Warlords Rising (38 page)

In an hour and half, they received their answer. Standing
prominently from a saddle holster stood a banner with a crescent moon over
three wavy lines. Trev’nor did not know all of the warlord symbols, but he
could recognize their type readily.

The militia did know the insignia off hand and were very
quick to react, forming up a guard around the mages, weapons at the ready.
Ehsan spoke to the two nearest to him, got an answer that Trev’nor only
half-understood, then turned to translate, “Warlord Dunixan.”

Dunixan. Wasn’t that the very north-left territory?

“According to the banner, it’s the man himself,” Ehsan
added.

Trev’nor’s eyebrows shot into his hairline. “You’re
kidding.”

Ehsan gave a slow, emphatic shake of the head. He was not
joking. In fact the look in his eyes suggested that he wanted to duck away from
this meeting.

With them closing in, no one even pretended to be
preoccupied with something else. They spread out, ready to close in an instant
if there was trouble, but not offering the enemy a grouped target. Trev’nor,
since he had a handy way of blocking weapons, stepped out ahead of the rest and
called to the earth to stand by.

Ten feet away, the warlord’s party stopped. Only one
dismounted, the sole woman of the group, and she very carefully kept her hands
away from her weapons as she moved. This had all the earmarks of a diplomatic
mission. Trev’nor couldn’t imagine why the warlord would approach them, though.
They hadn’t even crossed paths yet. Just how fast did news travel in this
country?

He studied the woman as she approached. Late forties, dark
hair a little streaked with silver in her temples, strong bone structure, and a
rippling musculature that he only saw on professional soldiers. Trev’nor would
bet his eye teeth that she knew exactly what to do with that short sword
strapped to her waist.

She stopped two feet away and gave a slight bow. “I am
Simin, First Guard of Dunixan. I speak for my warlord.”

First Guard…meaning, retainer of the warlord? Very highly
positioned, this woman.

Nolan stepped up to his side, taking over as speaker, which
Trev’nor was grateful for. His Khobuntish likely wasn’t up to this. “I am
Vonnolanen. I hear you, Simin.”

Trev’nor gave him a slight nod of approval. Good, let her
know they were listening, but nothing more than that.

“We have heard reports that magicians have broken free of
Trexler’s control. We have heard they rebelled and executed their warlord. My warlord
wants this confirmed.”

He highly doubted Dunixan had ridden all the way down here
to find out for himself what was going on. The man likely had spies to do that
for him.

Nolan weighed her silently for a moment before stating,
“That is mostly correct.”

Simin leaned forward onto the balls of her feet. They
definitely had her attention now. “What was incorrect?”

“Three foreign magicians came in and broke everyone out of
their slave chains. They are responsible for inciting the rebellion and the
execution of Trexler.” Nolan gave her a wolfish smile. “Everyone else just
joined in.”

In this land of dark haired people, she had no trouble
sorting out who the ‘foreign magicians’ must be. She pointed a finger at
Trev’nor, Nolan, then Becca. “You three?”

“That’s right,” Becca confirmed, coming up to stand next to
Nolan.

Simin turned and bowed to her warlord, then took two steps
backwards. A tall man, well-built and dressed in the fine leather armor of the
extremely wealthy, abruptly dismounted from his dragoo and came straight for
them, lifting off the hooded half-cloak he was wearing as he moved. It revealed
a man that some would consider handsome, although others would deem him too
square-jawed for that. Trev’nor thought he was staring into the eyes of a
panther. The man carried himself like a predator on the move.

“I am Roshan Dunixan, Warlord Dunixan. I am here to speak
with you.”

Trev’nor was now more confused, not less. “Why?”

Dunixan’s mouth stretched into a feral smile. “To speak of
an alliance. Why else?”

Absolutely no one trusted Dunixan inside of the still
unstable Alred. Instead, Trev’nor created a table and benches where they stood,
and they cautiously sat across from each other at the table.

“While I know some of what you have done, and what you are,”
Dunixan started, “I am afraid I don’t know
who
you are. Might I have
your names?”

Becca took in a breath and glanced at the other two. Nolan,
as usual, took lead for them. “My name is Vonnolanen, Life Mage from Chahir.”

Dunixan’s eyebrows shot up. “Von? I believe that family is
the ruling family for Chahir.”

“That is correct.” Nolan stared him down and did not
elaborate. “With me are Rhebentrev’noren, an Earth Mage, and Riicbeccaan, a
Weather Mage, also from Chahir.”

“Magi, it is my honor.” Dunixan inclined his head to all of
them cordially.

Oh? “This is the first time since entering this country that
we have been addressed correctly.”

“I imagine so,” Dunixan agreed, eyes smiling. “I went to
Bromany once, on a business trip with my grandfather, and I met many magicians
there. I learned much about them at that time.”

