Demesne Patron EX SS 41 –The Negotiator

Rilianne—no other name, and definitely not Cayvud of Vusvalbel Demesne—knew that hers was a badly kept secret, at least among her fellow militia. She’d made too many mistakes when she’d first enlisted, acted too different, for her to pass herself off as merely a Deadspeaker, been too ignorant of things like fusing wood and too knowledgeable about creating precisely controlled undead. Her attempt to pass off the latter as some sort of innate talent had fallen apart during an incident when her squad had been ambushed by bandits and she’d turned the corpses of some of fallen comrades into fighters that had been far too good at fighting.

Over the years, she’d become a sort of living rumor. Whispers of there being someone in the company who was secretly some sort of noble had bubbled around her through her career, although there had never been any official acknowledgement of any sort beyond knowing looks from fellow glitter-crawlers, sergeants and an officer or two. Rilianne herself had never uttered a word, but had eventually realized what had revealed herself in those early days. Her fingers had been too soft, with callouses in the wrong places from handling musical instruments and the lightweight, needle-like swords that she had been trained in from childhood. She’d been too fat in some places and too thin in others, and her teeth had been too straight and full, with none of the chips and gaps from having nature take its course with them.

Despite this, she’d found a place among the militia, healing their hurts, standing with them in the line when every man and woman had been needed, and making very good undead, though well short of the sort of thing a Dungeon Binder could create. Those could supposedly pass for human with the right makeup, and were capable of speech, thought, and even wit. Rilianne’s simply moved smoothly, knew how to grip a spear, and could stab without her explicitly making them do so as long as the bandits were distinct enough from militia.

In recent months, she’d had been busier doing her best to keep people from reaching a state where she they could become undead. The conditions of the ship had been cramped and difficult, and she and her fellow Deadspeakers had done their best to ensure that no one actually fell sick even if they were feeling miserable. The woman—barely that, more like an overaged girl—who had run away from home to join the militia would have immediately turned around and gone back to her family if she had needed to face those conditions, but Rilianne had faced worse, although to be fair they had usually involved rain and dragon scales.

Unfortunately her wife hadn’t, and while divorce hadn’t been threatened, Rilianne knew she’d be making it up to Leili for the next few months, and possibly the rest of their marriage. But that was all right. It was still a far sight better that her parents’ marriage.

“Rilianne, could I have a word?” a voice said as Rilianne worked to improvise a cot using some branches and a ground sheet that would fit in their tent. It was the second day of her trying to do so, and she felt she was almost getting it right. It was part of the making up, since Leili didn’t have years of experience sleeping on the ground, and had found doing so uncomfortable unless she did so on top of Rilianne. Which the Deadspeaker wasn’t against, but even she had to admit that she wanted an alternative. The cot couldn’t be too big, since he tent was shared by her, her wife, her brother-in-law, and her sister-in-law, and while they could all fit in the thing, these lands were full of small, verminous beasts that were brave enough to make their way into a loose tent flap. Hence the need for the cot.

She looked up from where she was fusing some branches to make a triangular truss. “What is it, Otin?” she said. If someone had died, the Whisperer would have said so.

“There has been a new development,” the Whisperer said. “We need you to take over the negotiations in place of Yhal tomorrow.”

That prompted a frown. “Why…?”

Otin looked embarrassed. “He might have offended people by repeatedly saying their Dungeon Binder was just a child.”

“Isn’t that exactly the case?”

“Yes, but we didn’t realize how exactly she was perceived. Though to be fair, Yllian tried to warn us, we just didn’t listen. And given Yhal’s animosity with Lord Rian… well, someone besides him needs to conduct the negotiation.”

She hadn’t heard of any such animosity, but nodded anyway. “Why me?”

“Given that it’s likely that Binder Shanalorre—”

“Binder Shanalorre?” she repeated.

“One of the things that they took offense to was referring to her by the short form of her name,” Otin said. “The only one who doesn’t call her that are the local children. Given that she is likely to be present during negotiations, we thought it best that negotiations should be conducted by someone who hasn’t met her yet and has no history of disrespectful behavior, unintended as it was.”

“Such politic phrasing,” Rilianne said, sighing. “That still doesn’t explain why me, Otin.” She knew why, but if she was going to do this, she wanted him to say why.

