that they're at the end of a long?and slow?communications chain. So whatever they may want doesn't necessarily mean a damned thing about their superiors' or their government's ultimate intentions. But I agree with Regiment-Captain Velvelig that we can't afford to let this possibility slip away if they are sincere. That means we don't have time to sit around, literally for months, with our thumbs up our arses while we wait for a 'real' diplomat?from whatever government we finally wind up with?to get all the way out here to Hell's Gate. Which brings us to you, Platoon-Captain."

chan Baskay had nodded, although he hadn't cared at all for where chan Tesh was obviously headed. chan Baskay was no diplomat; he was a cavalry captain, even if he had been born into the aristocracy, and a cavalry officer was all he'd ever wanted to the. He might be the son of an earl, with a lineage of political service to the Ternathian Empire that could have stretched from Hell's Gate clear back to Estafel, but he'd never wanted that part of the family tradition.

He'd hoped that he'd managed to dodge it when he'd been assigned to the PAAF. Unfortunately, it appeared his bloodline had caught up with him after all.

"According to your personnel file," chan Tesh had continued, "you've served in the House of Lords. Is that right?"

"Not exactly, Sir," chan Baskay had replied. "My father holds a seat in the Lords. As his eldest son, I've deputized for him on a few occasions, mostly while I was still at the Academy." He'd smiled a bit tartly. "Frankly, I think it was his way of trying to convince me to change my mind and go into the Foreign Service instead of the Army. It didn't work."

"I see." chan Tesh had sat back in his camp chair, considering the young cavalry officer for several seconds. He'd wondered why the platoon-captain went by "chan Baskay" instead of the "Viscount Simrath" to which he was certainly entitled.

"I suppose it's ironic?at least?that I should wind up talking to you about this, if you never wanted Foreign Service in the first place," he'd said then. "At the same time, I hope you can understand why I'm glad to have someone with your background available. Frankly, Platoon-Captain, there's no one else out here with any background in diplomacy or high-level politics. I suppose the ideal person for this would have been Crown Prince Janaki, but just between you and me, I'm delighted that he's no longer available."

"You won't get any argument for me about that point, Sir," chan Baskay had said fervently. The mere thought of having the heir to the throne hanging out here at this particular moment had been enough to make the platoon-captain shudder.

"But with him gone, you're our next best choice," the company-captain had pointed out. "On the other hand, I don't suppose this is something we can simply order someone to do."

chan Tesh had paused, looking at him with a waiting expression, and chan Baskay had heaved a deep and mournful mental sigh. He would vastly have preferred to be able to decline, but that was impossible, of course. For a lot of reasons?not least that endless lineage of service to the Winged Crown. A Ternathian noble simply did not refuse when duty called. Not if he ever wanted to face the scrutiny of his revoltingly dutiful ancestors. Or, chan Baskay had conceded, his own conscience.

And at least if he had to do this, he had the proper background for it. chan Tesh was right about that, too. He'd imbibed a basic understanding of political realities almost with his mother's milk, whether he'd wanted to or not. And he'd also had those dozens of generations of blue-blooded ancestors?not to mention his observations of several hundred currently carnate fellow aristocrats?upon which to draw for role models. He'd been reasonably confident he could act the part.

What he hadn't been confident of was whether or not he could do the job. He'd been crushingly aware of the responsibility looming before him, and it had terrified him. This wasn't a job for someone pretending to be a seasoned diplomat?it was a job for the most experienced diplomat Sharona had ever boasted. And what Sharona actually had was … him.

"It's all right, Sir," he'd finally sighed. "I understand, and I'll give it my best shot. How exactly do you and Regiment-Captain Velvelig want me to handle it?"

Which was how he came to find himself riding steadily through the breezy woods under a dancing drift of blowing red and gold leaves towards his first meeting with the representatives of another trans-universal civilization.

A civilization, he reminded himself, with which we're effectively at war, at the moment. Vothon, please don't let me screw this up!

At least he'd had two genuine strokes of luck. The first was his baby sister's idiocy. Charazan Baskay was enrolled in one of those ghastly finishing schools that specialized in turning young ladies' brains into mush, and it appeared to be working just fine, in her case. She'd decided, on the basis of logic so … unique that chan Baskay hadn't even tried to follow it, that it would be a good idea to send him a dress suit and cloak to wear at "cotillions and military balls." Exactly where she'd expected him to find either of those out here on the bleeding edge of the frontier eluded him, and he'd rolled his eyes heavenward and stuffed the ludicrous outfit into the bottom of a trunk the day it arrived. He'd intended for it to languish there until the day he finally returned to Sharona, and he certainly hadn't realized that his batman had packed the contents of that trunk into his duffel bags when he'd been ordered forward with the rest of Company-Captain chan Tesh's column.

