“We require further assurances,” said Lord Rajus Traldia, looking his visitor straight in the eye. “You cannot expect us to just take your word on such an important matter.”

     They were in the main conference room of Lord Rajus’s mansion. The two nobleman were sitting at opposite ends of the long mahogany table, each with half a dozen of their own guardsmen standing beside them, eyeing their counterparts with wary suspicion. They both had a carafe of water and a small glass on the table in front of them, untouched. There were more soldiers waiting in the corridor outside and still more in the forecourt outside the mansion. All the fighting men the Traldians had left, but only a small portion of the Konnen army. The rest of the Konnen army had retreated to their own territory as part of the armistice agreement.

     “Further assurances!” thundered Lord Basil furiously, sitting forward in his chair, his palms pressed firmly to the polished and varnished wood of the desk. “What further assurances? We have already given in to all your demands! What more do you want?”

     “We want to be sure that you won’t just run back to Tharia with all the city’s treasures the moment we give you the key,” replied Lord Rajus as calmly and reasonably as he could. His chair creaked as he leaned back in it, his fingers steepled where his hands were together in front of him. “You have all the advantages. A victorious army, the Necklaces of Vacuum Breathing and the wizards. All we have is the key. If we just hand it over, we’ll have nothing.”

     “We have already agreed that a joint team of Konnens and Traldians will take the key to the teleportation chamber,” said Lord Basil, his teeth gritted in rage and humiliation.

     “Do you take us for fools? You could be hiding half your army in the observatory even as we speak. Our men would be massacred and you’d just take the key.”

     “So what do you want?” demanded Lord Basil.

     Lord Rajus leaned forward and fixed the other man with his eyes, trying to give the impression that he was enjoying himself. The past few weeks in which the Konnen army, with the help of the wizards, had pushed the Traldians back foot by relentless foot, had been harrowing for him and recent developments hadn't improved his mental state. He felt that he was holding a tiger by the tail and that if he couldn't hold on it would devour him. Part of that holding on was to appear confident, to appear to be enjoying the other man's discomfiture, and so he smiled widely as he said his next words slowly and precisely. “We want your son as hostage.”

     “What!” exploded Lord Basil, jumping to his feet and sending his chair flying. His men started forward, their hands going to their weapons and the Traldians soldiers did the same. Lord Rajus waved his men back, though. They did so, but reluctantly, their eyes still fixed on their counterparts. Lord Basil advanced around the table, though, his men following, until he was standing right next to the other nobleman.

     Lord Rajus remained seated and tried to appear unperturbed. “We want you to hand your son over to us. He’ll be well treated and...”

     He ended with a gargle as Lord Basil grabbed him by the throat and pulled him to his feet. The Traldian guards rushed forward, raising their weapons, and the Konnens arrayed themselves to meet them. Weapons were drawn.

     Lord Rajus resisted the impulse to grapple with the other nobleman. The pain was intense and he couldn’t breathe, but he still managed to raise his hand again, the signal for his men to stand down.

     “Lord Basil!” said Denison, Lord Rajus’s chief counsellor, starting forward in alarm. “If you kill his Lordship you will never get the key. You will be trapped up here along with the rest of us for the rest of your life.”

     Lord Basil glared at the counsellor, then looked back down at the other nobleman whose face was turning red. He snarled at him in impotent fury for a moment longer, then threw him across the room before storming out. His soldiers remained for a moment, their hands still on their weapons, before turning and following their Lord out of the room.

     Lord Rajus massaged his throat as he watched them go, trembling with relief. “Thought for a moment he was really going to kill me,” he managed to croak.

     Denison wrung his hands in anguish as the Traldian soldiers also left, leaving the two men alone in the room. “The risk you’re taking, My Lord…”

     “What choice do I have? We have no choice but to carry on as we have been. We are committed.”

     “Have you heard from General Patroclus?”

     “No,” replied Lord Rajus unhappily. "Nothing for a week now. That still doesn’t mean anything, though. The last few times he contacted me we could barely hear each other. We thought it was all the rock between us interfering with the spell, but perhaps it was the coronet itself that was failing. After all, it is almost a thousand years old. At least we know the Konnens haven't found him. Lord Basil would hardly be this upset if his men had found the key for him.”

     Denison nodded, but he still looked unhappy. “But there are so many other things that mighty have happened. He was attacked by cons once, his force reduced by half. He might have encountered more cons, a hostile settlement of renegades...”

     “No,” replied Lord Rajus emphatically. “I don’t even want to think about it. He’ll get in touch somehow. I know he will.”

     “He’d better,” said the advisor. “We can’t go on making ever more outrageous demands. Lord Basil already suspects we’re bluffing about having the key. If we go on stalling for much longer, they’ll be certain of it and that’ll be the end of us.”

     “He’ll get in touch!” repeated Lord Rajus impatiently, but he recognised the look in the other man's eyes that told him that he could see his fear. The nobleman swept out of the room, leaving Denison on his own, but his final words echoed back to him. “He has to.”

     The counsellor shook his head doubtfully. He was already making plans to take his family into the caverns. If the renegades could be persuaded to take them in, maybe they’d have a chance, but if he stayed here it was only a matter of time before Lord Basil lost patience and sent his men in to massacre them all. Massacre them, or worse! The stories that were whispered about what they did to their captives…

     “I’m sorry, my Lord,” he muttered to himself, “but we’re finished, and if you can’t see that, then you’re a bigger fool than I thought.”

