‘My father would have liked to see this,’ said Forin. Tarantio could hear the fear in his voice, but the big man was controlling it well.
Karis moved forward. ‘Who is the leader here?’ she asked, her voice echoing strangely. A series of clicks sounded from the Daroth, then a warrior at the centre of the table rose.
‘I am what you humans would call the Duke Daroth,’ he said.
‘I am Karis.’
‘What is your purpose here?’
‘A delegation such as this is our way of showing our peaceful intentions. Let me introduce the councillor Pooris, who has a message from our Duke.’ Turning, she gestured Pooris forward. The little man took a nervous step towards the table and bowed low.
‘My Duke wishes it to be known that he welcomes the return of the Daroth people, and hopes that this new era will bring trade and prosperity to both our peoples. He
wishes to know if there is anything you desire from us, in the way of trade.’
‘We only desire that you die,’ said the Daroth. ‘We will not coexist. This is now a Daroth world. Only the Daroth will survive. But tell me more of the salt you offer.’
Karis watched as Pooris faltered, feeling sympathy for the little politician. The Daroth’s words were certainly not honey-coated, and left little room for further negotiation. ‘Might I ask, sir,’ said Pooris, ‘that you expand upon your decision? War is never without cost. And peace can bring riches and plenty.’
‘I have said what I have said,’ the Daroth told him. ‘Now I wish to hear of the salt you will send.’
Pooris stepped forward. His hands were no longer trembling. ‘The salt was offered in the spirit of peace. Why would we send it to an enemy?’
‘Trade,’ said the Daroth Duke, simply. ‘We understand that when you humans desire something that you cannot take by force, you trade for it. We will take the salt as trade.’
‘In return for what, sir?’ asked Pooris.
‘We have more than a hundred of your older humans. We have no use for them; we will trade them for their weight in salt.’
‘Do you have a man here named . . .’ Pooris swung to Karis and gave her a questioning look.
‘Barin,’ she said.
‘He is here,’ said the Daroth Duke. ‘He is important to you?’
‘His son is with us. That is how we know he was captured by you. We would like him returned.’
‘He is owned by one of my captains. He does not wish to trade him; he will, however, allow you to fight for him.’ The clicking sound came again from the gathered
group. Karis took it to be laughter. All her adult life Karis had been skilled in the reading of men. The skull-faced Daroth were not men, but even so she could sense their contempt for the human embassy. In that moment she realized that their chances of leaving alive were slender at best. Under normal circumstances Karis was a cautious leader, but sometimes, she knew, recklessness could carry the day. Calmly she stepped forward, laying her hand on the shoulder of the councillor and drawing him back.
‘We did not come here to kill Daroth,’ she said coolly. ‘But if necessary we will do this. How does one challenge your captain?’
‘You already have,’ said the Duke. ‘He says he will fight the largest of you – the red-bearded one.’
‘I choose who fights,’ said Karis, ‘and I will not use my strongest warrior. It would be beneath him to fight a single Daroth. Before this duel takes place, however, Lord Duke, what are the rules? When my chosen fighter has killed your captain, do we then have possession of the man Barin?’
‘If you kill my captain you own all his possessions, for he is pod-lost and cannot live again.’
‘And we will be allowed to leave the city?’
‘Why would we keep you here? We know all we need to know of your puny race. Your young ones are sweet and tender, your old ones stringy. Who will you choose to fight for the human?’
‘Where is the captain?’ she demanded.