I watched coolly. The suggestion surprised me. Balthazar's face also lit with surprise, but I had come to doubt any expression I saw there.

To slave a Tower… the notion hadn't entered my mind.

Ours was a long history of wars. Each city was nearly impossible to take because they possessed Order, which meant they could fire guns, cannons, while the attackers were limited to the low-Order weapons of catapult and arrow. It meant wars ground on and ended, by and large, in treaty. Cities had been taken, Towers stormed, but such events were rare in recorded history.

Of all the possible outcomes of a conflict, signing a treaty of Slaving was by far the most damning. A Slaved Tower gave over all control of its resources and operations to the Tower of the victor. Terms were set for the duration. For that duration, the Slaved Tower—and by extension its people—were less than vassals. They were puppets. The Master Tower could cut Order to the entire city, redirect their Flows, cut off their access to the Oracle.

The priests that controlled the Tower rarely had allegiance to the city they served. The Priesthood as a whole honored a collective agreement with all the Towers. They would tend to the Oracle, manage the mystic arts of controlling the Tower, and stand apart from the affairs of men. To take control of a Tower didn't require one to attack or subdue the priests. If a treaty was signed Slaving a Tower to another city, then the priests would see the order followed for the agreed duration. None others possessed their arts. Yes, priests had been held at sword or gunpoint and forced to breach those orders, but rarely. It was a losing proposition. Many priests would rather die than break their vows. And running a Tower at the point of a sword was a short-lived way to govern.

Balthazar said, "Is that why you came? To gain an assurance? Again, as I see it, the best way to make sure of that would be to join us. We face a terrible task in subduing that horde. Your forces would narrow the odds of defeat. We could secure the region together, wipe this disease from our territories."

Kestrel said, "You know we can't. Pyracon was right—if we move on the Green Men, we'll see our own cities burning from the inside out. I'm more than happy to sanction your actions. The scourge must be dealt with. But for all that, we can't submit to willingly watching you Slave another Tower."

Balthazar said, "It's not our intention to Slave the Tower."

Morningstar growled, "Saying that is not the same thing as saying you won't Slave the Tower."

Balthazar said, "I would have no problem making the assurance, but war is an unwieldy whore. I can't see the future or imagine the circumstances that would follow a treaty."

Kestrel said, "Please, Lord Supreme, you must see how seriously we take this. We are here in representation of more than half a dozen cities. Conflict breeds opportunity. You, my good man—and I mean this as the highest of compliments—are a famed opportunist. The thought of Tower Slaving…"

Balthazar finished for him, "Breeds imaginings of Empires. Yes, yes. We are not an aggressor here. This is a police action. This is an action for the security of the region. Slaving the Tower is not in our interest."

Morningstar hummed, "That's still not saying it…"

Balthazar said, "I owe you no such assurances."

Morningstar stepped closer. Balthazar was an amazingly imposing figure. He was naturally broad and strong for a man his age, and his presence, under normal circumstances, bloomed like an exploding sun, paling all other lights in its brilliance. But when Morningstar stepped closer, there was no getting around the sheer magnificence of him. This was a Griidlord who could shatter cities.

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Morningstar said, "I don't like beating around the bush. You need to give us a direct assurance now or there'll be more action taken than just yours."

Silence draped over us all like a suffocating cloud. I felt my own body grow tense. I sensed the tension turning my teammates and Balthazar stiff. Kestrel himself shifted, rigid, uncomfortable with the directness of Morningstar's words.

After a time, Balthazar wetted his lips with his tongue. He continued to return Morningstar's gaze, as though the stoniness of his own expression could armor him against the titan's power. "If you were to take action against us, it would vastly hinder our ability to prosecute a necessary police action against Buffalo. This is an action demanded by honor and justice. In the face of that, despite my insistence that I owe you no such commitment, I suppose I am compelled."

I felt myself relax. Still, I was surprised. Had Morningstar really forced Balthazar to back down? I supposed he had little choice. The combined forces of the other cities would devastate us. Even if the likes of Cleveland weren't nearly established enough to make a difference, the other cities combined would make short work of Boston's military. Hell, some of them could do it on their own. Indy boasted Morningstar—one of the greatest suits of our day. Indy also flaunted a collection of knights that were the envy of all.

Morningstar said, "Appreciate it. But we do need it more explicit than that, you understand. It'll take putting it in writing."

As we had gathered, peasants and farm workers had stopped their work, watching from distant fields as the meeting progressed. None came close enough to overhear the discussions, but I was aware of a disparate crowd forming in clusters. I kept an eye on them, if for no other reason than to occupy my face. Something tickled at my mind about something I had just scanned over.

Balthazar laughed. It was an unsettling sound. Sometimes I felt he was a robot who had learned to mimic human expression to a level of perfection that gave him total control over others. This laugh was a flaw in that notion. The sound was an odd barking—an imitation, a pale comparison.

"You want me to sign a treaty? That was the point of this adventure? Come now, gentlemen, we can't come to a written agreement standing in a field. That would take more substantial discussions, that would take time. Time is something, I'm sure you can imagine, that I don't have. What if I make a statement, to both of you? I, Lord Supreme of Boston, will not give an order to slave the Tower of Buffalo at the end of this conflict. The purpose of this conflict, if it proceeds, is not to slave a Tower or form an Empire. If we bring Buffalo to terms, ending the war, we will not force a Treaty of Slaving."

Morningstar watched him with furrowed brow and penetrating eyes. He was reading Balthazar's words with care, and I could see he was not happy. He opened his mouth to speak, but annoyance flashed as Kestrel spoke before him.

"Splendid! That is more than good enough for me. I never doubted you would extend us the courtesy and honor of assuaging our fears. Now! That matter attended to, I would visit with you more formally."

Balthazar shifted slightly. He made no show of it, but I knew he was more eager to see to his army than entertain the obligation of an honored guest.

My eyes drifted back to the crowd that was watching. They could have no idea of the gravity of the parlay. I saw again what had piqued me before. A slender figure stood near a stand of trees. A figure robed entirely in purple. These were not the robes of a peasant farmer. My heart skipped a beat.

Morningstar said, "We came this far. It would be a waste not to at least collect a train to move on with. You guys will have plenty of merchants crying out for a Footfield. I wasted the trip here—no need to waste the trip back."

Kestrel said, "My boy! There was no waste. We came seeking a wise engagement, and we found it. The region can rest easy with the assurance we've received today."

Morningstar said nothing. Balthazar said, "We'd be most happy to welcome you into the city."

He was far from most happy at all.

As the parlay ended and the tension lifted, the gathering began to drift back toward the main gates of the city. Despite the confrontation I was drawn to accompany them. Despite the harshness of our words, I wanted to speak with Morningstar. Enki could well be watching, and our opportunities to be candid would be rarer than feathers on a horse—but I had so much to signal to him.

However, my eyes drifted back to the purple-wrapped figure. As I watched, the figure moved toward the stand of trees. It was like they had seen my attention and were signaling their desire to meet with me.

At this distance, the only way they could see the direction of my eyes would be if they possessed SIGHT.

I smiled—truly, for the first time in two weeks. It wasn't happiness, but the prospect of refuge that brought the expression to me. I made my excuses and moved away.

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