The Khanum clapped in rhythm with the music, and the otrokars followed her lead. The swordsman in the center spun in place, warming up. We were about to be treated to show and tell.

A smaller otrokar brought a basket filled with small green apple-like fruit to the Khanum. She picked one and hurled it at the swordsman. He moved at the last second, catching the fruit on the flat of his left blade, tossed it to his right then back again with superhuman dexterity. The otrokars kept clapping. The swordsman tossed the fruit up. His sword flashed and the fruit fell to the floor, cut in a half.

“Nothing we can’t handle,” Jack said quietly.

The Khanum took a handful of fruit and passed the basket to her left. Dagorkun grabbed several and handed the basket to the next person. The Khanum gave a short whistle and the otrokars pelted the swordsman with apples. He spun like a dervish, dancing across the floor and slicing. The apples dropped to the ground, cut. Not a single fruit hit him.

“He might be a challenge,” George said. His lips barely moved. If I wasn’t standing next to him, I wouldn’t know he had spoken. “One on one, I can take care of it.”

The swordsman spun, faster and faster, lithe, flexible, strong. A faint orange luminescence coated his blades. They begun to glow.

George’s eyes narrowed.

The swordsman stopped, swords raised at his sides like wings of a bird about to take flight.

The otrokars parted, revealing a female otrokar holding what looked like a machine gun. Oh no you don’t.

She put the gun to her shoulder and fired.

I jerked my magic. Transparent walls shot out of the floor, shielding the vampires and us.

The stream of bullets hit the swordsman. He swung his blades, too fast to see, so fast they turned into arches of orange light. Breath caught in my throat.

The gun clicked empty. A staccato of light knocks echoed through the grand ballroom – the last of the bullets clattering to the floor. The swordsman stopped moving. Sweat sheathed his torso. No wounds marked his body. The bullets, each sliced in half, lay in a horseshoe around him.

The otrokars bellowed in approval. The Khanum smiled broadly, winked at the vampires, and led her people to the right side of the grand ballroom, forming an identical line.

I exhaled and let the floor swallow the bullets and the mutilated fruit.

“We’re going to need help,” Jack said, his face grim.

George didn’t answer. “The merchants, please.”

I opened the front doors. The Nuan Cee clan had to come from the front, because their quarters opened in the back wall, so I had made a hallway just for that purpose. The doors swung open, revealing Cookie. He was wearing a bright turquoise apron and carrying a basket. A fast intricate melody filled the room. Cookie skipped forward in tune with the music, like a human child on the last day of school, dipped his hand into the basket and tossed a handful of gold and jewels into the air. Behind him four foxes in blue diaphanous veils embroidered with gold danced forward, gold bracelets and loops tinkling on their wrists and ears. Behind them came the older members of the clan, swaying in step to the music: three steps forward, one step back, turn. One carried a glittering cage with a beautiful blue bird in it. The second brandished a jeweled sword as big as himself. The third spun around, revealing spiderweb thin layers of glowing fabric.

Cookie threw gold, hopping back and forth between the lines of otrokar and vampires. One of the otrokars reached for a bright red jewel the size of a walnut by his foot. The older warrior next to him growled and the younger man stopped.

“To take their gold is to become their slave,” Arland said softly.

The foxes kept coming, each display of wealth more ostentatious than the last. The palanquin with Nuan’s Cee grandmother followed, floating in midair all by itself, and finally Nuan Cee himself, sitting cross-legged on a palanquin of the shimmering silk dotted with piles of gems and plush pillows, showing sharp, even teeth in a bright smile.

The procession ended and the merchants formed the third line, closing the square. The music died.

George’s voice rang in the sudden quiet. “Welcome! The summit is now in session.”

He stepped aside, inviting the gathering to the table with an elegant sweep of his hand.”

The leaders of the three factions moved to the long table. George and Jack followed. Everyone took their seats. I raised a transparent soundproof wall, sealing the table and its occupants from the rest of the guests. They were still plainly visible, but not a single sound escaped.

The otrokars, vampires, and the merchants looked at me expectantly.

I raised my hand. The floor opened and Orro and three large tables, already set, rose into the room from below. Each table offered beautifully cut fruit on large white plates, baskets of bread, rice, sliced meat, bowls of soup, and as a centerpiece, a delicate translucent flower the size of a watermelon, made of tiny individual slices of some meat.

The soup smelled heavenly.

“Evening’s refreshments!” Orro called out. “Morean water drake sashimi with fruit and grains!”

Chapter 6

The first session of the peace summit took three hours. The leaders of the three factions sat stone-faced behind the transparent wall the inn and I had made, while their subordinates formed three distinct groups in the ballroom. The merchants chattered with each other, while the otrokari and the vampires proceeded to flex their muscles, lounge about, and give each other the stink eye. There was no point in having them in the ballroom, but as long as their leaders were in each other’s company, nobody would leave on the chance a fight might break out. I would have to figure out some entertainment for them if the summit went on for more than a few days.