Keeping the Fire: The First Rule of Negotiation

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The Djaught Mehethe walked with her to a far corner of the Halls of the Pureblooded. They had spoken first in the center of those halls but clearly he wanted more privacy now that they were at the heart of the matter, now that he had revealed that he needed Luminary Polena's help. He took her down a windowless hall to small alcove that held a pair of chairs and a hooded lantern already lit for them. The chamber grew narrow here and small carven lofts set along the walls housed old books and bits of ancient curio. There had been two ministers in attendance in the courtyard, one old fat one and another young and hansom thought destined to become old and fat. They had accompanied them thus far but stopped about twenty paces away, Polena could not make out their speech and judged it not for her ears.

As she settled into her seat the Djaught produced a bottle of Maerapican plum wine and two small cups from a box of goods stored below the table.

“Since this Fortress is full of snakes and demons I thought I best to talk alone, should be talking of less official things. We have learned that it is best these past three months.”

“I thought you had arrived only last month?” Polena asked, thanking him for the offered cup.

“No. Only I arrived then. A group of my men and my ministers,” he gestured back down the hall, “they have been here three months, but we were presented when I arrived.”

“You wanted them to wait for you?”

“No, we had to wait for a taboo to pass. But you are here by my grace, so if I might be a monstrous host I would like to ask you questions,” Mehethe said, quickly adding, “Luminary.”

“I will answer them, if I can.” she replied inviting him with her informality to speak candidly. It seemed that Mehethe would not, or perhaps could not, leave behind the self depricating speech of nobles now that he was asking her help.

“This ignorant child needs to make his needs understood, so forgive the frankness. I need knowledge, the kind you have. I am a man of swords. I keep my rod close to hand and while I am not an embarrassment to my teachers, I am not their first-picked either. But you show me skill that I wish my own possessed. Yet, you of the Alliance have little need to help me, and I suppose little desire as well.”

“Why do you think I can help you though? Wait, that is the wrong question. How do you think I can help you? I have said words against your dream of their being a first poet. How could I be expected to change my mind?”

“By finding her,” Mehethe said, leaning closer. Finally there was the hint of passion in his voice, though it was the barest of hints. “The clay tablet that was presented to the king of the Fortress. It was produced in these lands, in the Dehali valley or north of it. The Delen people are the only ones who fire clay in the style, or so my ministers tell me. More over, it is held that this tablet was produced from clay taken from the earth of Djasho's tomb.”

“So there is a tomb then?” said Polena smiling.

“There is. We know it to be so.”

“In the Dehali valley?”

“That is what we do not know.” Polena smirked, but Mehenthe continued, “I am prepared to offer you something unprecedented. Access to the Royal Archives. In return I ask that you help us find this tomb.”

“And help you prove me wrong?”

“Or prove yourself right for all time,” replied Mehethe, “You are a diplomat, one sent to a place such as this awash in treachery. I am a soldier Luminary Polena, but I say that you people have as much a love of competition as any champion of mine does. You may fight with word, treaty, and intrigue in place of blade, wit, and footwork, but the passion is the same. I offer you a chance a competition, a duel, and chance to test your art and win or lose. Do I judge you wrong?”

Polena Considered. What he said was, in a way, true. While she was a scholar at heart, she did so because she wished to be right, because she wished to outwit and out perform others. This same drive caused to her pursue many other things one would not believe her to want, in position, in training, in love. In most cases, she triumphed because of her drive. In some she failed because of it. But this, a chance to have her name forever associated with final disproof of the legend of Djasho, this was a bait well picked. Still, she remembered the first thing she had been taught by her mentor when she learned the art of negotiation. Until you have your promise in hand, never say yes.

“You judge rightly Djaught Mehethe. Speak to me on the morrow, perhaps we could talk in the Archives themselves? Then I may have more of an answer for you.”

The Djaught agreed, and in so doing, stripped away every fear Polena had of him. He would not prove a worthy opponent.

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