In other words, he knew better than to agree with the
cultural prejudice of Khobunter against magicians? Becca hoped so, at any rate.
“Warlord Dunixan, I’m sure you know as well as we do that rumors bend the truth
past recognition. Perhaps it would be best if we first told what we know of the
other? To make sure our facts are straight.”

“I’m inclined to agree. Perhaps, instead, it would be best
if you start by telling me how you came to Khobunter? I am highly curious as to
how you started on this path of conquering. The Bromany magicians I met were
highly against anything political. I find this choice of yours…somewhat
strange.”

“You mean highly unusual and somewhat against the rules,”
Nolan corrected. “Well, let me explain.” He started from the very beginning and
told the full story, leaving little out, which surprised Becca.

Dunixan didn’t seem at all surprised at some parts of the
story, but highly surprised at others. When Nolan finished, he gave the three a
study from under his eyebrows. “Initially I had wildly varying rumors about
you. Rumors had it that demi-gods had descended from the heavens and were
punishing anyone that deserved it.”

Becca preened, buffing her nails against her shirt. “I am as
beautiful as a goddess; it’s no wonder they made the mistake.”

Both boys snickered. Becca, without looking, lifted her
hands and flicked them on the sides of their heads.

“Ow!” they protested in near unison.

“Bec, quit doing that, it hurts,” Trev’nor scolded, rubbing
at the abused skin.

“If you know that it hurts, stop asking for it,” she growled
at him.

“When a woman says that she is beautiful,” Dunixan drawled,
“a wise man smiles and agrees with her.”

Becca beamed at him. “Exactly. Warlord Dunixan, I think I
like you.”

He gave her a little bow from his seat, his hand flourishing
to make the gesture slightly sarcastic. “Charmed, I’m sure. After that initial
rumor, I was able to get more solid intelligent reports, and it became obvious
to me that you were not gods of any sorts, but mages. I hadn’t realized that
Weather Mages existed until you introduced yourself as such, however.”

“We’re extremely rare,” Becca responded with a blithe shrug.
“The Magic War in Chahir nearly wiped out my family line.”

It was past time to turn the tables. “Warlord Dunixan, why
have you approached us?”

“For several reasons, actually. First and foremost, I do not
want to incur your wrath. We have received numerous reports of your attacks on
Trexler. I do not wish the same upon my people.”

A very good reason all by itself.

“I’m also glad that someone took Trexler down and is willing
to fight against Riyu. Trexler did not cause me as many problems—as Riyu’s
territory divides us—but he was not a pleasant man or a good ruler. No one will
mourn his passing.”

Becca believed that, too.

“Aside from self-preservation, I’ve become increasingly
curious about all of you. I did not understand why you came, or what has made
you stay, but I do recognize dedication when I see it.” There was a confidence,
an ease of manner, as he put his forearms against the table and continued, “I
have seen for myself what you do to an area after you have conquered it. I saw
Trexler with my own eyes. You are builders.”

Nolan cocked his head slightly. “You admire this?”

“This country is chock-full of warriors. We are good at
destroying, but what this country needs most is builders. It is amazing, the
change that Trexler has undergone. I walked into an oasis, a fertile land that is
sprouting.” With a charming, candid smile, he admitted freely, “The dragons did
make me nervous, though. One stopped me and asked many questions.”

“Did you walk into Trexler with your banners up?”

“Customs and courtesy require that I do so.”

“Then that’s why. They’ve learned all of the different
banners and will stop anyone that has a banner they don’t recognize.” Nolan got
that inscrutable look on his face that looked eerily like Chatta’s when she was
negotiating for something she wanted. “So, Warlord Dunixan, to sum up, the
reason why you approach us is because we fight your enemies, you prefer to not
have your own territory attacked, and you wish to have your own land become
green and fertile as well.”

“That is the size of it, yes. We might have much to offer
each other as long as our goals align.”

That seemed like an opening, and Becca took it. “We started
this conquest to free all of the slaves. The magicians in particular. We have
no intention of leaving after this is done, however. Khobunter is a mess, one
that has been ignored for too long. We will stay and revitalize the country
after we have gained control of it.”

“Do you intend to take control of every territory, no matter
what?”

This question was very, very, important. Becca looked to
Trev’nor, her co-ruler, silently asking him how to respond. Trev’nor watched
her as he answered, “I do not feel that is necessary as long as certain
conditions are met. If the warlord of an area can agree to abolish slavery
completely, change the current rules and customs to a more humane practice, and
work in conjunction with us, I don’t think it’s necessary.”

Becca nodded, silently concurring.

“I see.” Dunixan made a small, circular gesture with his
hand that included the whole city. “I was surprised to learn that you’ve
already taken all of the magicians you’ve freed to another country. Strae, was
it? Why would you do so, when they are a formidable fighting force?”

Trev’nor bobbed his head in confirmation. “Strae Academy,
yes. Where we were all trained. Well, first off, we took them there because
they’re not trained. Most of them know some tricks but they don’t really know
how their magic works. It’s better to have them fully trained.”

