Chapter one

Ructions in the peace conference

During the second week of the Peace Conference only forty-nine duels were fought, so the delegates realized they were making real progress.

The main sessions took place in a long-disused assembly chamber of the palace of Ruathytu and here day by day the benches filled with vociferous people all determined to have their say about the horrible fate to be meted out to defeated Hamal. The people divided by nation and race, and each faction felt convinced its own solution was not only the perfect one, but the one to be adopted by everyone else.

This led to differences of opinion.

“A gold deldy per person,” shouted a king from the Dawn Lands. In the overheated atmosphere, with the drapes drawn away from the long windows and still the air stifling, his face looked a bronze mask of sweat. He shook his fist. “Nothing less—”

“Less?” A king from a neighboring realm of the Dawn Lands sneered, white lace kerchief to face, not bothering to rise to speak. “Less? Make it two gold deldys.”

“Aye!” called a high-ranking noble, gold-bedecked. “Hamal has the gold. Hamal can pay!” Then, no doubt feeling that although no king he must maintain his dignity, he bellowed: “And make it three gold deldys!”

Stylors wrote busily at long tables positioned near the center of the open space between the ranked seating. They covered reams of paper with what was said, proposals and counterproposals. They recorded very few agreements.

Other delegates joined in the raising of the indemnity, and shouts of “four!” and “five” and “seven” brought the blood flushing to forehead and cheeks, brought a sparkle to eyes, brought feathers ruffling dangerously and fur sparking with static. The punishment rose until there was scarcely gold in all of Paz, let alone merely the empire of Hamal, to pay what would be demanded. Then someone raised the question of saddle flyers being taken in compensation, demanding their fair share of zhyans in preference to lesser birds. This caused fresh outbreaks of acrimony. Another delegate banged his sword on the floor and demanded full restitution plus damages for all the airboats his country had lost.

“Take all the fliers that Hamal has!” he cried. “And—”

“You would fly your own airboats home and claim they were lost!” challenged a puffy-faced king with hair noticeable by its absence, for it had been torn off by a wild animal seasons ago. “The Peace Conference demands a full accounting from you—”

“Aye! And from you, King Nodgen the Bald! We have sure proof you flew undamaged vollers back to your black-hearted kingdom and—”

The ensuing sword-flourishing and blade-whickering was dealt with by the marshals. On this day that task fell by rotation to four-armed Djangs, who had no trouble separating the combatants and escorting them back to their seats. Djangs, aside from being among the most superb fighting men of Kregen, are less in awe of kings and nobles not of Djanduin.

“You are not allowed to fight in the Peace Conference.” The Djang Hikdar in command o