But there it was, and he was inclined to see the hand of fate in his batman's apparent lapse into lunacy. Thanks to that, and Charazan, he actually had the proper civilian attire to pull off this charade. He'd blessed his harebrained baby sister fervently when he realized that he did.

The second stroke of good fortune was the presence of Under-Captain Trekar chan Rothag. The dark-haired and dark-eyed chan Rothag was a Narhathan who'd grown up almost in the shadow of the Fist of Bolakin. Where chan Baskay had the fair hair and gray eyes so common among the Ternathian nobility, chan Rothag's hair was so dark a brown it was almost black, and his swarthy complexion and powerful nose could almost as well have been Shurkhali. Unlike chan Baskay, chan Rothag had no connection whatsoever to either the aristocracy or the Foreign Service. What he did have was a Talent which police agencies and military intelligence organizations had always found extraordinarily useful.

chan Rothag was a Sifter. He couldn't read minds, wasn't actually a telepath at all. But he knew, instantly and infallibly, when someone lied. He couldn't magically?chan Baskay shuddered at his own choice of adverb, under the circumstances?divine the truth they were lying to conceal or distort, but knowing they'd lied at all was almost as useful. Most commanders above the platoon level in any Sharonian army tried to get at least one Sifter assigned to them. More often than not, they failed; Sifters were too useful for senior officers to be willing to turn the limited supply of them loose. Balkar chan Tesh, however, had what amounted almost to a Talent for scrounging the personnel he wanted, which was how chan Rothag had ended up attached to his column.

chan Rothag had also spent several days in company with their Arcanan prisoners before Crown Prince Janaki carted them off. As a trained interrogator, he'd found his complete inability to communicate with them frustrating, and chan Baskay knew that chan Tesh had been tempted to send chan Rothag along with Janaki. But the company-captain had decided not to in the end, because there'd been plenty of equally well-trained interrogators further up the chain, while chan Rothag had been the only interrogator at this end of it. Under the circumstances, chan Baskay had decided to regard chan Rothag's continued presence, like that of Charazan's gift, as another example of the hand of fate in action.

"Well," he said now, his voice low pitched as the tangle of fallen and broken trees where the Chalgyn Consortium survey crew had died came into sight, "here we go."

"Be brave, Viscount," chan Rothag replied with a slight smile, using the title by which every member of their party now addressed chan Baskay. "You'll do just fine."

"Easy for you to say," chan Baskay growled back.

"Just play the part, Viscount, and remember our signals." chan Rothag sounded revoltingly calm, chan Baskay thought. Which might be because, unlike chan Baskay, he was about to spend the next several hours basically saying nothing at all. They had no proof at this time that the Arcanan's command of Ternathian was as limited as it appeared to be. If they were concealing a greater fluency, then trained diplomats might well be able to recognize that chan Rothag had about as much diplomatic expertise as a pig on roller skates. chan Baskay had done his best to get some of the rudiments, at least, through to the under-captain, then given up in despair.

"Just keep your mouth shut," he'd advised finally. "We'll work out some sort of signal system so you can tell me whether or not they're lying. And at least we both speak Farnalian. We'll use that, if we have to talk to each other without?hopefully!?the other side understanding us. And … hm …"

He'd regarded chan Rothag thoughtfully.

"I think you've just become Shurkalian," he'd said finally. The Narhathan had raised one eyebrow, and chan Baskay had shrugged. "If we can convince them you're related to Shaylar, then we'll have an excuse for you to break in?as emotionally as possible, in Farnalian, of course?if we twang something sensitive and you need to warn me about it. Right?"

"Right," chan Rothag had agreed, not even trying to hide his relief at being denied a speaking part. Which was what made his current breezy confidence particularly irritating. On the other hand, it was also the best advice chan Baskay was likely to get, and he let his mind run back over the cover story one last time, like an actor settling his stage character comfortably into place.

