Traitor's Moon

him.
    â€œDoesn’t he?” the rhui’auros asked, turning to go. “How forgetful of me. Come tonight, Alec í Amasa. There is so much you must tell me.”
    Tell you?
thought Alec, but before he could question the man further the rhui’auros blurred before his eyes, disappearing like a design of colored sand in a strong wind.
    â€œWell, at least you can’t complain of not seeing magic,” said Artis. “Now what’s this about you killing a dyrmagnos?”
    Alec’s first thought was to find Seregil and tell him about the rhui’auros’s strange summons, but his drinking companions wouldn’t let him go without hearing the tale of the battle against Irtuk Beshar and Mardus. Struck by a sudden inspiration, he played heavily on Seregil’s role in the fight, reasoning that stories of the “Exile’s” heroism could only do Seregil good in reclaiming his place among his people. As he recounted his own part that day, however, the rhui’auros’s words kept coming back to him, making him wonder if there actually had been more than experience guiding his hand that day.
    Afternoon sunshine lit the eastern half of the Iia’sidra chamber and threw the other half into near darkness. When Alec slipped in, a member of the Khatme delegation was pacing the open floor at the center of the room, haranguing the assembly with an extensive list of the historic depredations of outlanders.
    Many in the audience were nodding approval. Just visible behind Klia, Thero appeared angry, Seregil bored and tired. Braknil and his honor guard loomed behind them, faces duty-blank. Wending his way through the minor clans, Alec took a seat beside Seregil.
    â€œAh, you’ve come at the most interesting part,” his friend murmured, stifling a yawn.
    â€œHow much longer will you be?”
    â€œNot long. Everyone’s out of sorts today; I think most of them are ready for a jug of rassos. I know I am.”
    Torsin turned and shot them a pointed look. Seregil covered a smirk with his hand and sank a bit lower in his chair. With his other, he signed for Alec to stay.
    The Khatme finished at last, and Klia stood to reply. Alec couldn’t see her face, but from the set of her shoulders he guessed she’d had enough, too.
    â€œHonored Khatme, you speak well and clearly of Aurënen’s concerns,” she began. “You speak of raiders, and those who have betrayed the laws of hospitality, yet in all these tales, I hear no mention of Skala. I don’t doubt that you have good reason to fear some foreigners, but why should you fear us? Skala has never attacked Aurënen. Instead, we have traded in good faith, traveled your land in good faith, and respected the Edict of Separation in good faith, although we believe it is unjust. Many here do not hesitate to remind me of the murder of Corruth; is that because it is the only transgression you can throw up at us?”
    â€œYou demand access to our northern coast, our port, our iron mines,” a Haman declared. “If we let you bring miners and smiths to make settlements, how then can we expect them to leave when your need is gone?”
    â€œWhy do you think they will not?” Klia countered. “I have seen Gedre. I have ridden through the cold, barren mountains where the mines are. With all due respect, perhaps you ought to visit my land. Perhaps then you would understand that we have no desire for yours, only the iron to fight our war and save our own.”
    This response gained her a ripple of applause and a few poorly muffled laughs among her supporters. But Klia remained stern.
    â€œI have listened to Ilbis í Tarien of Khatme recite the history of your people. Nowhere in that history did I hear of Skala acting as aggressor toward your land, or any other. Like you, we understand what it is to have
enough
. Through husbandry and trade and the blessings of the Four, we have never needed to take what was not freely offered. The same can be said of the Mycenians, who even now sway, driven to their knees by the onslaught of Plenimar. We fight to repel the aggressor, not to conquer. The previous Overlord of Plenimar was content within his own borders for many years. It is his son who has renewed the old conflict. Must I, youngest daughterof a Tírfaie queen, remind the Aurënfaie of their heroic role in the first Great War when we fought as one?
    â€œMy throat grows sore from