Jeva tapped Andal on the shoulder, "I think that's him!"

Andal looked up and saw Tharrow coming their way, talking to a man in a well fitted, shiny uniform. He looked friendly, but also serious.

Andal walked towards him, "I think you're right, let's say hello."

Tharrow noticed them and waved, and they could read the diplomat's lips enough to know he asked Tharrow, "Is that them?"

Tharrow nodded, and Jeva shouted, "Hi" we're your bodyguards!" She gave Andal a little push to tell him they should hurry, and ran forward to greet the diplomat.

Once they'd closed the distance he stuck out his hand and shook both of theirs, commenting, "You're awfully energetic, that's good! The last thing we want is to fall asleep in the middle of negotiations, right?"

Andal asked, "Had that happened before?"

He chuckled, "No, no, just a joke. Which, you should get ready right away! We want to arrive earlier than their diplomat does. We can gain a little more respect in the conversation by making it feel like they came to us. We should get to know each other, but we can do that on the road. It's a decent trip."

Jeva shouted, much to the surprise of the diplomat, "Right away, sir!"

Jeva didn't really have anything to prepare, but Andal got suited up in his armor and got the horse. They met the diplomat an hour later just outside the Tiermac on the west side.

Tharrow explained to them that there would be an entourage of men following a mile behind them, which would watch from a distance as the negotiations happened. He had arranged for food and water to be packed for them, then after they took those provisions they said their goodbyes and good lucks.

On the way they got to know the diplomat. His name was Tyrene, and he was from Tsafel just like Nalia. Though, he wasn't one of the tree-dwellers, as Wanrod had called them. Tyrene explained that they should be called sylvians, and that they have a pretty isolated community. Nalia was probably the only one they would ever meet.

Tyrene was very excited to talk about politics, but he was also conscious of how most people were bored by such conversations. He told them simple answers to their questions, and made a strong effort to avoid rambling.

He then asked them about themselves, expressing great admiration for how far they've come at such a young age. Andal told him an outline of his life since the Haverdash landed, how he'd loved with Templars, then went with Jeva to the magic academy, and was now here. His life made sense to Tyrene; it was totally reasonable that Andal would devote his life to fighting the Haverdash.

When Jeva told him about herself, he was surprised. She didn't seem to have a personal dog in the fight, but people fighting for the greater good itself don't generally exist as far as he'd noticed. It was at least true in the political sphere that appealing to people's sense of good or duty accounted for very little, and if you were to do that, you would still have to pair it with something they want.

Jeva told him, "I probably wouldn't be fighting the Haverdash if it weren't for Andal. He's so focused and determined, it inspires me!"

Tyrene smiled, "You're both inspirational. Hopefully you can inspire the Haverdash diplomat to work with us!"

Andal asked, "You mentioned earlier that you always have to give the other side something they want. Are we going to do that? What the Haverdash want is guaranteed to be evil."

"Yes, we will. What the other side wants is always opposed to what you want. Diplomacy is composed of two things, compromise and backstabbing. I do the compromising, others do the backstabbing. We'll have to give them something evil, like control of land that is rightfully ours, but in turn we want peace, and we need peace dearly.

Andal looked unhappy, but he admitted, "Yea, we do." Then he noticed a small village in the distance, "Is that where we're meeting them?"

"That's it. The people who lived there evacuated a long time ago, so they're just empty buildings. We're meeting in that one that's the farthest from the rest."

*

The house had been cleared to have just a single, square table, and six chairs. Andal had moved his to sit by the window as they waited. When the time came for them to meet, no earlier, and no later, Andal spotted a line Haverdash walking toward them. "It's the diplomat from the Haverdash!"

Tyrene sat up and put away the food that they'd snacked on, "Alright! Sit behind me, you two. This discussion is between me and the other diplomat, we don't want to outnumber them."

Andal's expression suddenly darkened, and he moved his chair behind Tyrene's in silence. Tyrene placed his hand on Andal's leg, "Andal? What's wrong?"

"That's the Haverdash that killed my family."

