A loud burst of laughter comes from behind a nearby tent as a small pack of drow in dark, scaly armor come strolling through, all either heavily armed or sporting the telltale signs of concealed weaponry. Most of them are grinning sycophantically at a specimen far and away the largest of the group, standing at least six and a half feet tall and currently making a mocking squealing sound. His companions howl with laughter as he pretends to flee in terror, pulling grotesque faces the whole while. Out of the entire crowd, he's the only one not sporting dark lenses or goggles, eyes bloodshot but fully exposed to the sun's glare.
"Ah, Marquis. I'm so pleased to see you're taking your duties seriously!" Kaytiss' voice shocks a few of the drow out of their laughter, and most of them turn to look at their leader questioningly. His grin doesn't fade one bit as he bows - fractionally - to the surveyor.
"Kaytiss. Damndest thing, but you know how it is with," he waves a hand vaguely,
"swords and such. Never where you leave 'em. Anyway, looks like it's sorted itself out, yeah?" He jerks his chin at the dead prowlers and the group scattered among them.
Kaytiss stares disbelievingly at the Marquis.
"You," she says angrily,
"are stationed here as a guard. Shirking your duties is a violation of the truce we negotiated. You leave a detachment to guard the crater while ownership is still under contention--""We're here, aren't we?" The massive drow grins around at his companions, lazing in the barely-stifled sniggers.
"Weapons and everything. They're sharp, too, look." Nearly twenty blades emerge with a loud rasp of metal, held casually in full view. One of the drow idly twiddles his wrist, sunlight flashing off his sword to flicker into Ariston's eyes.
The stream of idle chatter the Marquis de Carabas has been spewing for a good while now trails off as Sarai finishes the last few sentences of the treaty. He glances out through the tent flap.
"Ah, fuck," he says almost cheerfully, pulling the tent flap closed quickly.
"Brother dear's come to swagger around the camp again. Someone really ought to take him off to the side and tell him he's being quite rude. Then push him into the crater." He gives an imaginary drow a helping boot into an invisible crater, waving happily as his fictional friend sets off on a nonexistent journey.
The dwarven land rights extend quite a ways down, and the drow cavern space rights extend a good ways up. The exact point where they meet doesn't seem to have been hashed out completely - evidently no one at the time anticipated something like this ever happening, and neither side is going to be satisfied unless they get full access to the crater. Helpfully, there are rules for determining the concession of various rights and ownerships within the confines of the treaty. Unhelpfully, they are all governed by a system of rules that combines the worst parts of both parties' tendencies to make things complicated. They'd almost be enough to make her dizzy if she weren't used to much, much worse in the way of headaches. On the other hand, complexity's a double-edged sword. Knowing the ins and outs of a contract lets you dance circles around the party of the first part.
As far as renegotiation, Sarai has managed to find a section on the matter, which is little more than a few sentences acknowledging that it's possible within the confines of the agreement. There are quite a few mentions of trial by combat, but the entire treaty's full of them, so they're not entirely out of place.