Sweep in Peace (Innkeeper Chronicles Book 2) (22 page)

I took another sip. The Khanum wanted something. She wouldn’t have invited me otherwise. Asking her about it was out of the question. I’d have to wait.

We finished the first cup in silence and the Khanum poured us another.

“The blond vampire wants you. Can your kind and his mate?”

Thank you, Arland, for putting me into this lovely position. “It is possible, but I have no interest in such a relationship.”

“Why not?” Dagorkun asked.

I smiled at him. “Because I have no intention of leaving my home, and Lord Arland would make a terrible innkeeper.”

“You could go with him,” the Khanum suggested.

“My place is here.” I sipped my tea. “His place is with his House. His attention is flattering but it doesn’t interfere with my mission.”

“And what is that?” Dagorkun asked.

“To keep you and them from killing each other.”

An otrokari dashed onto the balcony, running backward, jumped and caught a football sewn from rough leather. He saw the Khanum. His eyes widened and he ran back inside. Dagorkun rolled his eyes.

“Should I purchase some helmets?” I asked.

“No,” the Khanum said. “A few concussions would be good for them. It will settle them down.”

The big woman leaned back. “I do not understand you, Innkeeper. I understand the merchants. They are driven by profit. I understand the vampires. They are our mortal enemy and they seek the same things we seek: glory in battle, victory, and land. I even understand the Arbiter. There is power and satisfaction in shifting the balance of relations between many nations. What drives you, Innkeeper?”

“I want my inn to prosper. The more guests I have, the healthier and stronger is the inn. If the summit succeeds, it will be known that my home served you well.”

“We know the Arbitrator had approached other innkeepers to host this summit,” Dagorkun stated. “They turned him down.”

“My inn was uniquely suited for the summit,” I said. “It’s small and mostly empty at the moment. We specialize in dangerous guests.”

“To take a job like this, one must have a strong motivation,” the Khanum said. “What is yours?”

“I lost my family,” I said. “They were taken from me. I’ve searched for them on my own and I failed. I want my inn to thrive and be full of guests, because sooner or later someone will walk through my door and I will see recognition on their face when they see the portrait of my parents downstairs.”

The Khanum nodded. “Family. This I understand.”

We drank more tea.

“It is the third of autumn,” the Khanum said. “On our home world, summer is the time of drought and heat. Winter is a welcome respite; it is the time of mild weather and rains, when the grasses grow. The third of autumn is the day we commune with our ancestors to celebrate surviving yet another year.”

I didn’t know much about the Horde’s celebrations except that almost all of them were conducted outside.

“Do you wish to have an autumn celebration?” I asked.

“My people are restless,” the Khanum said. “It would do us good.”

I waited.

“The Arbiter has denied my request.”

Here it is. “He must’ve had valid reasons.”

“He believes we are deliberately dragging our feet in negotiations,” Dagorkun said. “He means to use our culture to pressure us.”

“May I ask a question about the negotiations?” I asked.

The Khanum raised her eyebrows. “Yes.”

“You control a large territory on Nexus. The Anocracy controls an equally large territory. Both of you may have to work with the merchants to get shipments off planet. Why not agree to peace?”

The Khanum reached into her robe and pulled out a small disk carved of something that looked like bone. She squeezed the sides and an image of an otrokari male appeared above it. He wore full battle armor. His face echoed both Dagorkun and the Khanum.

“Kordugan,” she said. “My third son. He lies dead on Nexus. We never recovered the body.”

Dagorkun looked down on his hands.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“Children die,” the Khanum said, her voice resigned. “It is a fact of life. I’ve learned this again and again. It hurts every time.”

“Then why not stop the dying on Nexus?” I asked.

“Because we do not negotiate,” the Khanum said. “We conquer. When I look at the Anocracy’s half of the continent, I see land. I see homesteads. I see families, our families, raising children, building lives, breeding cattle.”

Dagorkun glanced at his mother. “Mother, cattle won’t survive on Nexus. It’s a barren rock. There isn’t enough feed.”

She waved at him. “That is beside the point. We expand, or like my son, we die. This is our way. This is the Anocracy’s way. They stand in the way of our expansion. We must check them on Nexus. We must bloody them, break their spirit, and then launch an offensive. They hold seven planets. Seven fat wealthy planets. That’s enough land to support my children, and Dagorkun’s children, and their children’ children. Children must be born on the planet, with the earth under their feet and they will be born on Nexus. That’s what my son died for.”

Right. Neither side was willing to see reason. I could understand why Nuan Cee was in despair.

“But if you oppose the peace so strongly, why agree to the summit at all?” I asked.

“Who says I oppose the peace?” The Khanum sighed, reached over, and ran her hand through Dagorkun’s hair. For a second the seasoned warrior looked just like an eight year old human boy whose mother kissed him in front of everybody as she dropped him off in front of the school.

“I told you what the Horde’s policy dictates,” the Khanum said. “My views are not relevant. My people wish to commune with our ancestors. We have long memories. Will you speak to the Arbitrator for us?”

The bargain was clear: if I intervened on their behalf, they would owe me a favor. They didn’t need to promise me one. It was my duty to see to the comfort of my guests.

“I’ll talk to George,” I said. “I don’t know how much influence I have with him, but I will try. Even if he is receptive, we may have to talk the vampires and merchants into going along with it, which means we may have to make some concessions.”

“We understand,” Dagorkun said.

I rose and bowed. “Thank you for sharing your tea with me, Khanum. May your days be long and your sun weak.”

