Sweep in Peace (Innkeeper Chronicles Book 2) (28 page)

That explained why the two of them had hit it off. Put two empaths into the same room for a few hours, and sooner or later they would naturally try to reach out to each other in an effort to understand how the other person feels.

“When I look into his soul,” Ruga said, glancing back over his shoulder at Turan Adin, “I see conflict.”

“Desperation is a catalyst that forces us to act,” Odalon said. “It summons the last reserves we possess in an effort to extricate us from danger. This is why we are here at this summit. We are so desperate, we are willing to negotiate with our sworn enemy. It pushes us to limits we normally cannot reach.”

“Desperation is a fire,” Ruga added. “It burns bright but it must have a chimney, an outlet.”

“A chimney?” Odalon’s eyebrows crept up.

The shaman rolled his eyes. “Fine. Desperation, as exhibited by that creature, is basically a prolonged lower state of fight or flight response. Where the flight or fight shot of adrenaline is a reaction to the actual manifestation of danger, desperation is the result of a perceived future danger. It primes the organism, forcing it to actively seek an avenue of escape before the danger actually manifests, resulting in a complicated cascade of hormonal interactions. You get higher metabolic rate, an entire slew of glands functioning at a greater output, obsessive thoughts, and so on.”

I stopped and pinched myself.

“I know,” Odalon told me. “When I discovered he has an advanced degree in microbiology, it was quite a shock to me as well.”

“It’s not a healthy state of being,” Ruga continued. “You are not designed to function in a state of desperation for a prolonged period of time.”

“It’s a short-term metabolic burst,” Odalon added. “The body will seek to vent some of that built up potential. If you are under a great amount of stress, you might have a panic attack, for example.”

“Turan Adin is desperate, but he is also trapped,” Ruga said. “It rolls off of him. To go back to my early metaphor, if desperation is a fire, his fire is raging inside a stone bunker. I don’t know what is keeping him where he is, if he is indebted, if he is disciplined, if he feels he is there for the right cause, but whatever it is, it has created a deep-seated conflict within his psyche.”

“He won’t be able to sustain this kind of pressure,” Odalon said. “His body and his soul desperately want to escape, but his mind is keeping him put. He is tired. He’ll kill himself in six months.”

“I would go as far as eight, but yes,” Ruga said.

“It makes him incredibly dangerous,” Odalon said, “because he doesn’t care. He has no thought of self-preservation beyond the basic instincts of his body.”

“He will never take his own life. He will try to die in battle,” the shaman added. “And I do not want to be on the battlefield when he decides that it is his last day.”

“That’s horrible,” I said.

“War is horrible,” Odalon said. “It ruins people.”

“War on Nexus is especially horrible,” Ruga said.

“Why?” I asked.

“Modern war is, in an odd way, merciful,” Odalon said. “Our technology permits us to precison-bomb strategic targets. When casualties occur, they are typically swift.”

“Death from high density beam bombardment takes .3 seconds,” Ruga said. “It is a loss of life, irreversible and irreplaceable, but it is a death without suffering. Advanced weaponry doesn’t function correctly on Nexus. Orbital bombardment is out of the question, because something prevents accurate targeting. Trying to pound your enemy with artillery is pointless as well.”

“We’ve had weapons explode,” Odalon said. “There is a record of a concentrated artillery assault in the first year of the war. The projectiles disappeared and thirty minutes later materialized above the House that fired them.”

“I remembered reading about that.” Ruga smirked.

