In the days following, negotiations remain difficult. More than once, the whole process seems on the verge of collapse. The Yemenen stop short of accusing the Laosians of treachery and deceit, but the lack of trust on both sides is plain and more than once the kyria finds herself re-negotiating points that seemed settled, like the entire plan for a secret alliance. Days end early so that both sides can cool off. After the Laosians storm out of one session, Archon Skotonys observes with dry humor that "this will lend versimilitude to our cover story."
"If it is a cover story," the kyria responds, just as dry.
But after another fifteen days of diplomacy, the details of the secret alliance and the wording of the vow are finally settled.
The appearance of continuing negotiations are maintained for another two days after that, so that the vow can be timed to coincide with a Yemenen holy day. After the tensions of hammering out details, the atmosphere in the chamber of conversations in positively festive in those final days.
Even in the dark hours before dawn, this is the most colorful place Lauryn has seen since coming to Imvar Yskaj. The holy ceremonies for this day begin at the hour after noon, and the temple is empty now save for the Laosian delegation, four Yemenen leaders, their translator, and two Yemenen priests. The priests have a serene good humor to them, smiling as they go about their preparations. Neither the Laosians nor the other Yemenens share their ease.
One of the priests takes the arm of the translator and steers for Lauryn. "I greet you, Lady Sorceress," the Yemenen says, through the interpreter, offering a simple bow after the style of the Yemenos. "Need you any aid from us to prepare for your part? This need for secrecy prevents us all from having the assistants we might normally expect, so we must make do with our own hands."
"All should have been pre-arranged," Lauryn replies, aiming for obtuse and ominious. "I need few tools, save myself. The isityros care rarely for things." The young sorceress has already planned out her 'ceremony,' which actually didn't require that much planning to begin with. Her actions here are largely ceremonial, a show of force for both sides to enforce the contract. Actual vindication of breached contract by parties would be carried out by herself via the talismans she has requested, all by her own hand. She does not believe she has he spellcasting finesse to create a spell that can bind large groups of people for a length period, though she's decided she'll look in to that later.
"As you say, Lady Sorceress." The priest smiles at her. It's odd to see smiles that come so easily, after so long amoung the Laosians and in sober negotiations with the Yemenos. He turns back to his own work, conversing the sharp hard consonants of the Yememen tongue.
Lauryn feels like she should smile back, but finds the reflexive gesture foreign. Then, she realizes she never really smiled much anyway, so it's no great change. Instead, she merely nods her head a little. While she waits, she observes the chamber curiously. The young woman wouldn't put it past theri enemies to have spies or assassins somehow present, even with all their careful preperation. There are just too many unknowns for the sorceress, but she doesn't feel anything could have been done better. It's a tricky situation with many and scattered puzzle pieces -- they have made due with what they could.
The best place for spies to hide would be in the dug-out seating areas. With the temple dimly lit by flickering lantern flames, it's easy to imagine the shifting shadows on the cushions are in truth the breathing of a concealed enemy. The bright twinkle of the buttons on a seat might be the flash of knife.
Too many variables, Lauryn thinks again. She isn't as worried for herself as she is for the others; she would be mildly surprised if anyone attacked her at this point, for they would have to deal with the unknown of whatever curse they suspected her death might level against them. Archon Skotonys she knows can also handle himself, and why assassinate a trained soldier admidst fragile politicians? No, it's the kyria, her aids, and the Yemenos leaders she worries over. Unfortunately, there is little she can do directly -- unleashing isityros here might well destroy the compact faster than any assassin, and must be a last resort. It will fall to the guards to stop assassins. This makes her frown, relying on other people does not sit well with her.
The accoutrements of the priests are a coil of silky green cord, a little mesh bag, a small sickle of chitin, an ewer of wine, a delicately-crafted glass goblet, and a wooden basin of water. The priests spend another quarter hour fussing with these pieces, in a way which looks itself ritualized. The Laosian and Yemenos leaders alike remain nervous, with the Laosians watching the priests and the Yemenos watching Lauryn. At last, the felines seem to be done. "Do you wish to do your part before or after ours, Lady Sorceress?" the same priest asks her. They were introduced, although his name with its strange sounds is hard to remember. Kree-jest? Something likt that.
"Proceed as you like," Lauryn says, bowing slightly to try and seem accomidating. "The isityros are patient." That should make them wonder, Lauryn thinks. Lauryn has chosen to wear her full regalia for this event, meticulously cleaned by their camp followers after it had been so rudely dirtied by the attack and subsequent events. She stands with her hands folded, turning her head when inquired upon, but otherwise matching gaze with anyone who watches her too long.
Her look is enough to dissuade the Yemenos leaders from watching her too closely. The priests do not seem intimidated. "Thank you, lady," Kreejest says. "Then we will begin."