According to what chan Tesh had told the senior Arcanan diplomat, Viscount Simrath was a middle-ranked Ternathian diplomat, who'd been visiting his sister in the last (carefully unnamed) civilian city in this transit chain (also carefully unnamed), to which she'd emigrated after her marriage. When the Chalgyn crew had been slaughtered, the viscount had sent a Voice message back to Sharona, asking the Emperor if he should try to reach the contact universe. On the Emperor's subsequent orders, he'd set out immediately, reaching Company-Captain Halifu's fort?now formally named Fort Shaylar?almost simultaneously with the Arcanan message requesting a truce and negotiations for a genuine cease-fire.

chan Baskay would have felt much better if the Emperor truly had authorized his mission?and this ruse?but there hadn't been time for any message to reach Sharona and come back down the chain. As a result, he didn't even have an official set of conditions acceptable to the Emperor or the Portal Authority. He hoped chan Tesh and Velvelig were right?that approval would definitely be forthcoming. In fact, he was almost certain they were right, but part of his job was going to be to keep talking until somebody in authority sent him a real set of terms.

They reached the agreed upon conference site, and chan Baskay felt his jaw muscles tighten. It wasn't the first time he'd seen the lingering burn marks and other scars left by the brief, vicious battle, and a familiar hatred kicked him in the gut. He kicked it right back.

Your job is to put together a negotiated cease-fire and stop something like this from ever happening again, he told himself. Besides, you just got here after traveling down-chain. You've never seen it before, and you're a frigging diplomat, not a soldier. Act like one?they're watching you.

He did allow his face to harden slightly as he surveyed those telltale signs, then glanced at the waiting Arcanan contingent with exactly the right edge of aristocratic hauteur. They were, indeed, watching him closely, he noticed, and wondered if they'd deliberately insisted on meeting at this spot to push Sharona's diplomats into a state of rage.

On the face of it, the idea was silly. Why ask for talks at all, if they only meant to sabotage them by enraging the other side? On the other hand, they might have done it in hopes of keeping the Sharonians sufficiently distracted by anger and hatred to give them an edge in the talks. To win extra points for themselves because the Sharonians were too busy being furious to notice that they were giving up important concessions.

It sounded paranoid, even to him, he realized. It sounded devious. It even sounded insane, perhaps.

But it felt accurate.

The Arcanan negotiating party had arrived early. As stipulated by the initial agreement, the two men in civilian clothing?who had to be the Arcanan diplomats, Skirvon and Dastiri?were escorted by no more than twenty-five of their own soldiers. Company-Captain chan Tesh had accompanied them?ostensibly as a mark of respect; actually to make sure they didn't get up to anything of which Sharona would have disapproved?along with Petty-Captain Arthag and the Arpathian officer's cavalry platoon. When the twenty men of "Viscount Simrath's escort were included, that gave Sharona a manpower advantage of over two-to-one, and none of those troopers were taking any chances.

My, chan Baskay thought mordantly as he watched the various military contingents not quite fingering their weapons as they glared at one another, isn't this a soothing atmosphere, well suited to the dispassionate negotiation of an inter-universal cease-fire?

Petty-Captain Arthag "honor guard" acknowledged the arrival of Viscount Simrath's party, and Company-Captain chan Tesh gravely and respectfully saluted one of his more junior platoon commanders.

"Viscount," the company-captain said formally. "Welcome to Fallen Timbers."

"Thank you, Company-Captain," chan Baskay replied with a pleasant, if somewhat distant, smile. Then he allowed the smile to fade. "I could wish that none of us had to be here," he continued, deliberately pitching his voice loudly enough for the Arcanan diplomats to hear. "I've Seen the reports, of course, including Shaylar's message." He shook his head, allowing his expression to turn a bit bleaker. "The personal messages I've received from home are as furious as anything I've ever heard before, and the official correspondence isn't much better."

"I don't doubt it, My Lord." chan Tesh shook his head. "Still, according to these people, it was all mistake."

"So I've been told." chan Baskay glanced at the Arcanans again. "I would dearly love to find that that's the truth, and that we can end all of this without still more bloodshed."

"Well, My Lord, I suppose that's largely up to you. And to these … gentlemen, of course."

"True enough, Company-Captain," chan Baskay agreed. "True enough. So I suppose we'd best get started. Could you perform the introductions for us, please?"

"Of course, My Lord."

chan Baskay dismounted, handing his reins to one of Arthag's troopers. Then he and chan Rothag accompanied chan Tesh across to the waiting Arcanans.

The Arcanans in question had set up a conference table at which the deliberations were to take place, and that "table" was sufficiently startling to capture chan Baskay's attention for several seconds. It was made from several narrow slats of wood which had been hinged together to form a folded up bundle that could fit onto a pack saddle. When it was unfolded, crosspieces slid into place across the bottom, stiffening it and locking it in the open position.

That much was fairly unremarkable, but it did have one small feature guaranteed to arrest his attention instantly: it had no legs.

