“This delegation would have to include seedfolk,” Pallas said.
“Naturally,” Galloran assented. “The delegation should arrive in six or seven weeks. You could start sending eagles to Mianamon for a response at that point.”
“It will not be easy for a delegation to reach the destination,” Pallas observed.
“The prophetess can only read the futures of those present,” Galloran stressed.
“I understand, but how do you propose they get there? The emperor will be watching our passes.”
“The emperor has unfinished business with me,” Galloran said. “You need to discuss the status of your treaty. We will journey to Felrook together on a diplomatic mission. That should prevent men from accusing me of coming here to hide. It will also help preserve the illusion that your people are willing to bargain with Maldor. Besides, my presence would only hinder the delegation to Mianamon, given the road they must travel.”
“And which road is that?” Pallas asked.
“There are other ways out of these Vales besides the passes,” Galloran said. “The details should be contemplated in private.”
“I’m amenable to this course of action,” Pallas said. “Our current strategy is founded on the proposition that an offensive would be ineffective. With our survival in the balance, we would be wise to verify that premise.”
“Do you need to add a member to the Conclave for the vote?” Galloran asked.
“Not if three or more agree,” Pallas said.
All four approved the proposal.
CHAPTER 20
THE DELEGATION
The following evening, Jason sat between Nedwin and Tark, using flatbread to scoop various mashed preparations from wooden bowls. Since the bowls were communal, everyone tore the dense bread to create one mouthful at a time. Each time he dipped the bread, a twinge of pain reminded Jason that his index finger remained bruised and swollen after a practice duel with Lodan earlier in the day. Tark seemed to eat without enthusiasm, but Nedwin gulped down food, as if the lungrot and his stay in the sicktent had never happened.
“You should try the purple stuff,” Jason suggested to Tark. “It’s sweet and nutty.”
Tark held up a hand. “Ever since the treatment, everything has a foul aftertaste. Even water.” He smacked his lips discontentedly. “It’s unfortunate.”
“I don’t mind it,” Nedwin said, shoveling a large bite of flatbread and orange mush into his mouth. “Twists the flavor a little.”
Tark grimaced. “It’s more like a glimpse of how the food would taste after it spoiled.”
Nedwin shrugged. “I’m not a reliable judge. Nothing has tasted quite right since Felrook—different shades of bland.”
“That’s too bad,” Corinne said. “The food is delicious.” She had a smudge of purple goo on the corner of her mouth.
“Renetta told me the aftertaste would fade after a week or so,” Tark added.
“I’m surprised how pleasant it is to sample dishes from my homeland again,” Drake said, motioning for Corinne to dab her lips. She did so with a blush. “For all the variety represented at Harthenham, we seldom got fare like this.”
“I’ll wager they fed you meat,” Aram grumbled, his voice deep now that the sun was down.
“From the common to the exotic,” Drake confirmed. “Have you ever tried ground sloth? Wonchut? Horned shark?”
“Don’t torture me,” Aram said. “At this point, I’d settle for chipmunk.”
“Speaking of the Eternal Feast,” Nedwin said, voice halting, eyes remote, “did you ever encounter Tristan, the former Earl of Geer?”
“I remember Tristan well,” Drake said, sharing a glance with Jason. Now that Jason thought about it, if Nedwin packed on about eighty pounds, he would look a lot like the husky nobleman who had tried to escape with them.
Nedwin bowed his head, drumming the fingers of one hand against his hairline. “Then the rumors were true. When I was held in Trensicourt, Copernum claimed that my brother had challenged him for the chancellorship and had lost. I sought him after my release, but heard he had accepted an invitation to Harthenham. I never imagined him surrendering.”
“He died helping us escape,” Jason said softly.
“What?” Nedwin asked, blinking.
“He came with us, but didn’t make it. He fell in battle.” Jason thought it best not to add that he had been savaged by a pack of fierce dogs.
Nedwin smiled and made a choked sound that was half sob, half laugh. He wiped his eyes. “He met his end bravely?”
“Helped save us all,” Drake confirmed. “He died with blood on his sword.”
“That’s a weight off me,” Nedwin said, eyes moist. “Tristan always valued his honor. He taught me the meaning of the word. I’m relieved that he regained some of it before the end. I’m glad I brought it up. I’d been afraid to ask.”
Jason found himself clenching his jaw to resist tears. He was thankful the tidings seemed to gladden Nedwin rather than depress him. Nedwin had suffered much more than his fair share.
Wiping her mouth with a napkin, Rachel stood. “Come on,” she said to Jason.
“What?” Jason asked.
“Galloran’s back,” she said. “He needs to speak to us.”
A door opened, and Farfalee entered. She, Galloran, and Dorsio had left earlier in the day to confer with Pallas and the other members of the Conclave. “Jason?” Farfalee summoned. “Rachel?”
Jason followed Farfalee and Rachel into an arched hallway.
“I’m thinking of a number,” Jason said.
“It doesn’t work that way,” Rachel sighed.
“Come on. It’s between one and five.”
“Two?”
“Pi.”
Rachel rolled her eyes. “I can only read minds close to my intelligence.”
“Oh. Like clams? Inchworms? Bread mold?”
“More like wizards, torivors, and supercomputers.”
Farfalee led them to a door and entered with them.
“I didn’t mean pie like you eat,” Jason explained. “I meant pi like the number.”
“I get it,” Rachel said. “I was calculating the area of circles in second grade.”
“I wasn’t,” Jason admitted. “I was playing with friends.”
Galloran cleared his throat. He sat on a mat behind a table, Dorsio at one side, a grim seedman on the other, his dark hair trimmed rather short except for the roll at the nape of his neck. They all wore robes somewhat dusty from recent travel.