Haven: A Trial of Blood and Steel Book Four (17 page)

“The Army of the Bacosh may be many things,” Jaryd said darkly. “Salvation from heaven it's not.”

“Lord Alfriedo shall declare his rights before the Regent,” Zulmaher continued, “and to judge by the noises the Regent has been making about the restoration of rightful claims, it would be in his interest to grant it. Declaring all Rhodaani land void of noble title will only start a struggle for power amongst all his other allies who will want to claim it, and the Regent can ill afford that disunity now. By declaring old Rhodaani title legal from before the serrin came, he gains new allies here and keeps his existing ones from squabbling over spoils.”

“Exactly what is Prince Dafed asking?” Jaryd asked. Within the confines of Sofy's court, he had heard only rumour.

“Just the problem,” said Zulmaher. “Prince Dafed has little idea about Tracato, not our history, nor how all our institutions work. He is a warrior. Our lords now ask him what we should do with so many of our grand institutions, and he just shrugs and tells us to work it out for ourselves.”

“Well…that's good, yes?” Jaryd asked cautiously.

“It makes them bicker,” Alfriedo said shortly. “The Rhodaani lords cannot agree. Some argue to retain something like a council, so the common folk may be heard. Others wish to dispose of the Tol'rhen and Mahl'rhen. But if we get rid of all serrin influence, what will happen to all my books?”

Jaryd did not think he meant it quite so selfishly.

“For so long we have viewed these institutions as anchors about our necks, holding us down,” said Zulmaher. “Now we face the prospect of losing them for good, and instead of making us happy, it makes us feel naked.”

“Some
of us,” Alfriedo interjected once more. “The others, I cannot understand. I will not be sad to see Tracato without a council or a Justiciary; both were corrupt houses of pointless argument and little else. The rule of lords is far more just and efficient. But imagine if we truly tried to cleanse the city of serrin influence. Every second building would have to be demolished, they taught us much of the architecture. All of the schools. All of the arts, the craft markets, the amphitheatre with all of its plays so influenced by the serrin writers and philosophers. The libraries!”

The young lord looked unhappy. Somehow, Jaryd found himself smiling.

“You sound just like Sofy,” he said.

“Yes,” Alfriedo said indignantly, “well, I am most pleased that your princess shares my concerns for my city, but it is quite a different thing for a foreigner to worry about these things and for the Lord of Rhodaan to worry about them.”

“Sofy is the Princess Regent now,” said Jaryd. “She does not see that she
is
a foreigner. These are her lands, and believe me, you could do much worse.”

“I know,” said Zulmaher. “Yet there is a danger in what she is doing. Prince Dafed makes court at Ushal Fortress. Princess Sofy makes court at the Tol'rhen. One is the brother of the Regent, the other is his wife, and each seems to share a different vision for Tracato.”

“But you just said Dafed cares little what happens.”

“Exactly. Dafed will let the Elissians do what they will, he cares not. The Elissians are angry. I fear I have played my part in making them that way.”

“You should have destroyed them when you had the chance,” Alfriedo muttered. General Zulmaher had commanded the Rhodaani Steel against Elisse barely months before.

“That was not the general opinion of Family Renine at the time,” Zulmaher said archly. “But it matters not. The Elissians see that Dafed is their man. And Sofy, therefore, is their obstacle.”

“She is well-protected,” Jaryd said. “Larosan knights; I've spoken with them. Little that I'd trust a Larosan knight, but in this instance they are committed. To protect the Princess Regent is an honour.”

“She should be careful nonetheless,” Zulmaher persisted. “She becomes very popular in Tracato, and at a pace that will alarm many. Many lords here see the coming of the Regent as their path to power. Others hope for a great reshaping of Tracato, and the destruction of much that the Princess Regent now champions. She makes enemies. Some of those enemies wonder just how valuable is a new highland wife to the Regent, now that the wars appear all but won. If the Regent truly loved his wife, some say, he would have kept her by his side, and in his bed.”

Jaryd watched him, arms folded, and felt resentment. Toward Sofy, mostly. Resentment that he should care at all, when she was now married to another, and to interests far beyond his nonexistent status. One night they had had together…or several in fact, upon the road, travelling from Algery in Tyree back to Baerlyn. And then she had left, for Baen-Tar, and her regal life so inaccessible. Now he was her puppy dog, running about after her in the vain hope of a pat, or perhaps a stick to chase.