☆☆☆

     “My son!” roared Lord Basil as he stormed into his own conference room back in his own mansion. General Sejanus and Silus Vart, his own advisor, stared at him curiously. “They want my son as hostage,” explained the nobleman, barely able to contain his fury. He picked up a chair and threw it across the room, smashing it against the wall. “My son!”

     “Will you do it?” asked Vart, who then backed away fearfully as Lord Basil spun around to face him, his face crimson and his white knuckled hands clenching at empty air.

     “Never!” he roared, spittle flying halfway across the room. “Never! What? Dress my own son in white and tie his hands with the ceremonial hostage cord? Konnen wrists bound with silk? My own son? Never! Never! Never!”

     He’s foaming at the mouth, observed Sejanus with mild amusement. You hear about it in stories, but I’ve never actually seen it before. He might almost be rabid. “You may not have to,” he said calmly.

     “What?” exclaimed the nobleman, rounding on him.

     “You may not have to,” repeated the General. “I’ve had a very interesting report from a patrol out in the caverns.”

     Lord Basil stared in desperate hope. “This had better be good, Sejanus,” he warned.

     “I believe you will find it so,” replied the General. “You remember Rakkus, the head guard? He led a patrol out into the caverns to catch the Tharians and get your ring back.”

     “That’s the least of my worries at the moment,” said the nobleman, running a trembling hand through his hair.

     “They found the Tharians,” continued Sejanus, unperturbed. “They engaged them, but were betrayed by one of their own men. A young man known as Andricus Fulcinus Optatus. You don’t know him. Only three of our men escaped to bring news of his treachery back to us.”

     “So?” demanded Lord Basil impatiently. “Round up his family, execute one of them and throw the rest in the dungeons. You know the routine.”

     “Yes, my Lord,” replied Sejanus. “I bring it up now because of something else they told us. Apparently, shortly before they found the Tharians, Rakkus’s patrol came across a Traldian patrol roaming the caverns…”

     “Patroclus!” exclaimed Lord Basil in desperate hope. “Tell me those three men brought the key back with them!”

     “I wish I could, My Lord. The Traldians were indeed carrying an object that I believe was the key. A cylinder of bison horn decorated with platinum and jewels.”

     “And where is it now? Why didn't they bring it back the moment they found it?”

     “If you remember, My Lord, Rakkus set out before we learned that Lord Rajus had sent the key into the caverns. He had no way of knowing what it was or that we needed it.”

     “So where is it?” demanded the nobleman eagerly. “Tell me where it is!”

     “Probably still on Rakkus’s body,” replied the General. “I’ve already taken the liberty of ordering a patrol out to bring it back. If they fail to find it, however, then we’ll have to assume that the Tharians have it.”

     “Why would they take it?” asked Vart. “It would mean nothing to them. They’d have no way of knowing what it was.”

     “They might take it without caring what it was,” suggested Sejanus. “Don’t forget that they come from a world on which some stones and metals are rare and valuable. They might crave it simply because of what it’s made of.”

     “And I’m not so sure they wouldn’t know what it was,” added Lord Basil. “They came here by means of the teleportation cubicle, don’t forget, and failed to go back through it, so the key will be much on their minds. Also, three of them are wizards, trained in the use of magical artifacts. They may have means of discovering its purpose.” He slammed his fists on the table. “Damnation! Were they sent here by the demons of Hell to plague me?”

     “Assuming they have the key and know what it is,” mused the General, rubbing his chin, “What will they do with it?”

     “Come back here, of course,” said Vart immediately. “They want to go home, back to Tharia. To do that they have to get to the observatory, and that means going through the city. They may be in the city already.”

     “The Necklaces of Vacuum Breathing!” exclaimed Lord Basil. “They’ll want to steal the necklaces back. I want them moved to secure storage immediately. Anyone carrying a necklace is to have an escort of twelve men during their journey from the mansion to the airlocks and back again. I want the airlocks guarded as well. Anyone found loitering near them is to be arrested and brought in for questioning. I want their descriptions posted on every street corner. Rewards of extra food rations for anyone whose information leads to their capture. Public executions for anyone who harbours them. I want every house searched. Start in Hewlak sector and work your way around. The Traldian sectors as well as our own. The whole city is Konnen now. I want them! I want them found!”

     “Just a suggestion,” said Vart hesitantly, “but why not just let them go? Once the door’s open, a word of command is needed to lock it again, and they don’t know the word. Once they’ve gone, we can just follow them back to Tharia.”

     “And what if they do know the word?” demanded Lord Basil, amazed at his advisor’s stupidity. “They’ve got my Ring of ESP! They could have read the word right out of my head! They might go back to Tharia and lock us all up here forever. Are you prepared to take that chance? Besides, I still want my ring back, and their heads on a pole. Now go and carry out my orders.”

     “What about Rajus?” asked Sejanus.

     Lord Basil smiled. A nasty, evil smile. “Oh yes, I forgot about him. Have him stripped and tortured to death in his own forecourt. Teach him to ask for my son as a hostage. He has a daughter, doesn’t he?”

     “I believe so, my Lord,” replied the General. “Sixteen years old and quite pretty, or so I’ve been told.”

     “Have her sent to my room,” said the nobleman. “And then we’ll marry her to young Drusus. Unite the two Noble families and the two halves of the city at the same time.” He clapped his hands and rubbed them together in pleasure and relief. “Good. Good. Things are working out very well indeed.”