The tabletop simply floated there, perfectly level despite the rough terrain, hovering in midair at the ordinary height of a standard table, and chan Baskay's scalp crawled at the sight. It wasn't natural, he thought, and the back of his brain even whispered the word "demonic," before he squelched it back down where it had come from.

Not demonic, he told himself. It's just different. Very different, perhaps, but only different.

He told himself that rather firmly, and he knew?intellectually?that it was true. That this was merely a form of technology his own people had never seen before, assuming that anything which caused a ten-foot-long tabletop to float thirty-six inches off the ground under a canopy of flame-shot autumn leaves could be called "merely" anything.

It was the obvious solution to their need for a portable table, of course, but it was sufficiently alien to distract chan Baskay from the business at hand. It took him a heartbeat or two to realize it had. Then he glanced up, swiftly and without moving his head from its "gosh-look-at-the-table" position, and saw the faintest hint of smug satisfaction in the Arcanans' eyes.

That satisfaction vanished instantly when they realized he was watching them closely without seeming to do so. Their own eyes narrowed, and they stood up straighter, put on notice that they weren't dealing with a total babe-in-swaddling. He noticed that, too, and gave them a polite little smile which, he was pleased to observe, replaced their satisfaction with an edge of speculation, instead.

chan Baskay managed to keep his smile from growing and very carefully concealed his own flicker of satisfaction. He'd also noticed?and ignored?what looked remarkably like a half-dozen chairs whose legs had been amputated. They were tucked underneath the floating conference table, as if the Arcanans had hoped they wouldn't be immediately spotted, and he carefully paid them no attention at all even as he filed away their presence for future consideration.

"Viscount Simrath," chan Tesh said formally, "this is Rithmar Skirvon and Uthik Dastiri, the diplomatic representatives of something called the Union of Arcana. Master Skirvon, Master Dastiri, this is Sir Dorzon Baskay, forty-sixth Viscount Simrath, of the Ternathian Foreign Ministry, acting in behalf of the Portal Authority and the Emperor of Ternathia, and Lord Trekar Rothag, his associate and adviser."

Everyone bowed gravely to everyone else, and chan Baskay raised one aristocratic eyebrow.

"I understand you gentlemen speak our language?"

"Speak some," the older of the two Arcanan civilians?Skirvon?said. "Learn more with PC while talk. Can show?"

He indicated the large lump of quartz sitting in the center of the floating table, and chan Baskay allowed his other eyebrow to rise.

"By all means," he invited.

Skirvon bowed slightly, then murmured something in his own language. The lump of quartz glowed briefly, and then the floating words chan Tesh had already described to chan Baskay appeared within it. Skirvon leaned over it, touching it with a crystal stylus, then said something else, much longer and considerably more involved, in his own language.

"The PC can help learn languages," another voice said suddenly. It sounded a great deal like Skirvon's, but not exactly, and it was coming not from the Arcanan, but from the glowing lump of rock. "When we talk, it listens. Learns. It will turn words in my language into your language, and your language into my language."

The words coming from the "PC" were much clearer, smoother, than anything Skirvon had produced in Ternathian. Even chan Tesh, who'd already seen multiple examples of the Arcanans' astounding technology, was clearly taken aback, and it took all of chan Baskay's self-control not to show his own astonishment. But he managed it somehow, and looked at Skirvon levelly.

"So, if I speak to your rock, it will translate whatever I say into your own language?" he said, and heard a voice which wasn't quite his saying something in a language he'd never spoken.

Skirvon watched the Sharonians' response to his newest ploy and managed not to smile like a fox in a henhouse. Despite their best efforts to conceal it, they were clearly impressed by this fresh manifestation of magic. Of course, they didn't know the PC had an unfair advantage. They thought it was still learning the language as it went, and he had no intention of suggesting otherwise. In fact, he'd loaded the same translation spellware Magister Kelbryan had used with Shaylar into his own crystal. It contained the complete vocabulary the magister had acquired from her prisoner, as well, and Skirvon had to remind himself to phrase his comments in Andaran rather more simply then he would have normally. It would never do to inadvertently reveal the fluency in Ternathian which he already possessed.

On the other hand, he thought, it won't hurt a bit to impress these yokels with how quickly the "learning spellware "improves its grasp of Ternathian in the course of our little chats.

"Is this acceptable?" he asked earnestly in Andaran.

"Is this acceptable?" the crystal on the table said in Ternathian, and chan Baskay nodded.

"Indeed. And quite convenient, too," he said calmly.

