Conducting a surrender does not need to be a terribly complicated affair. Indeed, in the years to come, my pupil would do everything from throw parades to neglect to do anything at all. It varied as the situation went. The pomp and circus could matter just as much as the deal struck, and that very fact had the Cynizia so twisted about with their own notions of proper behavior that they may as well have been his prisoners.

The two of them sat on a pair of canvas stools, the kind of camping seats common to a merchant caravan. Scant other supplies had been set between the arrayed forces; the Vassish walls above and the Cynizia horde below. Lucius had emerged from the camp alone, to speak on behalf of the Vassish, while the other negotiator had brought his second-in-command. Lucius’ second in command obviously was not fit to speak.

They handed him a dark brew, steeped and steaming. “What is this? Alcoholic? Why does it smell like Amphos Root?”

The man across from him, Almir, said, “Everything smells like Amphos Root to a man who has just had Amphos Root. It’s double black tea. A pleasantry.”

Lucius drank it, and kept his face stone while choking down the bitter drink. “You should try to get some honey. Must be expensive down here though.”

Almir swirled his drink and sipped it. “We import some from Aillesterra. I am not such a wealthy man.”

“Pirating bastards. I bet they overcharge. I should spread the word when I get back to Vassermark that there’s money to be made. I hear there’s a superstition that honey barrels will sink in a storm though.”

“Nonsense. The men who think honey is profitable know just as little about good ships.”

“Well, perhaps there will be a bright and sugary future for Giordana. I once had a syrupy treat of honey and fried dough. Absolutely delicious,” Lucius said, and drank more of the tea.

Eventually, their talk broke down the patience of the other man. He had been grinding his teeth for some time, drumming fingers on the metal cladding his arms, and glaring at Lucius the whole time. He had his hair swept up from his head like the froth wake behind a sailboat, and my pupil had been wary of what would come from the man’s lips. “Enough of this. This isn’t a tea party, it’s negotiations. We have you trapped, Solhart!”

Almir nodded in agreement. “Dhib is correct. We do have you trapped here, unless you feel like walking your men through the black sands. Your boots will wear out to sandals, and those will rip apart and leave your feet ragged and bleeding. It is a horrid place where you cannot even gather the rain, for the land sucks it up and denies it even from running. What’s more, you have cliffs to your left and your right, and we are behind you.”

“Yes, all that is true, but, you see,” Lucius said, and twisted around to point at the Vassish forces. “I have a wall, and you don’t. You don’t seem very eager to crawl in and attack us, now do you?”

Dhib snarled. “We don’t have to. We can starve you out.”

“We have food,” Lucius stated.

“We have time,” Almir countered.

That made him grin. It was the kind of smug grin that a lesser, trapped force should never be able to put on, and it gravely bothered the two Giordanans. “How much time do you have, exactly? Your leader Medorosa must be off doing something else if he isn’t doing the talking here himself. So your forces have been split.”

Dhib spat on the ground and glanced back. “We still outnumber you, Vassish. You’re the one who asked for surrender. Stop dragging this out.”

Lucius laughed. “Why would I stop that? Time is on my side as I see it. You have to sit here and wait until my men are so weakened with hunger that you can risk attacking us. What will that do to Medorosa, I wonder? I imagine he’s on his way to Rackvidd as we speak. That big, juicy trade port is just barely within his reach and he wants it bad. What will he do if Lord Raymi sights him and you lot are sitting here on your asses?”

“Or,” Dhib said, “We break your fucking wall and slaughter the lot of you.”

Almir held up a hand to stop the more aggressive man. “You know we have the power to beat you, Solhart. We both know it would cost us some lives. That’s why we have agreed to hear you out. Why don’t you tell us what you are willing to offer?”

“The withdrawal from Puerto Faro for starters. You’re the ones that have been chasing us halfway around the world. The city was conceded when we fled. It’s not like we’ve been pillaging and burning the land on our way out, either.”

Almir frowned. “You’ve been attacking and destroying merchant families as you see fit; plundering their supplies.”

Lucius shrugged. “The Medini’s and slavers. We had the right. Did you expect us to lay down and die or something?”

“The point is,” Dhib said, “you’ll have to offer something better than that for your lives. We’ve forced you here. You didn’t choose it, so it’s not something you’ve given.”

“Then how about your lives?” Lucius said. He finished his drink as the two men glared at him, and set the cup aside.

Almir said, “Avoiding combat is why we are here to talk, it isn’t enough. If you are going to be like this… it is only natural that the failure of a commander should offer his own life to the victors.”

“My life? You expect me to give my life? Sorry, but that’s just not something I can part with. I’ve been stabbed and butchered so many times I’ve lost track now, and I’ve still got my life.”

“Your weapons and armor,” Dhib said. “Surrendering forces should deliver their weapons to show that they aren’t a threat anymore.”

“What? You would make us walk back to Vassermark with nothing to defend ourselves? I wouldn’t wish that even on criminals. There are bandits out here, you know.”

The older man roared. “Yes! Your weapons, your armor, your horses, everything, and we might spare you!”

Lucius scratched his chin and looked like he was considering it. Something he had been denied on the journey was a good shave, and after the bath in Puerto Vida, he had peach fuzz again, just enough to color his jaw some. “How about, I make the same offer to you. You give me your weapons, your armor, your horse, and I might spare your lives?”