He worried and watched as she so naively placed herself into dangers that only a very intelligent girl like her could contrive to get into, all wishful thinking and girlish daydreaming. A stupid girl would think less and fear more, and be safer for it.

“I've tried to warn her,” he said. “I'll keep trying. But you've met her sisters. They're a headstrong family.”

“Are any Lenays not?” asked Alfriedo.

“See that she listens,” Zulmaher warned. “More than merely her life could depend on it. If her enemies here dispose of her, it would bode ill for all Lenays in the Bacosh.”

T
he party made their way to Ilduur the fastest way they knew how. Two men of the Enoran cavalry led them, knowing these roads best. They rode almost directly south, while the armies of Lenayin, Rhodaan and Enora would continue toward the southeast, and the city of Jahnd. The pursuing Army of the Bacosh would be unlikely to head this way in any force, intending the full destruction of Jahnd and its defenders.

The lands they rode through were full of people, farmers and townsfolk going about their business as they might in any other time. Sasha had rarely seen lands so beautiful, rolling hills and pasture giving way to ample forest, and some formations of land so rugged that it seemed even the grandeur of lowlands civilisation could never claim them. Several times they passed old castles, some now broken ruins unused in two centuries, others occupied by commoners who lived within the great stone walls, one family to a chamber, and used the former lordly stables to pen their sheep at nights.

The first day, Sasha argued with Pelner, the leading Enoran cavalryman, about their pace. They rode either serrin mounts or Lenay dussieh, bred for stamina more than power, but even these were not invincible. Pelner was confident they could make the Shalaam Canyon that divided Enora from Ilduur in eleven days if they were fast. From there the land rose steeply, and the Ilduuri Mountains were not territory through which any could make fast progress whatever the urgency. Another ten days at the quickest, Pelner said, and Aisha agreed, having made that journey a number of times.

To her own astonishment, Sasha found herself arguing for a more sedate pace than the Enoran wished to set. It was possible, she argued, to hold a good pace even on high mountain trails. But not if they whipped the horses first. Exhausted horses would not fare well in high, cold air, and those that did not make the transition well might die. The price was worth paying, and the party of twenty-six riders brought twelve fresh mounts with them just in case, but Sasha was unconvinced that even those would fare well without riders, and would make for slow progress at altitude either way.

Pelner disagreed strongly. Sasha suspected him, like many of the Enorans and Rhodaanis, of being in a state of shock. The Steel had been defeated and was in retreat. Their lands were falling, their civilisation ending before their eyes. With the shock came frantic haste and panic. She feared Rhillian might succumb to the same, for the loss was similar for serrin as for human, and all knew Saalshen would be next. But Rhillian, in making the final decision, sided with Sasha.

“Jahnd's defences are strong,” she said. “The Army of the Bacosh will not cross the Ipshaal quickly. Four periods of moderate gallop per day, no more. We save the horses a little for the high passes, and make more time there.”

Sasha spent much time riding with Aisha, learning of the lands they rode through. On the promontory of a high hilltop, the walls of an old fort overlooked the surrounding sweep of land.

“Do you know these lands well?” Sasha asked.

“You know, strangely I don't,” Aisha admitted. “My nearest town of Charleren is well west, near the Larosan border. Those lands I know like the back of my hand, but I joined the
talmaad
young, and my travels took me back to Saalshen, then to Rhodaan and Ilduur and Petrodor…I've spent more time travelling in foreign lands than in my own.”

“Where did you learn to speak Lenay?” They were speaking Lenay now, as Aisha knew Sasha liked to whenever she had the chance.

“Vayha,” said Aisha. “Enora has some wonderful Tol'rhen, some certainly better than in Saalshen. But I had to go all the way to Vayha in Saalshen to learn Lenay.”

“I suppose Enora never had cause to learn it before.”

“Our mistake.”

Sasha smiled. “Weren't you telling me before that you met Rhillian in Vayha?”

Aisha nodded. “We're nearly the same age. She was seventeen, I was sixteen. She had an important uma, much
ra'shi.”