Tyrene looked at the door, which the Haverdash would soon walk through, then back to Andal, "Now is not the time for revenge, please contain yourself, Andal."

The door opened, and Moxey stepped in. "Hello. Tyrene, is it?" Then he noticed Andal, "Oh, and hello to you as well."

Andal clenched his teeth, but Tyrene made sure to start them off cordially. He stood and offered his hand across the table, "Yes, Tyrene. It is good to meet you, though I'm afraid I wasn't given your name?"

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He smiled, "Moxey." Then accepted the handshake. Tyrene involuntarily shivered at the touch. Moxey's hand was sticky, cold, and firm in all the wrong places.

He recovered quickly, sitting at the same time as Moxey, "I hope we can be clear with each other, rather than beating around the bush as human diplomats are so prone to."

"Yes we can, I have no intention of being patient, so let me get straight to the point. I am here to see if you are ready to agree to unconditional surrender."

Tyrene paused, then smiled uncomfortably, "Hah hah, right."

Moxey stared unwavering into Tyrene's eyes, "I'm serious."

His smile faded, "What? But you- that doesn't reflect our situation at all!"

Moxey leaned forward, "Doesn't it?"

"Absolutely not! In the past month we have recaptured Shrodac and Tiermac from you. As the first two cities the Haverdash have lost, this shows a change in the war. The nations are working together to oppose you better than ever before, which will only continue to improve. Not only this, which will add to the difficulty on every one of your fronts, which you so quickly multiplied without worry, but we have shown to be able to answer the strongest among you! With the death of Glorious Manier in Shrodac, you no longer have champions among you that we cannot answer.

"There would be no point of this meeting if things had come to the point where we were considering unconditional surrender, but it hasn't. We're building additional fortifications all across the land, and drafting more soldiers in every nation I represent! But, we come to you with an olive branch, desiring peace. This war has been a travesty for both of our people. You have carved out a land for yourselves to live in, and taken revenge on Donfas. We respect that. Only return to us the lands of-"

"Stop. We are not interested in giving anything back, nor peace, for that matter. We do not feel the way you do, that this war has been regrettable. This war is for the glory of Haverdash, and Haverdash are impassioned by it!"

"But the losses to your people, those who died in this unnecessary conquest, you must ache for them."

"We do not ache for those we sacrifice in worship. The loss of a Haverdash is not the same as the loss of a human, for we are individually strong, not needing each other to pursue the greater elements of the world."

Tyrene wanted to call Moxey self-centered and heartless, but stayed his tongue. "We mourn our losses out of love for those who died! That is not, and could never be, weakness."

Moxey smirked, actually respecting Tyrene's answer. "There is love in Haverdash society, don't get me wrong, but it is secondary to those sensations which are stronger and more glorious. Regardless of how we feel about our losses, let's consider the numbers." Moxey pulled out a notepad and turned a page, "Here's a lovely figure for you: outside of your retaking of Shrodac and Tiermac, we have lost less Haverdash than we have killed brown haired girls in mountainous villages. Isn't that interesting? Here's another: almost five percent of the civilians we kill are someone trying to save someone else by shielding them. That's also more killed than we have losses."

Moxey looked up from his notepad and grinned when he saw Tyrene's face. "At last your collected demeanor is broken. You held strong, but humans have such little willpower in general."

Tyrene spat back at him, "And why shouldn't I be angry? You're talking about the number of little girls you've killed, and have the audacity to have kept track! Those are our little girls! I suggest you take these peace talks a little more seriously, because humans don't take things lying down like you seem to think!"

"I see. To clarify, those were only the brown haired girls, the total would be much larger. In truth, your reaction just shows how inaccurately you're perceiving your situation. Did you think when we ravaged the countryside that somehow the little girls made it out alive? How innocent of you.

"I'll give you a better idea of how you should perceive yourselves, based upon that second figure. If there are so many humans dying in the midst of trying to protect someone, it illustrates the fact that you can't save each other at all. This truth isn't isolated to Donfas, but has been found true in every nation we've attacked. You try to raise your leverage by talking about the armies you've prepared and continue to prepare to rise against us, but those are simply more humans trying to protect each other by being shields. Perhaps I should start counting them under the same figure."