Skirvon was impressed. This Viscount Simrath obviously had been just as surprised as chan Tesh and the others, but there was remarkably little evidence of it in his expression or his voice. The man's title?forty-sixth Viscount of Whatever??indicated an incredibly long aristocratic pedigree, which was entirely in keeping with the preposterous age Shaylar had imputed to this Ternathian Empire. That was impressive enough, but his obvious self-control and total self-confidence was even more impressive. Clearly, the man was an experienced diplomat, as well, despite his apparent relative youth, and Skirvon wondered what stroke of luck had put him far enough down the transit chain from Sharona to get him to this place at this time.

Perhaps I'm better matched than I expected, he thought almost cheerfully. After all, it was always more satisfying to match wits with a fellow professional, rather than simply steal candy from unwary babies. Not that the end result was likely to be any different.

"In that case," he gestured casually and spoke the word which activated the spell accumulators on the camp chairs he'd had a member of his military escort arrange around the conference table. The comfortably cushioned chairs rose immediately, floating levelly at the exactly correct height.

"Be seated, please," he invited blandly.

This time, chan Baskay didn't even turn a hair. He'd expected nothing less, and he simply smiled, handed his cloak to one of Platoon-Captain Arthag's troopers, and seated himself. The pit of his stomach felt just a bit hollow as he parked his posterior on the unnaturally floating chair. A part of him couldn't quite help expecting it to collapse under his weight, but no sign of it showed in his expression, and he laid his forearms on the conference table, folded his hands neatly, and gazed at them with a politely attentive expression.

Like the comfortably padded chair underneath him, the conference table didn't even quiver under the weight of his arms. It was as rock-steady as any table he'd ever sat at before, which his intellect had known would be the case. It would scarcely have worked to the Arcanans' advantage for it to be anything else, after all.

Definitely a professional, Skirvon thought ungrudgingly, giving the Sharonian diplomat points for composure.

He glanced at Dastiri as the junior Sharonian diplomat, Rothag, seated himself somewhat more gingerly at Simrath's right. Then they took their own seats, facing the Sharonians across the conference table. Skirvon opened his mouth, but Simrath spoke before he could say anything.

"This translating rock of yours will be most convenient," he observed. "On the other hand, words are only tools, are they not? What truly matters are the answers to two simple questions. Do you plan to end your acts of violence against Sharonian civilians? And do you intend to stop attacking soldiers attempting to negotiate under flags of truce?"

Skirvon's eyes widened. Despite his own many years of experience, he couldn't quite conceal his surprise at the other man's directness.

"With all respect, Viscount," he said after a moment, "those questions are not as simple as you suggest. You say your people were civilians. Our soldiers did not know that, and many of them were killed in the same fight. Arcana deeply regrets what happened, but how it came about is not at all clear to us at this time."

"It is very clear to us," Simrath said with a pleasant smile. "Your soldiers attacked our civilians. When one of our officers?Platoon-Captain Arthag, I believe?" he gestured at one of the officers who had accompanied the Arcanans and their escort from the swamp portal "?attempted to approach your soldiers under a flag of truce to inquire as to the fate of our people, he was fired upon. From our viewpoint, it's quite clear who fired the first shot in each of those incidents."

Skirvon ordered his expression not to change. Clearly, Simrath intended to cut right to the heart of things, and it was equally obvious that his plan was to place Arcana squarely on the defensive. To some extent, that would work out very well for Skirvon's chosen strategy, but it would never do to allow the Sharonians to feel they were driving the negotiations. Or, rather, to allow them an expectation of a quick resolution to those same negotiations. He had to keep them talking for at least a couple of weeks, and allowing this Simrath's forcefulness to push him into premature concessions or admissions could make that considerably more difficult. What he needed was something that could keep them "negotiating" without reaching any premature final agreement.

"Excuse me, Viscount," he said, "but I am afraid you are speaking too quickly and using too many new words for my crystal to translate them correctly. It will get better as we continue to speak to each other, but it has not yet learned enough words for long, complicated talk."

chan Baskay laced his fingers together atop the conference table as he considered what the Arcanan had just said. It made sense, he supposed. And he certainly had no way to judge what the glowing hunk of rock's true capabilities might be.

"So," he said with a thin smile which would have done his most arrogant ancestor proud, "your … crystal isn't up to the task after all?"

"That is not what I said," the crystal translated a moment later. "What I said is that it will take time. We wish to talk, wish for there to be no more shooting, but it is important that we understand what is said. That we are clear when we talk. And that you understand what we think happened while we understand what you think happened."

chan Baskay cocked his head to one side and pursed his lips thoughtfully. He suspected that the Arcanans' marvelous hunk of rock was doing a better job of translating than this Skirvon wanted to admit. At the same time, he had to concede that the man had a point. If they were going to talk to each other at all, they had to at least listen to the other side's view of the events which had led them to this point.