“She told me of him.”

“Even then, people knew she was different. Not
du'jannah
like Errollyn, but not like most serrin either. Not bound so tightly by the
vel'ennar
that she could not think and act outside of it. Her Ulenshaals saw the potential of that, and were grooming her for big things.

“But her languages were not very good.” Aisha smiled, remembering. “I was appointed to help her. We studied together, and shared quarters. She helped me with my svaalverd. I was better at that than she was with languages.”

Ahead of them, Rhillian broke off her conversation with Yasmyn to turn in her saddle and fix Aisha with a look of amused reprimand.

“Just barely,” she said. “I recall teaching you to defend the high overhead, and you needed a box for your little legs to stand upon.”

“I want a sword.” Yasmyn interrupted Aisha's good-humoured retort. “I will learn to fight with the svaalverd.”

Sasha raised an eyebrow at Rhillian. It was not the first time Yasmyn had asked. “We don't have a spare sword,” said Rhillian. “And I do not think this is the best time to be learning….”

“I
will
have a sword,” Yasmyn said shortly. “I will take one from an enemy.”

“Don't be a silly goat, Yasmyn,” Sasha told her. “Men's swords are too big, I've told you before.”

“I can lift one.”

“Me too, but the balance is wrong—even men can't fight svaalverd with a heavy blade. Besides which, you're sixteen and svaalverd is best taught from six, or earlier. Why not learn archery instead?”

“I know knife fighting,” Yasmyn said stubbornly. “I have the footwork. I can learn swords.”

Her problem, Sasha knew well, was that she had never before been in the company of this many women, and been the least feared of them all. She did not like it.

Yasmyn had come because it was her best chance for glory. She had achieved her
arganyar
, which was a great glory in itself, particularly as she was sister to the Great Lord of Isfayen. All the Isfayen had cheered her, and told stories of how Family Izlar was so formidable that even its women were more than a match for “great” Bacosh knights. But now, the armies of Lenayin, Rhodaan, and Enora marched to Jahnd, to make a final great defence. That fighting promised to be men's work, and though women of the serrin
talmaad
won great glory as light cavalry, Yasmyn did not have those skills either. And so she rode for Ilduur, an emissary of the Lenay peoples, and one not unskilled in the darker arts of politics and intrigue. Sasha was not about to let her lead any negotiations, but she would be comfortable to have Yasmyn watching her back once they arrived.

They came to the crest of the hill, and the party resumed their canter. The speed was too fast for conversation, and Sasha watched the passing countryside instead, and held a careful spacing between herself and her friends. Of the twenty-six-strong party, twelve were serrin and the rest a mix of Enorans, a few Rhodaanis, and two Lenays—Sasha and Yasmyn. One of the Rhodaanis was Daish, Sasha's young friend from the Tracato Tol'rhen, and the only Nasi-Keth besides Sasha herself.

That evening they made a little distance by torchlight after nightfall, before finally halting at a small village in a forested valley. The biggest stables were at the temple, and the priests took them all in with much hustle and shouting, gathering fodder for tired horses and meals for tired riders.

Sasha washed in the stream by the temple. Donning a cleaner pair of clothes, she returned to the temple's sleeping chambers by passing first through the temple proper. It was small, with wooden crossbeams holding up the ceiling atop stone walls. In that humble silence, she found Kiel standing before the altar. He was gazing at some point of fascination—a statue, half the size of a man, atop a similarly sized plinth beside the altar.

Sasha walked to his side and looked at the statue. On its head was a garland, which Sasha knew was often used by artists to denote a Verenthane saint. Yet this woman held a book under one arm, inscribed with the words
tul'tiah ran
, or “the common law.” A Justice? A practitioner of laws? Suddenly Sasha realised why the woman looked familiar.

“It's Maldereld,” she said, astonished.

Kiel nodded. “It does appear to be. Not a figure regularly worshipped in Verenthane temples.”

The bringer of laws to Rhodaan, Enora, and Ilduur. These lands had once been ruled by lords and priests, and Maldereld was the most well-remembered face of those who had destroyed that old reign, and replaced it with the new.

“Aisha always told me that Enora is different,” said Sasha. “The most well integrated, the friendliest to serrin. The least nostalgic for the old ways.”