"Alright, you've had your say about our overall resistance. You don't fully understand how strong we are, but you've had your say. You started listing these numbers, which I can't imagine are accurate, by saying you're not including Shrodac or Tiermac. You've disregarded your two greatest defeats? Not including our two victories there, and the killing of Glorious Manier for goodness sake, will skew the perception of the position we are in far more than my perception could possibly be skewed! I know that your glorious are few in number, and that the loss of Manier was a great blow to you. It seems to me that while you may have advantages in some areas, we have advantages in others. You stand to lose a lot, you wouldn't want another one of your glorious to die, would you?"

Moxey leaned back in his chair. The death of Manier, it seemed, could strike a chord. "I will not deny that that loss was great, but you cannot use the death of a Glorious Haverdash as an argument against us continuing the war. How did they become glorious, Tyrene?”

"You'll have to enlighten me."

"One became glorious before the war, but the other two became glorious after the war had begun. Even the one who became glorious before the war became glorious in light of the coming war, filling his mind with it and looking forward to the world to come. By citing the death of a Glorious Haverdash you bring up the Glorious Haverdash, who themselves are an argument for continuing the war, that more Haverdash may find greater glory.”

Tyrene took a deep breath, “Moxey, help me understand you better. What, other than this war, do you want? What is something I can offer you?”

“I do not think you can offer me anything I truly desire. You, who are far beneath the Haverdash, cannot lift us up. You boldly were going to ask me to make a concession earlier. Do not make ‘peace’ your offer, peace does not impassion us! But, there is no point in making offers as it is. I give you an ultimatum, surrender unconditionally, or fight this war.”

Tyrene raised his voice, “Why would we do that? What could possibly be the point of surrendering to people who think so little of our lives?”

“Because if you surrender, at least you will last to see the world to come? We need slaves to bring it about quickly. If you don’t surrender you will die all the same, but you will never see the glory we are at the very cusp of.”

“You’re mad. This has been an absolute sham. You think you’re just going to walk over humanity? The spirit of man won’t be quenched like that, we will fight you with everything we have!”

Moxey shook his head, “No, you will not. Your first instinct is to fight, which is good. That separates you from most beasts. But you have a second instinct, to flee, and that is something the Haverdash do not have except in the distant recesses of our souls.”

“Why even meet like this? If you had no intention of negotiating a peace treaty, why come here?”

“Because,” Moxey leaned forward, “I want to break your weak, human spirits.”

Tyren stood, “Let’s go. This was a waste of time.”

As he turned, Andal stood and asked, “What about now? Is it time for revenge?”

“No. To kill a diplomat is a foul thing, Andal.”

“Tyrene!” Moxey called, “To show I mean nothing against you personally, as you seem like a fine fellow, a parting gift?”

Tyrene turned back to see that Moxey had placed a little toy house on the table. “What is this?”

“A doll house, taken from a noble house in Hathor. Perhaps you have a child to give it to? Check the little door, it opens.”

Tyrene reached out hesitantly, opening the little door, and was gone.

Moxey looked up at Andal, “I see your anger pouring out of you, it's so abundant I can hardly see your face. You want to kill me, and for the sake of the negotiations you have withheld yourself. That is admirable self-control, but look, I have struck the first blow, and so we can get on with this.”

“Where did he go?” Jeva demanded.

“I have sent him far away, where he won’t be coming back.”

Andal sneered, “Do you have a deathwish? You just took away the person stopping me from killing you.”

“A deathwish? Perhaps, but not my own death. I have every reason to kill you as well. The last of the Templars from the City of Grace, who it was my job to kill. Should I have attacked you while Tyrene was alive you may have fled in an effort to protect him, but now nothing prevents you from fighting to the death. Come now, bodyguards, do your duty.”

Andal barred his teeth, consumed in anger that he was no longer holding back, and his sword sprang from its hilt.