"Very well," he said after a moment. "You asked us to meet with you. What does Arcana wish to say? Sharona is willing to listen."

That's better, Skirvon thought. Get him tied up in formal exchanges and we can kill lots of time without actually saying a damned thing we don't already both know anyway.

"Arcana is grateful that Sharona is willing to listen," he said aloud, and arranged himself into what he thought of as "formal discourse posture" to make it clear that what he was about to say was a formal position statement.

"Arcana is shocked by the violence that has taken place between our people and yours," he continued. "It caused us great grief to discover that the sole survivor was a young woman. We do not allow women to serve in our military, so we were not expecting to find one."

"She was not serving in the military," Simrath said in a voice chipped from solid ice. "They were civilians."

"Yes," Skirvon said. "We know that now. We did not know that then, however. And we did not expect to find a girl in the middle of such combat."

chan Baskay considered pointing out that the Arcanans had gone into that same battle with a woman of their own in tow, but he chose not to play that particular card just yet. So far, the other side had given no indication that there were any Talented Arcanans. It was difficult for him to conceive of a human civilization in which that was true, but, then, he'd never seriously conceived of one which routinely used magic to float tables in midair, either. So it was entirely possible the Arcanans were as ignorant of the possibilities open to the Talented as Sharona was?or had been?to the possibilities of magic. If that was the case, the less the Arcanans knew about the capabilities of Sharonian Whiffers and Tracers, the better.

"Very well," he said instead, after a moment. "I will accept that you were not aware our people were civilians … at first, at least. Continue."

"Thank you, Viscount," Skirvon replied, then drew a breath.

"We were horrified to find her," he resumed after a moment. "We tried hard to keep her alive. But the healer attached to our soldiers was killed in the fighting. They had a magister with a minor arcana for healing, but nothing even remotely close to an actual healer. So they tried to carry her to a real healer."

chan Baskay frowned, then unlaced his fingers and leaned back in his floating chair, tugging at the lobe of his right ear in one of his prearranged signals to chan Rothag. The Narhathan petty-captain didn't appear to notice, but he sat back himself and crossed his legs.

So, chan Baskay reflected, not exactly a lie, but not the entire truth, either. Well, that's hardly a surprise from a diplomat, now is it?

"A moment," he said. "Your crystal failed to translate two of the terms you just used. What is a 'magister'? And what is a 'minor arcana'? Isn't Arcana the name of your world?"

Skirvon blinked in what certainly looked like genuine surprise. Then he smiled.

"Ah, I see the problem. First, Viscount, a 'magister' is someone with a Gift, an ability to use magic." He tapped the floating table. "Like this. Some people with Gifts can make things float or perform other similar actions. Others?what we call 'magistrons'?are able to use healing magic. The only magister our soldiers had with them immediately after the fighting was not a magistron.

"Second, we use the word 'arcana' to mean a specific Gift or magical ability. The tradition among my people is that the same word is used to mean the entire world because the world is a gift from the gods to all men. That is where the confusion about 'minor arcana' came from.

"What I tried to say was that the magister who was with our soldiers had only a minor, weaker, Gift for healing. It was not a strong, trained Gift, which could have healed the young woman's injuries."

"I see." chan Baskay nodded, then glanced at chan Rothag. The petty-captain's posture was unchanged, but he rubbed the tip of his right index finger gently across the cuff of his left sleeve. Which meant that this time, at least, the Narhathan was confident that pretty much everything Skirvon had just said was the truth.

"Very well," he said. "You say you were horrified to discover a woman among your victims." He allowed his eyes to harden slightly. "How and when did Shaylar die?"

"She had suffered a terrible head injury," Skirvon said. "She was burned, as well. Not as badly as some of the others, but the burns made her other injuries worse. We transported her as quickly as we could to our nearest base with a fully trained healer, but we were unable to get her there in time. She lived for six days."

chan Rothag sat up, uncrossing his legs, and chan Baskay's nerves tightened abruptly.

"A moment, please," he said courteously, and glanced at chan Rothag. "Look sad," he said in Farnalian. "Then tell me what he's lying about."

"He's lying through his teeth about the burns, and about the six days," chan Rothag replied in the same language. He looked as if he wanted to weep. "The rest of it is pretty much true. Do we want to call him on the part that isn't?"

"Not yet." chan Baskay leaned towards the other man, laying a hand on his shoulder with a concerned, sorrowful expression. "There's no point letting them know you can tell when they're lying," he said softly, gently. "Besides, let's see how much rope he'll give himself."

chan Rothag nodded, still looking stricken, and chan Baskay patted his shoulder comfortingly, then turned back to Skirvon.