Their ceremony begins with the First of Yskaj. The glass goblet is filled with wine from the ewer, until it brims with a shimmering orange-gold liquid, like a bowl of sunshine. They hold it to the First's lips, and he swallows once of it. Then he speaks the oath, reciting it after the priests with the exact wording the two groups so painstakingly agreed upon.
With so much deliberation put into ensuring the meaning and obligations of each party were clearly spelled out, the oath is a largely graceless thing. It closes with, "For my honor, my gods, and my country, I do so swear. May retribution be visited upon me a thousandfold should I be forsworn!" The First declaims the words forcefully, with the air of one who means it.
As he closes, Kreejest lifts the small sickle, while his companion holds the mesh bag near the speaker's lips. Kreejest brings the sickle down between lips and bag, as if harvesting the words into the bag. "The gods witness your oath. Where you fail, they will not," the priest says.
The same process is repeated with each of the others, alternating between Yemenos and Laosian leaders. When they are done, the priests submerge the bag in the basin of water, and sprinkle the remaining droplets of wine over it. Then they look to Lauryn, and bow.
Lauryn inclines her head and steps forward. "The way of the isityros is not beauty and life, but sorrow and fear," her voiced raised to echo across the strangely shaped room, her gaze sweeping over all assembled before her. She withdraws her right hand from where it had been hidden in the sleeve of her left, and flicks her hand in an arcing, encompassing gesture. "Let fear of retribution then be your guide, let sorrow of broken promises and tragedy that will befall them be your guide. The gods are merciful --- the isityros are not. So it is, this oath of light and darkness." She returns her hand to her sleeve, and then shifts her gaze to the kyria. "Let those of the oath step forward. As the priests have begun with the First, so shall I begin with our chief representative, our resident kyria. Step forth." The only ritual item she actually needs is a small knife, in order to cut a but of hair or draw a bit of blood. The knife she took a bit of time to locate, finding a well-worn blade with a twisted
... damaged handle she felt looked particularly menacing, even if it was just fire and trampling damage suffered during the attack. She has the Archon restore and clean the blade, so that only the handle is truly dirty -- the blade shinies, though is still knocked, dented, and slightly bent.
The kyria steps forward. There's no hesitation in her movement, though her eyes do dart to the blade of the knife. The Third mutters something to the Second, but the Second makes no reply. He just watches.
Lauryn raises the knife, holding it in the palm of both hands to both make ceremony of it and to show she isn't about to stab someone with it. "As you have supped from the cup, taken in to yourself the words of this oath and the ceremony of the gods, so shall you now give of your chosing, to feed the memory of the isityros, that they might know of you, and so find you should your oath prove false." The knife is lowered and shifted to Lauryn's left hand, while her right hand extends in a open palm. "State your oath, and chose your sacrifice: hair, blood, fur -- so long as it is of your flesh it will be accepted."
So the kyria repeats the oath again, reciting it from memory this time -- after working on it so many days and hearing it repeated several times already today, it's no great surprise she's got it memorized. It's almost dawn now; this is going to take a while longer yet. When the kyria finishes, she bends her head and unbinds her hair. Without words, she offers Lauryn a lock to cut.
And so Lauryn cuts the lock,her hand snapping shut on the hairs after they have settled in her hand. "So be it. Your words and flesh are known, in return we enforce this oath." Refering to herself as party to the isityros seems appropriate to Lauryn in this context, for she is as their priest and representative, even as she is their master and victim. The hairs are soon deposited in a small, water-proofed sack she picked for its apparent durability, and then she nods. "May the First step forth." And so on it goes, each contributing as they chose. When blood is offered, Lauryn wipes it off her paw with a piece of cut linen, then drops that in the sack. After a while, her hand is a little messy. Appropriate, my hand is again dirtied, this time literally, she thinks, wrly.
Most of the sworn choose to give fur or hair; only the afentis and the Second offer up their palms for blood. After the last oath is sworn and the last lock of fur taken, the First exhales. He lifts one foot as if to step forward, then hesitates, looking to Lauryn to see if she's done.
Lauryn wipes the knife clean, then returns it to its sheath, with a bit of effort before it vanishes in to her sleave again. The sack is secured at her waist, tied off with strong cord. She then nods to the first to show she is finished, and steps back to let him take the fore.
With a sigh, the First claps his hands together and steps to the center. At the sound, the tension in the temple visibly eases, and the morning sunlight streaming through the roof seems brighter. "Let us repair to breakfast, my friends, one last time before our ruse is complete." The feigned "angry end" to their negotiations is scheduled for later that afternoon.
Ah breakfast, that I, too, can look forward too, thinks Lauryn. Being ominous and dark can make one hungry, she realizes. The hand and sack covered in blood dissuades her appetite not at all.