“We thought you would know how to best negotiate about this sort of thing,” Otin said. “None of us really have any experience with terms and what have you. At best we know how to haggle at the market, and I don’t think it really applies here.”

It applied fairly well, actually. “How exactly was Yhallisu planning to negotiate, then? What exactly was he going to negotiate with?”

“Well, land ownership, for one thing,” Otin said.

Ah, of course. People always misunderstood how ‘owning land’ actually worked in a demesne. “We’re demanding land?” she said flatly. Why not just ask to be made nobles while they were at it.

“To be fair, we originally thought it would be a simple matter for everyone to have their own land,” Otin said, sounding chagrined. “You know, back before we learned that someone had taken over the demesne.”

Rilianne sighed. “Otin, even setting aside how foolish it would be to demand land for everyone, what exactly were we planning to do when they told us ‘no’? Threaten violence? Against who, exactly? The sole negotiator? Our friends who live here?”

“I don’t think Yhal planned that far,” Otin admitted, “beyond possibly demanding that the negotiation be conducted by Yllian. After that, he seemed to think we’d come to some sort of favorable outcome, since Yllian would be on our side. Of course, given how he’s offended Yllian by not showing proper respect to Binder Shanalorre, that doesn’t seem likely anymore.”

“I don’t think it was ever likely,” Rilianne said. She let out a frustrated breath. It was a mess, of the sort created by inaction, assumptions, complacency and a lack of diligence. In fact, it felt annoying like the kinds of messes caused by distant officers who just gave orders without consideration for the conditions on the field, such as a need for logistics to organize supplies, and assumed food simply appeared out of the air or didn’t even consider that food was needed. Really, she had half a mind to simply tell him to go away and deal with this himself. They were all retired and Otin wasn’t her superior anymore. “You don’t really need me for this, you know. You could just drop the demands, since we have absolutely nothing to negotiate with.”

“.. they’re not actually demands, it’s more an attempt to gain concessions to not establish our own demesne.”

Rilianne frowned. “Our own demesne? You mean establish another demesne? When was this plan discussed?”

“When Yhal was talking to the lord from the other demesne,” Otin said. “It was just a bluff, and was only meant as a negotiation tactic.”

“Ah…” Rilianne nodded, even as she wanted to sigh. Actually, she wanted to hit something, but that wouldn’t be productive, so she claimed herself and forcibly relaxed her despite her body’s alchemy already moving towards a stress response. “So…we were planning to get an advantage beyond what the people who already live in the demesne already had, using a bluff that you already didn’t plan to see through. Please tell me you came to me because you saw how this was all a terrible idea and that I wouldn’t follow through with any of it.”

For a moment, Otin was silent.

The Deadspeaker had forcibly deactivate her body’s stress response again, then just simply put a meaning in place to keep her glands from releasing the alchemy so that she stayed calm. “Otin…” she said sternly.

“See, this is exactly why we need you to take over tomorrow. None of us thought of this!”

Rilianne sighed. “Otin, I really can’t see us getting any sort of concessions. If Yhal managed to insult them, then it’s more likely that they would demand concessions of us as the offended party before they allow us to settle here. I know we’re here to reinforce and rebuild River’s Fork Demesne, but depending on what they demand, it might actually make more sense for us to do as you said and establish another demesne. At least people will be assured of owning land then.”

“Would you do so?”

“Oh colors, no,” Rilianne said. “I don’t know the first thing about how I’m supposed to use Deadspeaking to protect a demesne from dragons. No, I intend to settle here and have someone else be the Dungeon Binder.”

“Then would you please take charge of tomorrow’s discussion with Lord Rian about settling here’s in River’s Fork?” Otin said.

“…very well. But I will do so according to my own judgement,” Rilianne said. “And if I will be representing us, I need to know everything relevant to the matter. I cannot afford to enter negotiations ignorant. It would undermine us as a group if we appear so disunited that our own representative is ill-informed.”

The Whisperer let out a small sigh. “Come with me, the others and I can tell you all about it.”

She raised a hand. “I need a favor in exchange, however.”

Otin frown. “What is it?”

She pointed down. “I need someone to finish putting together this cot. My wife is quite insistent that she is not sleeping on the ground tonight.”

One had to have their priorities straight, after all. As important as these negotiations may be, her wife came first.