Then, he held up his hand and snapped his fingers. The men watching for it of course couldn’t hear the noise, but the gesture was easy enough to recognize. A moment later, three brown cloaked bodies came flying down the cliff’s edge. Cynizia scouts hit the ground with wet splats that kicked up clouds of sand.

It took Almir and Dhib a moment to realize what had happened, what it meant. More so than the divide between them and Medorosa, they had again split their forces to send contingents through the delicate mountain routes and take hold of the cliffs above them. A great deal of their confidence in the negotiations had been because they thought they held the high ground, and that the Vassish had no means of reaching it.

Once again however, the skills of Skoshi had come into play. While most of the men had been occupied with the harvesting and fashioning of wood, some had worked with the donkeys and wrapped their hooves in leather. It made for a tremendously clumsy beast, but combined with the stigmata, they were willing and able to walk across the fields of obsidian. Such carried, some fifty men of the voluntaries had climbed up the cliffs and returned to the impasse. And of course, fifty vassish soldiers could make quick work of some few dozen Cynizia.

“Rotten bastard! Attacking during talks?” Almir roared, spittle flying as he jumped to his feet.

Lucius only shrugged. “Technically, I believe those men were killed shortly before I sat down. The signal was to drop the bodies, not to make them. I’d say I’ve done nothing more than show you my hand. You’re a card player, aren’t you?”

Dhib dropped pretenses and produced from the back of his belt a thing like a spring coil of steel. “Never should have trusted a Vassish. I should have learned that lesson when I went dragoneering in the mist sea.”

Lucius took it to be a weapon of some sort, and jumped to his feet. Out came his own blade. “I told you, didn’t I? I was negotiating for your lives. Surrender and I might just be happy with your supplies.”

Dhib grabbed Almir by the shoulder and shoved him down the road. “Go! We’re under attack you bloody fool. The fight is now!” As he shouted, a great mass of missiles began to rain upon the Cynizia. The Vassish had brought their stolen bows up the cliffs, but there was no need to expend valuable arrows. From their height, only rocks were needed and they had a tremendous amount of the sharpest sort of rock a soldier could desire. Black stones fell down and caved skulls, shattered shields, flattened helms, cracked collarbones.

Lucius held up his sword in a guard between him and Dhib. “I’m the only one who call it off. What will you do? Storm our camp where we can continue this? Or will you flee and abandon everything you have?”

“Not without your head, Vassish!” Dhib shouted, and grabbed a handle of the coiled steel. He gave it a flick, uncoiling the huge mass of sharpened metal. It swirled around him as he swung overhead, glittering like a metal ribbon. He gave it a flick, as though cast a fishing lure, and the lash of steel shot forward. The tip lanced at Lucius’ unarmored chest, forcing him to leap back.

My pupil found himself at a loss for words, watching the sword whip spin and swirl, dancing in a storm about the man. He had only his infantry blade, and was happy for it.

Dhib laughed and broadened his stance, working the handle overhead as he stomped closer. “I’m Dhib the pirate killer! I’ve slaughtered raiders for twenty years boy, longer than you’ve been alive. My stigmata is unstoppable!” He flicked the weapon at Lucius once more, swinging it around the side.

Lucius interposed his weapon, and the whip bent around regardless, the tip crashing in around the guard like the head of a flail. It bit him in the arm, drawing a line of blood, then recoiled back to the dance of steel. “You sure about that?” he asked, and the moment the tip started to flow away from him, he darted in.

The weapon was fluid, which had certain advantages, but it could only work in tension and rotation. The moment it moved away from him, there was no amount of explosive force Dhib could exert that would let him make it into an attack; not for that instant.

Lucius gripped his sword in both hands, lunging forward with a cleave that slammed into the metal ribbon.

The two weapons sparked, and Lucius’ blade stopped an inch from Dhib’s body. “Weren’t expecting that, were you?” the Giordanan asked, having reverted the steel to its normal rigidness. It spiraled around him like a bird cage, bowing against the force. However, he wasn’t on a swaying deck, where the rock of waves made every step difficult to push through. Nor was he with allies ready to force Lucius away.

The only reason Dhib even got the words out of his mouth was because Lucius took the time to plant his offhand on the pommel of his blade as he lifted it up. Then he slammed it through the man’s chest. No slash would have ever gotten through the defense of steel, but the spiraling bands were not welded together or anything of the sort.

Now, I might take the pleasure of applauding my pupil, for he was familiar with a sword whip prior to meeting Dhib. Not that he saw anyone ever use the thing, but it was kept as a relic in a certain monastery we visited years prior. It had ceremonial value, but even the monks said that it was a stupid weapon more likely to cut the user than the enemy, and one trivialized by a long enough spear.

Lucius ran the man’s chest through, cutting straight through the stigmata he had so preened himself with. When he held up his bloody sword after, a great war cry arose from his camp, and a hundred and fifty soldiers came charging through the gates and down the road to rout the Cynizia. Their foes turned tail and fled. Chaos chased them and they escaped with hardly more than the clothes on their backs and the weapons in their hands.

But, they did escape with their lives by and large. Some were taken prisoner, and Lucius had them released with broken thumbs on their right hands and stripped to their trousers. They would surely skulk back to the Cynizia, but would be months before they were fit to fight, and by then Lucius would be gone. Such is the way of fighting wars; you can hardly ever make a man stand his ground and die. Much better to get them to surrender to you, if you have the advantage over them.