Breakfast is subdued; no one wants to look too happy when in a few hours they plan to feign fury with one another. Indifference and haughtiness come naturally to the Laosians; the Yemenos have to work harder at it.
After breakfast, more talks behind closed doors. This time everyone is just making sure they know their parts, both in the immediate and distant future. Finally, they're ready.
The kyria throws open the door to the conference chamber and storms out, her tail swishing with anger. Pilis follows, looking uncertain, and the archon looking expressionless and determined as always, with Lauryn beside him. The Yemenos trail after her, shouting. "Your people are impossible! Weeks we have spent on this, and now you will rescind terms settled?"
"Settled?!" The kyria's eyes flash in anger that might not be feigned; they didn't decide the exact words for the public argument, or the accusastions, having decided it would look more authentic improvised. "We settled nothing! Nothing! How dare you insult us so, you prodotis animals?"
Lauryn decides she needs to do little to encourage people to think she is displeased and potentially dangerous; most Yemenis simply assume so anyway. She merely meets any glare with her own gaze, and should anyone put a hand upon their weapon while they eye her, she simply slips a hand from her sleeve and shakes a finger, slowly.
"Us? Insult you? it is you who have eaten our food and partaken of our hospitality, when you will not be reasonable about even the simplest things! When you insult us at every turn with your arrogance and hostility!" The First is warming up to his part. "With your people who attack our defenseless farmers!"
Aside to Archon Skotonys, Lauryn whispers, "It is nice to see so much honesty. I have heard giving voice to one's nager is theraputic," in an amused tone. She has no doubt that much of this sentiment is actually real, given the culture and bargain-created differences between the parties.
"Our people? Attack? Is it not my diplomatic party which was decimated by Tememen hands? I cannot beleive I every considered your protestations the slightest bit plausible now!" the kyria retorts. And so it goes on, the two of them trading shots through the streets fo Imvar Yskaj as the diplomatic party makes for their places. It ends at the gates of the city, with the convoy hastily assembled and packed to leave, and Archon Ulifi unceremoniously thrown by Yemenos guards at the feet of the Laosian guards'mountains. Ulifi stumbles to his feet, perplexed and with his hands still bound. "What? What is happening?"
"We are leaving," the kyria informs him curtly. "Someone unbind him. Mount up, archon."
"And what an entertaining stay it was," Lauryn remarks with cold neutrality, feeling a bit of the spirit of things. She wonders if it is good for her that she has begun to enjoy watching people fight and bicker when it doesn't intrude on her plans, but cannot say for certain. Perhaps, the isityros are rubbing off on her. She cocks her head and considers that as she walks for her mount, proceeding right past Archon Ulifi without a second glance.
One of Laosian servants hurries forward to cut Ulifi's arms free and help him to a mount. He's obviously fared less well than the rest of the diplomatic party, after enjoying the hospitality of the Yememen jail. He is gaunt and his eyes water in the afternoon sunlight, unsteady on his drokar and his hands shaking as he clutches the reins. The convoy proceeds away at a stately pace, the heads of the group raised and -- except for Ulifi and Lauryn -- hidden behind helms, or inside of carriages.
"I think that went reasonably well," Lauryn asides in whisper to Archon Skotonys. "Of course, there is still time for an arrow in the back." She settles upon to mount and prepares for a long ride, thinking back on all that has happened. With lucj the Tyr will approve of her strategy, and her value will grow. If not, well, at least it has been an interesting trip.
The archon gives her a sidelong look, and then a glance in Ulifi's direction. Ulifi is riding on the far side of the convoy from them. "One cannot raise hopes high, when dealing with prodotis," he says with an air of agreement, and no apparent thought that he is saying it to one who is, herself, a prodotis.
"Oh, certainly," Lauryn agrees with an almost cheery air. She keeps her laughter to herself, simultainously amused the Archon seemingly forgot her origins or that he has accepted her so greatly they no longer matter.
Travel presses on well into the evening, with the kyria anxious to gets as much distance between them and Imvar Yskaj as is feasible. When they finally do break for the evening, she explains the situation in clipped tones to Ulifi. "Understand this, archon: I do not trust you. You are like a prodotis to me: unreliable, unpredictable, and rebellious. But the true prodotis have shown their colors, as one might expect them to, and there van be no peace with them. I am willing to consider that you were an unwitting pawn of theirs in an attempt to divide us. To consider it. Do not assume that I believe it, and even if that is the truth, it does not absolve you for your disobediance or your actions."
Nearby, Lauryn listens as she weighs the sack of hair and blood in her hand. The ritual collection is much more than a symbolic seal on a bargain, it represents what she think is a real connection to these people and a means to reach them more easily through magic. While she has no current plans to make use of this resource, she is never so sure of her future as to fully trust it, and so the sack makes an interesting option should she need it. An entire town's leaders might be brought low with what she holds in her hand, should that ever be necessary for her needs.