Dunixan opened a hand, palm up. “It’s a valid point. Second
off?”

“Second off,” Becca started, grinning that he was using
their phrasing, “they need to learn what it really means to be a magician.
They’re so downtrodden, so used to thinking of themselves as ‘slaves’ that even
if we get the culture here to stop treating them as such, that mental stigma
will stick with them.”

“We have full confidence that our old professors will beat
the idea out of them.” Trev’nor was absolutely sure that in Shad’s and Aletha’s
case, that wasn’t a metaphor or exaggeration. “Which is why we sent them all
there. We will send all future magicians we rescue there as well.”

“You do realize that by sending them off for this training,
most will likely not choose to return,” Dunixan observed neutrally.

“It could be worse,” Becca observed. “We could have skimped
their training and they stayed.”

At this, he lost his neutral face and gave her a small,
satisfied smile. “So you do understand good business tactics. Excellent.”

Becca pointed a finger at Nolan. “His doing.”

“You have to be half-businessman, half-politician in order
to really manage a country well,” Nolan returned, idly tapping the table. “Or
so Grandfather always says.”

Dunixan pounced on this. “So you are of
the
Von’s of
Chahir?”

“Only grandson,” Nolan admitted freely.

Simin gave a soft hiss of triumph.

Dunixan gestured between the two of them. “The two of you
are acting as co-rulers, I take it? What about you, Magus Vonnolanen?”

“I’m just helping them,” Nolan denied easily. “After they’ve
gained control of Khobunter, then I’ll return home. I have my own country to
run, after all.”

“So I need to negotiate with the two of you?”

“That’s correct,” Becca confirmed. “But I have questions
that I need answered as well, Warlord Dunixan. Aside from non-aggression, what
can you offer us?”

He spread his hands outward as if to gesture at everything
that he was. “My full knowledge of the terrain and the other warlords, to help
prepare for battles. My troops, if you need more manpower. My political power,
as needed.”

Becca internally let out a whistle. What he offered was
nothing to sneeze at. If he really could hold to a bargain, then it would give
them support that they desperately needed and another territory automatically
that they wouldn’t have to fight their way through. It was a considerable and
highly tempting offer.

But could they trust the man? Dunixan was incredibly hard to
read. He’d also grown up in a world were magicians were not valued except as a
tool. That he came to negotiate with three mages felt off to her. Was this a
ploy to use them as tools, since he had no way of controlling them other than
manipulation? Did he actually think of them as human beings? Becca knew exactly
how deep tradition and prejudices could run. Her parents had abandoned her
because of it.

“Warlord Dunixan, we would like to take some time and—”
Nolan started neutrally, only to cut himself off. He abruptly twisted in his
seat, eyes wide, nearly vibrating in place.

“What?” Becca and Trev’nor demanded in stereo, alarmed by
his actions.

“G-gardener,” he stammered hoarsely.

Gardener?! Granted, as a Life Mage, he could feel one
approaching sooner than they could, but… “Are you sure?”

The words barely left her mouth when one appeared, standing several
yards away from the table. This one did not resemble the one that Becca had met
when she was eight years old. For one thing, this one was female. She was a
little taller, pale skin more marbled with blue veins, feather-like hair
shorter so that it barely brushed her shoulders. She looked at them and beamed,
glowing brightly even under the desert suns.

A chorus of startled curses rang from Dunixan’s group, and
then the female retainer charged.

Trev’nor threw up a wall of stone instantly, blocking her
path, even as Becca and Nolan called out to her frantically, “Wait! This isn’t
an enemy!”

The female retainer stopped dead, not just because of the
wall, and peered suspiciously over it. “Not an enemy?”

“A Gardener,” Trev’nor explained steadily, belying the
wideness in his eyes. “She’s a Gardener.”

“A what?” Dunixan queried, head pulling back in confusion.

How to explain a Gardener in fifty words or less? “They are
ancient beings, a race entirely different from man, that are the caretakers of
this world. They oversee the land, healing damage done when needed, but also
influencing the right people to be in the right place at the right time. They
take no one’s side, as their ultimate goal is to maintain the balance of this
world.”

Becca felt like even that explanation was lacking, but she
really didn’t know what else to say that didn’t launch into a volume-length
essay. Her mouth was dry, heart hammering like wardrums, mind in such a whirl
of confusion that she wasn’t able to untangle it. The arrival of a Gardener
meant one of two things: either they were in the right place, doing the right
thing, or….

Or they weren’t.

The Gardener extended a hand, beckoning them to her.

Nervous and shaking, Becca, Trev’nor, and Nolan obeyed that
silent summons and walked forward. For all of their sakes, she hoped they would
be told they could stay in Khobunter.

If not, she might be the first person in history to ever
argue with a Gardener.