The Khanum inclined her head.

Dagorkun rose and we followed him through the otrokar quarters. Something didn’t sit right with me about what the Khanum said about the Horde’s reasons for fighting. She delivered the lines perfectly, with just enough growl in her voice, but I had a feeling her heart wasn’t in it.

Dagorkun stopped by the door.

I stepped through it. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

“You’re welcome.”

The door sealed shut.

“Well, that was enlightening,” Caldenia murmured as we descended the stairs. “She’s desperate for the peace talks to succeed.”

“You think so?”

Caldenia shook her head. “My dear, you must learn to observe. She is the general of this massive horde, but under all of it she is a mother who loves her children more than life itself. You and I both know who will lead the Horde’s offensive on the Nexus – it will be the son who now sits next to her. Remember that National Geographic documentary we watched last week, where the lions were trying to survive the drought? That woman is that old lioness trying to protect her last cub. She is fighting desperately to keep him alive, and she is losing hope.”

She was right. It made perfect sense and it was so awful. The sadness of it took your breath away.

“This is marvelous,” Caldenia said. “Press that lever and you can wrench her heart right out. You couldn’t ask for a better weakness. You should take me to all of your talks. They are so entertaining.”

George’s hair, normally perfectly brushed and gathered into a horse tail at the nape of his neck, was haphazardly tied with loose strands spilling around his handsome face. A trace of stubble graced his jaw. His cream shirt was slightly damp. As he met me at the door of his room, he looked slightly disheveled and mournful, like a man who had surrendered to his fate. Surprisingly, losing his elegant perfection catapulted him from merely shockingly handsome into outrageously seductive territory. I briefly wondered if I could find some excuse to send Sophie up here. I had a feeling she would really appreciate it.

I told him about the Khanum’s request for autumn celebrations, George did everything except listen to me. He tugged on his sleeve. He brushed his hair back. He scratched his stubbled jaw. He appeared generally to be distracted, but years of being an innkeeper’s kid taught me to watch the guests. George paid careful attention to everything I said.

“I attempted to shave and the faucet sprayed me with water,” George reported when I finished. “Icy water. It’s been three, no four days since I was able to take a hot shower. No, maybe three…”

Very well. “If you are asking whether you’ve been punished enough for cutting down my thirty year old apple trees, I am sure we can work something out.” I snapped my fingers for emphasis. Every faucet and shower head in the bathroom came on, spilling out strong stream of steaming water. I let it run for three seconds and turned it off. “Also, if you could stop pretending to not listen to me, I would really appreciate it.”

George abandoned his martyred expression. “There is a certain protocol when it comes to these things. A certain amount of back and forth that most people engage in. You simply bypass all of the preliminaries. I can’t decide if your directness is refreshing or frustrating.”

“The more verbal dancing I do around the subject, the more opportunity I give you to argue,” I explained. “Some guests tend to be very…”

“Manipulative?”

“Difficult,” I said.

“But having a longer conversation also gives you the opportunity to learn more about the person,” he said. “What buttons to push. What levers to pull.”

“I’m not here to press buttons. I’m neutral by definition. My purpose is to provide shelter and comfort to my guests and see to their needs. I’m here to solve their problems while they are staying under my roof, and right now I would like to talk about the Khanum’s request.”

“Very well. Let’s abandon the verbal gymnastics. It will go faster.” George invited me to a sofa with a sweep of his hand. I sat, and he took a plush chair across from me. “Did the Khanum explain that the Horde signed a waiver prior to negotiations indicating that they were willing to suspend celebrations and religious holidays for the duration of the summit?”

“No.”

“In fact, every participant of the summit has signed this waver.” George’s blue eyes were hard and crystal clear, their gaze focused. There was something sharp and almost predatory in the way he held himself now. He reminded me of a falcon watching a bird in a distant sky just before he launched himself into the air currents for the lethal dive, his talons poised for the kill. So that’s what he really looked like. “The balance of power within the summit is very tenuous and neither of the three participants is willing to relinquish any of it. If they see any opening at all, they will press their advantage. So if we now honor the Khanum’s request, concessions will have to be made to appease the Holy Anocracy and the Merchants.”

“In other words, they’ll want a bribe,” I said. Of course. “And whatever they ask for will result in further complications.”

“Furthermore, once we bring the celebration to the table, we can’t back down. If the vampires, for example, make some outrageous demand in return for agreeing to the celebration, and we are unable to reach an agreement, in the otrokari’s eyes, the Holy Anocracy will become the people who prevented the observation of a beloved ritual. One would think that given their history of mutual hatred, this one more small occurrence wouldn’t matter. In reality, that hypothetical transgression will overshadow whatever bad blood they already have.”

“They killed my brother, stole our planet, but most of all, they wouldn’t let us have the autumn festival?”

“Yes. That’s a peculiar quirk of the psychology of small isolated gatherings, which is why I chose this format and your inn in the first place. When you take sworn enemies and put them together into an isolated environment, provided the group is small enough, they experience the same events and develop similar attitudes, which gives them some common ground where previously there was none. It creates a ‘we’re all in this together’ mentality, a camaraderie. The vampires and the otrokari recognize their own emotions in their enemy: boredom while the proceedings take place, relief when they’re over the day, joy at simple pleasure of a well-cooked meal. This commonality of circumstances and reactions fosters empathy, which is a precursor of any consensus. Right now this empathy is very fragile and the conflict over the autumn celebrations has the potential to rip it apart beyond all repair.”