"Lord Rothag is Shurkhali," he lied with an absolutely straight face. "The confirmation that his countrywoman suffered such horrible wounds and lingered for so long is very painful to him."

He watched Skirvon's expression carefully without seeming too. Presenting such a bald-faced lie would have been unthinkable if he'd faced other Sharonians, since both sides knew the other one was bound to bring its own Sifters to any negotiations. But he'd done it deliberately, as a test, and he saw no sign Skirvon could tell that he'd just lied. Which was something to bear in mind. Clearly, Skirvon and Dastiri came from a totally different tradition, one which used no equivalent of Sifters.

I'll bet they're used to being able to lie to each other, he thought. Which means they'll do it at the drop of a hat. That's something else to bear in mind.

"I am sorry to have caused him grief," Skirvon said. "But there is great grief in Arcana, as well. We had never met you or any of your people before. We did not mean for the original battle to take place. The officer in charge of the soldiers in that battle was removed from command as soon as his superiors heard what had happened. Yet before we could learn your language, or make any new, peaceful contact with you, you attacked our camp without warning and killed still more soldiers." He allowed himself a slightly aggrieved expression. "The officer you attacked was not even the one responsible for the attack on your civilians, but you did not attempt to learn that before you attacked."

"When we attacked your camp without warning?" chan Baskay repeated flatly, shaking his head. "We did not do the attacking. Your officer may have been 'innocent' of the carnage you'd already committed, but he gave a deliberate order to fire on a single officer who had approached him under a flag of truce to ask for the return of our wounded. You attacked us. Again."

He met Skirvon's eye very levelly, his expression cold.

"It's one thing to state your position, Skirvon. It's quite another to twist the truth out of all recognition, and to insult our intelligence in the process."

Skirvon and Dastiri conferred briefly in a language that wasn't Andaran and which the crystal didn't translate into Ternathian. Then Skirvon turned back to him.

"This is very difficult," he said. "We have one view of these things; you have another view. We are trying to apologize for the violence, but you are so suspicious, we cannot even finish a thought. And while we understand how angry you must be, there is?or will be, once the news gets all the way to our home universe?great pain and anger in our world, as well. Not only have we lost many of our soldiers, not only have we killed civilians, but we have lost a civilian, as well.

"The civilian killed in your attack on our camp was one of the most important research magisters our civilization has ever produced. Magister Halathyn vos Dulainah was in our camp. He did not even try to fight, but he was killed without pity. The whole of Arcana is or soon will be in an uproar. Magister Halathyn was beloved by millions, hundreds of millions. The shock of his death, the anger felt over it, is very terrible."

"So now you say one of your civilians has been killed as well?" chan Baskay frowned.

"Indeed, a most important and very beloved one."

"Perhaps," chan Baskay said coolly, "one as beloved as Shaylar Nargra-Kolmayr was among our people?"

Skirvon appeared to wince slightly, and chan Baskay shook his head.

"Lord Rothag is Shurkhali," he said, repeating his earlier … misrepresentation. "A moment, please, while I discuss this with him. I'll be . . . interested in his perspective on our relative losses."

He turned to chan Rothag and cocked his head.

"I think we may actually be looking at something important here, Trekar," he said, once again in Farnalian. "The problem is, I don't know what?or how important it may be?and I've got the feeling he's about to try selling me a used horse. Can you give me any guidance on how many lies he's telling this time?"

"Actually he's telling the truth about this fellow being killed," chan Rothag replied in the same language. "And about how popular he was and the sort of reaction he anticipates. But you're right that something funny's going on, as well. I notice he's not saying anything about why this important researcher was out here in the middle of all this nowhere. And he's being careful not to say that we actually killed him."

"I caught that, as well," chan Baskay replied, managing to keep his frustration out of his tone or his expression. "I wonder what these twisty bastards are up to this time?"

He turned back to Skirvon. The Arcanan's expression remained attentive, leavened with exactly the right degree of sorrow and regret, but chan Baskay saw the curiosity in the backs of the man's eyes. Obviously, Skirvon was simply dying to know what he and chan Rothag had just said to one another. The thought gave chan Baskay a certain amount of amusement, but he produced a dutifully sad frown of his own.

"Sharona grieves to learn that another civilian has died, and especially one who was so beloved that his death can only add to the anger and fear between our peoples," he said, meaning every word of it. "But that only underscores the urgent need for us to negotiate a cease-fire. Sharona does not want any more innocents to die."

