Dream of a Vast Blue Cavern

Chapter 17: In the Heart of Chraun: Medoc

 Medoc sat on the throne, enjoying the heat from the Lava River behind him. Bolv sat on a cushioned stool to the right of the throne, surrounded by members of the ten most powerful Noble houses in Chraun and an entourage of Semija from the recent captives. They were almost comical in their attempts to act like true Semija. There were certain concepts they simply couldn't grasp, like anticipating a Flame’s needs before they were spoken. They were practically useless, but Bolv had suggested that their presence might assist Chraun’s position in the negotiation with the Icers. Medoc didn’t think they’d have much effect, but he was learning to give way on small matters.

 That, and occupying the Kinyara with small tasks, kept her mostly out of Medoc’s way. Mostly. As soon as Medoc had secured Chraun, she’d had the audacity to order his troops back to the Outer Tunnels, sweeping up hundreds of Semija and killing thousands more. Too late, Medoc had pulled them back and sent his message to the Regent. If he hadn’t, they would have killed what remained of the Icers, and the waters of Chraun would never be cleaned.

 A knock sounded on the portcullis, and Medoc nodded at the guards by the door. They peeked out the spy slot, then raised the portcullis with a raspy scrape. Medoc sat up straighter, the Nobles quieted, and Bolv stopped fussing with her Semija. The Icer stood in the doorway, silhouetted by the brighter lights in the hall. All he could see of her was dark curves, the roundness of her cheeks and hips. She did not enter, but stood staring into the throne room.

 Medoc grew impatient. How dare she make him wait? Was she making a point? He would not be meeting with her at all, except that the baths were still full of Fireblood; the Solph river was still clogged with bodies. Other things were coming through as well, a kind of sediment that made the people sick when they drank it. Flames could heal it away, but many of the Semija were ill.

 The pretty, dark Icer took a few steps into the room and stopped, staring at Medoc with unreadable eyes. Her Icer armor was soggy and stained with rust and dirt. Her hair was combed and neat, bangs nearly obscuring her dark eyes. Her skin glistened moistly in the torchlight. Her eyes flickered to Bolv and the Nobles and then back to Medoc. She should be frightened and vulnerable, a lone Icer in a den of Flames, but she looked confident, like a young warrior hot for battle. Medoc suddenly felt foolish, surrounded by all these guards, as if he needed protection from her. Then he felt angry for being made to look a fool.

 “I told you to bring an honor guard,” he said, knowing he was starting on a weak foot. Bolv's disapproval bored into his back. “Why have you come alone?”

 “We haven't any honor guard to spare, I am afraid.”

 Her voice was musical. It sent a strange sensation up Medoc's spine. He thought of Stasia, and her Flame mother and Icer father. He cursed himself. He should have let Bolv speak for him. Now he would have to continue to negotiate.

 “Since the last parley was broken by Chraun, we decided to risk only one life on your word.”

 An honest answer, and logical. It irritated Medoc even more. He was tempted to tell off a few of his guards, but it was too late for that. He saw that the Icer's eyes had strayed beyond him, turned and saw her looking at a large male Semija with dusty hair. He pounced on that weakness.

 “Would you like your Semija back? If you agree to my terms, I may let a few go with you.”

 “I'm afraid that just won't do.” The roar of the Lava River made all petitioners project their voices, and often the result was an uncomfortable, desperate-sounding shout. The Icer did not sound desperate at all but strong, as if she was accustomed to speaking with authority. “Why take a few of our people back when we have no assurance that we won't all simply be killed or enslaved? I know you want something from us, Fire King. I will give you what you want, but only if you agree to our terms. A peace treaty that ensures our safety. The return of all of our people, including our Queen. Complete independence from Chraun. Cababar for eating and breeding, and enough fungal spore to repopulate our fields. Otherwise, we might as well just keep fighting till we die. In fact, I have instructed my people to do just that if I do not return with this treaty. I am sure they will not be much use to you dead.”

 Just like that, she had laid it all out. Medoc had expected more subtlety, more back and forth. This for that. “You do not even know what we want.”

 “They need Fireblood cleaned from the lake! It has cont—”

 Medoc turned, furious. One of Bolv's Semija had spoken. He lay on the floor now, writhing and screaming, deep red burns appearing all over his huge body. Bolv would kill him in another instant.

 “Make her stop!” The Icer’s voice, raised in a shout, drew Medoc’s attention back. Her pretty lips were trembling, her eyes bulging in sympathetic pain. “Don't let her kill him! If you kill him, I will kill myself here and now! You will never get what you need from us.”

 “Bolv, stop.” Medoc did not turn to see if his command was followed. The heat dissipated and he heard the screams cut off. The Icer rushed past Medoc, startling the guards, and managed to get all the way to the side of the large Semija. Medoc's guards hurried after her, but he waved them away. He stood and turned, watching the Icer cradle the burned Semija's head to her chest, sobbing.

 “Heal him,” Medoc commanded Bolv.

 She was not happy to do it, but she could not disobey his orders in public. The human looked to be in as much pain from the healing as from the punishment, but when it was done he could sit up. The Icer helped him, glaring at Medoc. “You are horrible people. You are all horrible. We should refuse to clean the lake and let you all die of your own poison. You should all die for what you have done.” She started sobbing again. The Semija was comforting her now.

  Medoc wished he could tell her that he was not horrible. He wished he could tell her that he never wanted to destroy her home, that it was Dynat, not he who had ordered the surrendered Icers killed. That in the end, he had tried to redeem himself by freeing the Icer Queen. That this too had gone awry, because he had to protect his position for the stability of Chraun. He could not say what he wanted to say in front of Bolv and the Nobles.

 He could draw this out, play from a position of power, try to bully them into taking less for more. But he hadn't the heart for it. He thought of the bodies in the Solph. A vision swept through his mind, of the restless ghosts of all the Icers killed in the war, wandering among the baths, reaching long, ghostly fingers down the tunnel to where he slept in Dynat's old quarters.

 “Yes,” Medoc said. Bolv stared at him as if he was a pitviper. “We agree to your terms. You will take all of your Semija, you will get five hundred pair of breeding cababar, and fifty sacks of spore. Not the Queen. I don't have her; she escaped, and if she has not found her way back to you that is her problem, not mine. But hear me. If the lake is not clean by the time the slinks come down to breed, you will pay dearly. I will take what Dynat began and finish it. No Icer or Semija of ice will remain alive in Sholaen. This I swear, by the Fire Spirit.”

 The pretty Icer's sobs began to calm and she wiped away tears. “As you say, Fire King. By the Ancestors, speaking as Regent of Iskalon, I so agree.”