I looked around me. There were simply too many differences between us, I decided. How could the Six Duchies ever make a peace with the Out Islands when our customs varied so widely? Yet, tradition had it that the Farseer line had its roots in the Out Islands, that Taker, the first Farseer monarch, had begun his life as an Out Island raider who had seen the log fortress that Buckkeep once was and decided to make it his own. Our lines and our ways had diverged far since those days. Peace and prosperity depended on our finding some common ground.
The likelihood of that did not seem great.
I lifted my eyes to find the Prince's gaze fixed on me. I had not wanted to distract him before. Now I sent him a reassuring thought. Thick is resting in his chamber upstairs. He ate and drank before he went to sleep.
I wish I could be doing the same. They did not give me so much as a chance to wash my face before they convened the Hetgurd. And now it shows no sign of ending.
Patience, my prince. They'll end this eventually. Even Outislanders must eat, drink, and sleep sometime.
Do they piss, do you think? That's starting to be a very immediate concern to me. I've thought of excusing myself quietly, but don't know how it would be interpreted if I stood and walked out now.
The hair stood up on the back of my neck as I felt a fumbling Skill-touch. Thick?
It was Chade. I saw Dutiful start to reach out his hand, to touch Chade and add his strength to the old man's. I stopped him. No. Don't. Let him try it on his own. Chade, can you hear us?
Barely.
Thick is asleep upstairs. He ate and drank before he fell asleep.
Good. I sensed the effort he put into that brief reply. Nonetheless, I was grinning. He was doing it.
Stop. Silly grin, he scolded me. He looked around the room gravely. Bad situation. Need time to think. Need to stop this before it goes too far without us.
I made my face solemn. The expression was far more in keeping with that of those around me. Arkon Bloodblade was surrendering the speaking circle to a man who wore an Eagle badge. They paused to clasp wrists in a warrior's greeting before the Eagle entered the circle. The Eagle Kaempra was an old man, possibly the oldest man in the assembly. Gray and white streaked his thinning hair, yet he still moved like a warrior. He stared around at us accusingly, and then spoke abruptly, the ends of his words softened by his missing teeth.
“Doubtless a man must do what he has said he will do. It wastes our day to even discuss that. And men must honor their kinship bonds. If this foreign prince came here and said, ‘I have promised a woman that I would kill Orig of the Eagle Clan,' all of you would say, ‘Then you must try, if you have promised to do it.' But we would also say, ‘But know that some of us have kinship bonds with Orig. And we will kill you before we let you do this thing.' And we would expect the Prince to accept that as obviously correct, also.” His slow gaze traveled the assembly disdainfully. “I smell merchants and traders here, who used to be warriors and honorable men. Shall we sniff after Six Duchies goods like a dog groveling after a bitch? Will you trade your own kin for brandy and summer apples and red wheat? Not this Eagle.”
He gave a snort of contempt for all who thought there was any need of more discussion. He left the circle and crabbed back to his seat amongst his warriors. A silence fell as we all pondered his words. Some exchanged glances; I sensed the old man had cut close to the bone. There were many here uneasy at the thought of letting the Prince kill their dragon, but they were also hungry for peace and trade. War with the Six Duchies had cut them off from all trade from points south of us. Now the Chalcedean quarrel with the Bingtown Traders was throttling that route. If they did not gain free trade with the Six Duchies, they would have to forgo all goods and luxuries that warmer countries could provide for them. It was not a thought to relish. Yet no one there could oppose the Eagle's stance without taking the name of greedy trader to himself.
We have to end this somehow. Now, before anyone adds their spoken approval to his words. Chade's thin Skilling sounded desperate.
No one else stepped forward into the speaking circle. No one had a solution to offer. The longer the silence stretched, the more charged the room became. I knew Chade was right. We needed time to think of a diplomatic solution to our position. And if there wasn't one, we still needed time to discover how many of the Outislander clans would actively oppose us and how many would simply disapprove. Given the disapproval of the other clans, would the Narcheska persist in her challenge to Dutiful or would she withdraw it? Could she honorably recall it? Here we were, not even a full day on this island's soil and already we seemed on the verge of confrontation.