Web of Words
Fourth Day of the Fourth Month 293 AC
"In a sense, yes," you reply, keeping your tone light, perhaps deceptively so, for all you have every intention of speaking honestly. "In our last meeting, you'd said that there is little to gain for either of us if we fight against each other and I still agree. However, Wisdom, we both know that those such as us will not be content to be peers in the new order."
Zherys does not seem even mildly perturbed by the thinly veiled threat. If eyes are the windows of the soul then his are shuttered closed, by gesture or expression, giving not the slightest hint of any emotion beyond the polite interest he had greeted you with. "
The new order you say?" he asks, emphasis light as a feather yet still obvious to your ear. "Shall there then be one order from Ib to Sothoryos, from the Sunset Lands to Asshai? That seems a mighty task even for one who would don a dragon's skin."
"And is this not the age for mighty deeds?" you ask, speaking each word with care and passion both. "The foes from without are many and terrible. Daemons lurking in Tyrosh, Demons called in Volantis, gods trying to make of us their adoring puppets, and invaders from beyond all realms of sense and reason seeking to enslave all life. Mankind needs to stand united, lest it spend its strength against itself and perish for its folly."
You spot the smallest twitch of surprise in his cheek as you mention the demon callers he aims to use in order to strengthen his grip on the city in the same breath as a myriad other threats as though your knowledge of the upcoming confrontation is the most ordinary thing in the world, yet he is quick with the riposte: "Did you make the Sealord the same offer when you spoke to him but weeks ago?"
It seems the Sealord's wards are not as safe as you might have assumed, you should have known, you
had known, though you might have hopped otherwise. Many would compare the game of thrones to cyvasse, but to you it feels more and more like a game of cards were the players may freely glance into each others' hands and you are weary of it.
Zherys catches your look and smiles, as genial as ever: "Your banner does not yet fly over Braavos, and little wonder for it is one thing to reach a prize and another to grasp it. Dragons alone did not raise Valyria, they did not build its roads, nor rather its taxes." He pauses briefly then echoes his words from a few moments ago in a far more solemn manner. "I admire your restraint, Excellence. The time is not yet come when one to the other must kneel least history be writ in blood."
"It has been my experience, that if one is to leave a settlement until the last moment when blades lay to hand on either side, then it becomes almost inevitable that they shall be," Malarys interjects dryly. "So likely thought Garin the Great seeing a handful of dragons in the sky and knowing his sorcerers had the power to cast them down: 'Why let such a finely-crafted plan go to waste?'"
A heavy silence falls in the wake of his words, though it still feels more thoughtful than hostile. "Let us then not tumble into the pitfalls that history so clearly illuminates," Zherys says at last. "Let our alliance be close twin flames against the dark, each giving aid to the other in good faith against the enemy of all, not only trade, but sorcerers to help root out corruption, information that we may know our foes. When the time comes to settle matters it that trust will serve us all in good stead."
"What do you know, then?" Truth be told you had almost forgotten Teana, sitting still and quiet as a shadow throughout the discussion, and from the looks of things so had the magister himself. "We cannot very well conjure an army of fiends for you to prove your steadfastness in battle, but information can be judged and measured."
"The far-traveling lions of the western lands have been ill-treated one too many times by the Undying Ones of Qarth. They mean to storm the Palace of Dusk with fire and spell, with aid of conjured spirits and claim its secrets for their own," the Volantine sorcerer replies, and for an instant you could all but forget his presence as thoughts fly through your mind, weighing the options in a flurry. Truth or lie, there could be dozen reasons behind his words, no there are a dozen reasons the simplest of which is to pit to rivals against one another.
Whatever the case you cannot linger upon this now. Perhaps if you revealed some hint of your own doings in the Westerlands.
No... too obvious of a deflection. You instinctively glance around the room for an answer until it passes over Maelor lounging seemingly without a care upon the divan, though you know the seemingly bored gaze hides a keen attention. You make the smallest gestures with with your left hand, barely even a twitch in the fingers, a thieves' cant you taught him months ago alongside magic when he insisted. He is not fluent of course, you barely are after all this time, but it is enough for this.
"We handled them right proper..." the boy begins before cutting himself at your supposed glare, for 'giving the secret away'.
Zherys suddenly seems less certain of his position, but his offer is nonetheless not wholly without its temptations. He is, after all, right at the core of things. You have not the power yet to grasp Volantis. Can you afford to play the slow game?
What do you reply?
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OOC: This we very close and quite an even exchange, but you came out narrowly on top thanks to well-timed interventions by your companions.
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