“It is an up close and personal war, fought with savage weapons,” Odalon said. “At first when you’re young and dumb and you hear about it, you think it will be glorious. That you will be like the hero of old, ripping through the ranks of your enemy. Then you find out what six hours of fighting with your sword is really like. The first hour, if you survive, is exciting. The scent of blood is intoxicating. The second hour, you are injured, but you keep going. The third hour you realize you’ve had your fill of blood. You want to be done. You want off the battlefield. In the fourth, you notice the faces of people you kill. You hear their screams as you hack off their limbs. It is no longer an abstract enemy. It is a living being that you are ripping apart. It is dying by your hand, right there, in front of you. In the fifth, you bleed and vomit, and still you push forward, punishing your body and soul. In the sixth, you collapse finally, grateful that you survived or simply numb. Everything smells like blood and the smell of it makes you ill. You’re hurting and you try to keep your eyes open, because if you close them, you might see the faces of those you killed, so you look upon the battlefield, and you realize that nothing was gained and, as the medic is patching you up, you must do this again tomorrow.”

It sounded like hell.

“That was good,” Ruga said.

“Thank you,” Odalon said.

“We’ve become hopelessly civilized,” Ruga said. “We are not suited for that kind of war. I don’t think our ancestors were even suited for it. They died much easier than we do, so a single long battle could decide the course of war. It takes a lot more damage to kill one of us now, so every evening all those who are still breathing end up in recuperative tanks, and a few days later, they are back out again. Endless battle. Endless war.”

“Endless suffering.” Now I understood why Arland’s face changed when he mentioned it.

“Yes,” Ruga said. “And now there is no hope for peace.”

“I wouldn’t say no hope,” Odalon said. “That is rather bleak.”

“Your people attacked the Merchants and my people attacked the Arbitrator.” Ruga sighed. “Mark my words: this is the beginning of the end.”

We were walking back from the landing field, when Turan Adin jumped off his balcony. He did it very casually, as if clearing the thirty foot drop was like stepping down the stairs. The vampire and the otrokar at my side went for their weapons.

“May I walk with you?” he asked me in his quiet, snarl-tinted voice.

“Of course.” I looked at the two clergymen. “Please excuse us.”

Odalon and Ruga hesitated for a long moment. “As you wish,” Odalon said finally. “We will go on ahead.”

They walked on. I waited until they were a short distance ahead and turned to Turan Adin. “Was there something specific you wanted to discuss?”

“No.”

Maybe he just wanted some company. “I was going to take a few minutes and sit in my favorite spot to collect myself. Would you like to join me?”

He nodded.

I led him to the left, past the apple trees to an old overgrown hedge. I made my way through a narrow gap and waited for him. A small pond sat in the horseshoe clearing bordered by the hedge. Lily pads floated on the surface, and two large koi, one orange, one white with red spots, gently moved through the shallow water. A small wooden bench waited by the pond. I sat on one end. He sat on the other.

We sat quietly and watched the koi.

“Did you make this?” he asked.

“Yes. When I was growing up, my job was to tend the gardens. It’s harder here, in Texas, because of the water restrictions, but the inn collects rainwater.”

“It’s nice,” he said.

“Thank you. I’m hoping to work on this more in the summer. Make it a little bigger. Maybe plant some flowers over there and put a hammock up so I can come here with my book and read…”

He jumped off the bench and left. One moment he was there, and the next I was alone. I felt him moving back to the inn, inhumanly fast. He had jumped up, scaled the wall, gotten up to his balcony and disappeared into his rooms.

What did I say?

I sat by myself for another minute or two. The serenity I was looking for refused to come.

The inn chimed. The otrokari were trying to get my attention from their quarters and something was happening in the stables.

I sighed, got up, and headed for the stables. Inside Nuan Sama, Nuan Cee’s niece, who had helped Hardwir to repair Officer Marais’ car, crouched by one of the donkey-camel beasts. Jack sat on the bench, watching her. At Nuan Cee’s request, I had given her clearance to come to the stables every day to tend to the animals. Usually either Jack or Gaston escorted her.

“What is it?” I asked her.

She brushed at her blue and cream fur with her paw. “Tan-tan is feeling poorly.”

The donkey-camel looked at her with big dark eyes.

“Is she sick?”

“No. She is just old.” Nuan Sama sighed. “This is her last trip, I think. I come and visit her when I can, but she is… Sometimes creatures just get old.”