"That is exactly Arcana's position, as well," Skirvon said earnestly. "We want an end to the shooting while we talk with you about a permanent settlement." It was his turn to smile sadly. "It may take a long time for us to agree as to where guilt and innocence truly lie. And I am sure it will take even longer for us to reach agreement on the terms of any final settlement, and on how best to manage further contacts between our peoples. For example, there is the question of who holds ultimate possession of this entire universe."

"Hell's Gate is Sharonian territory." chan Baskay's tone was flat.

"Hell's Gate?" Skirvon repeated, and chan Baskay smiled coolly.

"Given what your soldiers did to our civilians here, it seemed an appropriate name to us," he said. Then he allowed his expression to soften very slightly. "And, I suppose, given what happened to your troops, it may seem appropriate to your people, as well."

"Indeed, it may," Skirvon agreed. "Still, whatever we may call it, the question of who controls it must be of vital importance to both your world and mine."

chan Baskay allowed his eyes to narrow once more, and Skirvon shrugged with an open, honest expression.

"Surely, My Lord, your people realize as well as my own that this?" he waved at the trees about them and the steady drift of bright colored leaves sifting downward whenever the breeze blew "?is what we call a 'portal cluster.' There are many portals close together, giving access to many universes. However much we may regret the violence which has already occurred, your Emperor and your Portal Authority must recognize that the control of so many portals is not something either of us will gladly give up, especially to someone we do not fully trust because of the violence which has already occurred.

" At the moment, each side desires complete control of the entire cluster, if only to provide for its own security, and neither side will be willing to concede that to the other. In the end, some sort of agreement?possibly some compromise, under which control is shared, or under which certain portals are ceded to either party?would have to be worked out if we were to have any real hope that our natural desires and fear of one another will not push us into additional conflict. Working out any such agreement would certainly be difficult, and would without doubt take much time and patience. But surely, it is always better to talk rather than to shoot."

Beside chan Baskay, chan Rothag crossed his legs once more, and chan Baskay sighed inside, wishing chan Rothag could tell him exactly which parts of what Skirvon had said this time were "mostly true."

Part of him wanted to stand up and call Skirvon on his lies about Shaylar right then and there. In fact, the cavalry officer in him wanted to choke the truth out of the bland-faced Arcanan. If Shaylar hadn't died the way he said she had, then how had she died? What had they really done to her in their quest for information like the words stored in their crystal? He could think of several reasons why her stored voice might sound slurred, confused, even broken. Reasons which had nothing at all to do with any wounds she might have suffered here at Fallen Timbers. Had they done those things to her? Was that how she'd died?in some grim little cell somewhere? And if so, did this smiling bastard across the table from him know she had?

The questions burned inside him, demanding answers, but he kept his expression under control. He couldn't give in to the anger he felt, couldn't call them cold-blooded murderers, even if he did know that an innocent, courageous young woman had not died the way they'd told him she had. And the fact was that Skirvon also had a perfectly valid point about the question of who would hold eventual sovereignty over the Hell's Gate Cluster. Certainly, no one in Sharona would be at all happy about the thought of abandoning the cluster?which the Chalgyn crew had clearly discovered before the Arcanans ever ventured into it?to a bloodthirsty, murderous lot of savages whose uniformed soldiers had slaughtered its original surveyors. And whatever he thought of Skirvon, or his unknown superiors, the man was right that Arcana would be no happier at the thought of conceding all of those portals to Sharona. Especially not with the spilled blood which already lay between them.

The sovereignty issue was going to have to be dealt with. That much was painfully obvious, as was the fact that he must not do anything at this point to prejudice Sharona's position on the issue. It would be another five days before Company-Captain chan Tesh's message that the Arcanans had asked for talks could even reach Sharona; it would take another week after that for any response to reach Hell's Gate. He could not allow his own emotions to erupt and sabotage any possibility of a diplomatic solution?especially not when he'd never actually been authorized to represent the Authority or his own Emperor in the first place!

"Of course it's better to talk than to shoot," he said, smiling at the lying bastard across the table from him. "Is that your formal position?"

"We wish for there to be no more fighting while we talk," Skirvon said, nodding vigorously, and chan Rothag touched his left cuff once more.

Well, that's certainly something I can agree to in good faith, chan Baskay thought with a distinct feeling of relief. And he's right, I suppose. Talking is better than shooting. I just wish I knew what else is going on inside that twisty brain of his. And I suppose the only way to find out is to go ahead and talk to him.

"Very well," he said. "Sharona will agree to talk, instead of shooting."