FOR all the recent diplomatic drum-rolls, Syrians have no illusions that an end to their misery is in sight. A plan for a second big peace conference in Geneva, floated six months ago, was boosted in September after Syria’s government, caught out killing more than a thousand civilians with chemical weapons, agreed to give them up. But since then hopes for serious talks have kept sinking into quicksand. On November 5th Lakhdar Brahimi, the joint envoy of the UN and the Arab League, conceded that the Geneva conference will not be held this month as previously promised. Diplomats mutter gloomily about further delays. December or even January are vaguely mentioned. The fact is that hardliners, both inside Bashar Assad’s regime and within the motley ranks of the rebels, and among foreign sponsors backing both sides, remain more determined not to budge than the moderate voices that the talks were meant to empower.

The Syrian National Coalition, the main opposition body in exile, has been flip-flopping over whether to attend talks. It wants a guarantee that Mr Assad will not take part even in a transitional government. The regime refuses to countenance this. Moreover, Mr Assad has felt stronger since America failed to carry out a threat to punish the regime with missiles for its mass-murderous sarin-gas attack on August 21st. The ensuing deal to destroy Syria’s chemical weapons, now being carried out by UN experts, has bolstered Mr Assad’s legitimacy and reassured him that the West’s sole focus is not his overthrow.

In any case, getting those two parties to the table is no recipe for success. Ever more Syrians reject the opposition coalition’s authority, seeing it as a gaggle of self-aggrandising exiles who have failed to supply arms or aid to fighters on the ground. On November 4th one of the most senior pro-Western rebel commanders in northern Syria resigned in frustration, citing divisions among fighting factions and the fecklessness of the national coalition as reasons, though he was one of the few leaders still acknowledging its role. On October 15th 50 groups, most of them Islamist-leaning, announced that they no longer recognised its authority. Zahran Alloush, leader of the Army of Islam, an umbrella of rebel groups around Damascus, said that the coalition would become an enemy—“the same as Bashar Assad’s regime”—if it took part in talks in Geneva; 11 days later a further 19 rebel groups said negotiations with the regime would amount to “treason”.

As big an obstacle is disagreement over whether to invite Iran, which backs the regime and has helped it build a paramilitary force to bolster the army. Whereas America and Russia, which back the opposition and regime respectively, have grown closer in wishing for a compromise to end the war, this is not true of the two sides’ most determined backers, Saudi Arabia and Iran. The Saudis see an axis of Shia mischief, stretching from Tehran through Baghdad and Damascus to Hizbullah in Lebanon, as their biggest threat, and Syria as its linchpin. Iran has invested billions to prop up Mr Assad’s regime and to retain a vital link to Hizbullah. It is far more willing to stomach a conflict that has left at least 110,000 dead than is the West, whose sense of urgency is sharpened by evidence of an increase in jihadist muscle among the rebels and a worsening humanitarian crisis. Tensions over Syria have risen between America and the Saudis, leading to even more fragmentation among the opposition to Mr Assad. Saudi Arabia, infuriated by America’s loss of nerve—as it saw it—over punishing the Syrian regime with missile strikes after its sarin attack, has embarked on a project to create a new national army in the south of Syria rather than working through the Supreme Military Command, the coalition’s armed wing based in Turkey. For months it has reportedly been training 5,000 rebels in Jordan, with help from French and more recently Pakistani forces. The Army of Islam also appears to be getting more Saudi support. As the number of actors in Syria’s war multiplies, prospects for an early resolution grow dimmer. A year ago the conflict seemed a straightforward case of rebels fighting an embattled regime. But the rebels are now often as wary of each other as of Mr Assad’s forces. Kurdish fighters, in a de facto tactical alliance with the regime, have purged swathes of the north-east from hostile Islamist groups. Salafist and jihadist factions have increased their presence not just in the north of the country close to Turkey but also around Damascus. The Saudi effort may further undercut and fragment the opposition. But the regime, too, now relies more on factions over which it has limited control, including local-defence militias and Shia fighters brought in from Iran, Lebanon and Iraq. Meanwhile, the misery deepens remorselessly. Polio has broken out again, some 14 years after its eradication. Severe malnutrition is reported, especially among children in areas besieged by government forces. The UN says two in five Syrians now need emergency aid. Neighbouring countries warn they can no longer cope with the scale of the refugee influx, the most dramatic—by some estimates—since the second world war. Displaced Syrians now make up nearly a quarter of Lebanon’s population.

As diplomats talk shop, the war continues on the ground. Mr Assad’s troops have made advances in the north, recently retaking Safira, a town south-east of Aleppo, close to a chemical-weapons facility. This has restored a key supply route from Damascus. But rebels have beaten back government advances elsewhere and made some of their own. Until more of the parties inside and outside are ready to compromise, a lethal stalemate will persist.