“They worship her,” said Kiel, “as a saint.” His tone was faintly mocking.

“What's wrong with that?” Sasha retorted. “Would you rather the alternative?”

“I merely wonder why with humans it must be either one extreme or the other. Maldereld was a great serrin warrior and scholar. I have read many of her writings and I know that she had no love of human religion at all.”

“And yet she did not ban it, as some had encouraged her to do. She saw the purpose it served. And here she is, immortalised in stone, continuing that purpose still.”

Kiel looked at her. His grey eyes were unlike any of the more typical bright colours of serrin. Those were penetrating, but these were unreadable. Sasha found his stare more unnerving than that of any other serrin she knew.

Kiel had tried to kill her, on a ship in Petrodor Harbour. She had been helping Errollyn to escape at the time, after Rhillian had decided it necessary to keep Errollyn detained. Errollyn had taken that arrow in the shoulder instead, and Kiel had nearly become the first serrin in more years than all serrin history recorded to purposely kill another…though even that was disputable, as he'd been aiming at her. Sasha supposed it was possible he'd been aiming at her shoulder too. Somehow, she doubted it.

“Purpose,” said Kiel, with faint sarcasm. “The purpose of appeal to ignorant emotion, in place of reason.”

“Lately I feel that reason's high reputation has been gained unfairly,” Sasha said drily.

Kiel's lip curled. “A human might think so. But a human might not understand the term.”

With any other serrin, Sasha might have been interested to debate the issue further. But she knew that unlike most serrin, Kiel's words were not
unintentionally
insulting.

She looked him up and down, with the aggressive half-smile of Lenay contempt. “Fuck you,” she said, and walked unhurriedly from the temple.

The women had pulled rank and claimed the stables. It would have been impolite of them to repay the priests’ hospitality by bedding as serrin normally would, with men and women together…and sometimes in the same bed, should urge and opportunity coincide.

Sasha made a final round of the horses before bed, checking each for any sign of poor condition that had somehow escaped notice after the day's riding. As she finished the final horse, she turned, and was confronted with a tall serrin man. His eyes burned nearly gold in the dark. Arendelle.

He considered her, wordlessly. Sasha folded her arms, and said nothing. Arendelle was a friend to Kiel and Rhillian both. He had been particularly close to Triana, who moved within Kiel's
ra'shi
, and had died at Sasha's blade upon the stern of the ship, along with Halrhen, another serrin. Sasha may have fought with the svaalverd, but she was in truth a Lenay yuan. Enemies were enemies, and one did not regret their killing any more than one regretted any of the other eternal fates. But those two she did regret, no matter how rightful the circumstance.

Arendelle approached, and gazed at her face. He was not an unattractive man. Strong, in the way of serrin archers. His golden eyes gave her a shiver. Serrin eyes were never exactly alike in their intensity. Arendelle's flicked down, considering her. If he'd been human, she might have been offended.

Her heart beat faster. Should she say something? She'd killed his friend. She did not know if it was accusation in Arendelle's eyes, or reconciliation, or something peculiarly serrin and inexplicable. He put a finger to her neck and traced a line down to her collar. Then to her chest, lingering at the breast beneath her jacket.

Sasha's eyes flashed warning. Serrin or not, her cultural tolerance had its limits. Arendelle's expression never changed, but his hand hovered. Then he turned on his heel, and left.

Sasha returned to the hay, where Rhillian prepared herself a makeshift bed. Yasmyn stretched nearby, with a difficulty that suggested it was a recent habit, copied from her swordfighting companions.

“What is it?” Rhillian asked Sasha. The dim lantern light was no hindrance for Rhillian's emerald eyes. She could read Sasha's face as clear as day.

“Arendelle,” said Sasha. She did not need to explain the rest. Rhillian knew. Her expression was sombre. “Should I apologise?”

“Do you feel sorry?” There was an edge to Rhillian's voice too. Triana and Halrhen had been her friends as well.

“Yes,” said Sasha. “Not as a Lenay yuan—Kiel had just tried to kill me and they were trying to finish it. If we talk of fault then the fault is Kiel's.” Rhillian said nothing. “But however it happened, I'm sorry they're dead.”