“Is there anything I can do to make it easier on her?”

“Could you increase the oxygen in the stables?” Nuan Sama looked up at me.

I couldn’t fix anything else, but at the very least I could fix that. “Would twenty-three percent do?”

“That would be perfect. Thank you! It will let her breathe easier.”

“Done.” I made someone’s day better. Today wasn’t a complete loss.

The inn chimed again. The otrokari were really persistent. I called up a screen in the nearest wall. Dagorkun’s face filled it.

“The Khanum asks you to share her morning tea.”

I didn’t want to share tea. I didn’t want to play politics or be smart. I just wanted to go to the kitchen and get a cup of coffee. I would need backup. “Thank you. I will be right up.”

I waved at the screen, calling up the covered balcony where Caldenia liked to have her breakfast. Her Grace was in her favorite chair, impeccably dressed into a complicated cobalt hybrid of a dress and a kimono embroidered with gold and red flowers.

“Good morning, Your Grace. Would you mind accompanying me to Khanum’s morning tea?”

“Of course not. I will be right down.”

I dismissed the screen and went to meet Caldenia by the stairs.

***

The otrokari quarters were unusually quiet. A somber-faced Dagorkun led Caldenia and me to the balcony once again and stood behind his mother, who sat in her robe on the bright pillows. This time a flame burned in the circular fire pit sending up a cloud of spicy smoke. I recognized the scent – jeva grass. The otrokari burned it for good luck before a long journey. The Khanum stared into the flames, her eyebrows furrowed. She didn’t acknowledge Caldenia’s presence.

I took a seat on the circular couch. “Are you leaving?”

“Tomorrow evening,”

“Why?”

“The peace negotiations have failed.” The Khanum narrowed her eyes. “There can be no peace now.”

“I don’t understand,” I said gently. “What changed?”

“We were embarrassed and humiliated.”

So were the vampires, but pointing it out in quite those words wouldn’t be the best strategy. “The Holy Anocracy struck the first blow.”

The Khanum sighed. “Yes, but now we are both in a position of weakness. We are here.” She raised her hand, holding her palm parallel to the ground. “The Merchants are here.” She raised her other palm a few inches higher.

“The Merchants want peace. Without peace, there is no profit.”

“It’s not that simple.” Dagorkun said.

“We are a democracy,” the Khanum said. “The men and women who are here are all distinguished warriors. They are the best seeds of the crop and they lead specific factions within the Horde. Had the peace treaty been ratified, each otrokar would’ve added the weight and value of his or her reputation to it. It is their reputations and their honor that would’ve made our agreement binding. My people were given a simple order: to never initiate violence while they are under your roof. Ruah disobeyed it. It reflects badly on his commanding officer. On me.”

Dagorkun winced.

“I came here to negotiate and I was unable to control the people under my command. Because of this happening, we, as a delegation, are no longer united. A decision of peace, a decision of great gravity and significance, must be unanimously approved. And now, since my honor has been tarnished, I would need that unanimous vote more than ever. Without a united vote, the treaty will hold no weight with the rest of the Horde.”

A male otrokar approached us, carrying a platter with a pot of tea and four cups. He placed it on the table, inclined his head, and left. Dagorkun poured the dark red liquid into the cups. The Khanum watched him, her face impassive. She had wanted the peace treaty to succeed so much. My heart was breaking for her.

“Is there any hope for peace? Any at all?” I asked softly.

She shook her head.

“I don’t like debts,” the Khanum stated, her voice flat. “So before we go, I would ask that you name the price of our restitution for our transgression.”

I sipped my tea.

A puff of mist erupted from the floor of the balcony and within it for a briefest of moments I saw a faint outline of a body.

My muscles locked. My body turned hard, as if I suddenly became steel and I crashed on the floor. The air vanished. I struggled to inhale and couldn’t. My lungs sat in my chest like two boulders, unable to expand.