Haven: A Trial of Blood and Steel Book Four (44 page)

“You know most peoples quite well, Aisha.” Sasha sighed. “They have superstitions. Some say I am the Synnich. I was Kessligh's uma, I am Goeren-yai, as are three-quarters of this army, and yes, I have achieved some things. Common Lenay folk have always disliked the Lenay nobility because the nobility hold titles that they did not earn. It is not the Lenay way. Now the nobles fight with the Regent, so naturally they strike against the ways of nobility, to elevate me above Damon.”

“You could lose to Damon on purpose,” Rhillian suggested. “In a
tymorain.”

“You don't think they'd notice?” Sasha retorted.

“Or you could fight Markan,” said Aisha.

“My ally.” Sasha thought about it, frowning. “I'm not sure what it achieves. Nor if I could beat him at
tymorain.
I may strike him four out of five exchanges, but he's huge. He only needs to hit me once—he can kill much bigger opponents than me even with a stanch.”

“There is that,” Aisha agreed. “But Sasha, you said you wish to do what is best for Lenayin. These Lenay men have settled upon a stupid custom, and…”

“It's not a stupid custom,” Sasha retorted. “It is the elevation of the most capable, and more nations should follow it. It's just stupid to apply it to royalty.”

Sasha was interrupted by Errollyn, drawing the serrin boy's bow and firing an arrow into a nearby tree. He spoke with the boy, impressed. The boy was pleased.

“It's newly made,” Errollyn explained to her, seeing her watching. “I showed him how to make it a week ago.”

Sasha blinked. “He made it in a week?” Errollyn nodded. Sasha knew serrin bows were far more complex than anything humans used, comprised of several kinds of wood, moulded together in ways that dramatically increased power, accuracy, and range.

“You people are extraordinary,” she murmured.

Rhillian smiled, and grasped her hand. “Many of
you people
are just as extraordinary. So many of you have come to fight for us foreigners.”

Sasha shook her head. “We do not just fight for you. Everyone wishes to make a better world, and we all believe that the human world would be far better with the serrin still in it. We fight for ourselves.”

S
asha dreamed a terrible dream.

Then, with a start, she awoke. The first thing she saw was Errollyn's eyes, gazing at her on the pillows from barely a hand's breadth away.

“You dream,” Errollyn said softly.

“I dream of fire,” Sasha whispered. “And of rain.”

“Your people believe that a warrior's spirit guide will visit him before a great battle. Do you also believe?”

“Believe.
That word is not the same from your lips and mine, even though we speak the same tongue. Serrin do not believe as humans do.”

“Do
you
believe?” Errollyn pressed.

Sasha recalled the fire, and the sea of raised spears and swords. Recalled the pouring rain upon the hillsides, quenching the flames. Fire and water, the primary place of spirits. Serrin had taught her to think clearly. Yet whatever else she was, she remained Lenay, and Goeren-yai.

“Yes,” she murmured.

“Perhaps you are the Synnich,” Errollyn suggested, sliding a hand to her waist beneath the sheets.

“No. I'm me.”

“Yet you believe in forces beyond the control of us all.”

“As do you.”

“I may be in the grip of one such force right now,” Errollyn agreed. He kissed her. Sasha kissed him back.

A knock on the door interrupted them. Sasha wrapped a leg about her lover and ignored it. The door opened a crack.

“A thousand pardons, sir and m'lady. There are visitors.”

“Better be good,” Sasha murmured against Errollyn's cheek. “Who?” she called more loudly.

“Your sister,” came the reply.

Sasha's eyes widened. “Sofy?” She scrambled from the bed, found some of her favoured thigh-length woollen underwear and a shirt, and just in time as a slim girl in loose pants and a floppy shirt came tearing into the chambers with no decorum at all, and charged at Sasha with a squeal.

Sasha grabbed her and they tumbled onto the bed. When Sasha let go to look at her, she could scarcely believe her eyes. Sofy's hair was nearly short. Not completely, but now it barely fell past her shoulders, a scandalous cut indeed for a girl who had always worn it halfway down her back. And she had odd braids in it, several to either side of her face, to wild and unpredictable effect. In Sofy's loose travelling clothes, Sasha could see no other sign of jewellery or decoration, save that she smelled lovely, like flowers.

“Good lords!” Sasha exclaimed. “What have you done with yourself? What happened to the Princess Regent?”

“Oh, I have tales!” Sofy explained, with a faint sadness through the joy. “But later. Look at
you
! You look fit and well, and I see few scars anywhere!” They hugged again. Sofy looked up from the bed to find Errollyn, who had dragged on a pair of pants for modesty. “Errollyn!”

She leaped up and hugged him too, then exclaimed at his remaining scars, a clear but fading tracery across his body. As they talked, Sasha felt an unexpected emotion. When Sofy's attention returned, she was surprised to find Sasha wiping tears.

“Sasha, what's wrong?”

“Everyone's here,” Sasha explained, helplessly. “Everyone I love. Or nearly everyone.”

“But we're going to win, right?” Sofy grasped her hands. “And when we win, how better than all together?”

Sasha sighed, and nodded, with what she hoped was conviction. Sofy did not yet truly know war. She did not consider how dearly even victory would cost them.

They exchanged tales, as servants brought breakfast.

“So where is Jaryd?” Sasha asked.

“With the army,” Sofy explained. “We reached Tormae last evening; we could have reached Jahnd that night but the villagers said there would be grand events for you, so we thought we'd wait until morning.”

“We were in Tormae just yesterday,” Sasha confirmed.

“Yes, they said. Isn't it lovely? Errollyn, Saalshen is so beautiful! And your people! I've yet to meet any who were fearful or unkind, even once they learned who I am.”

“You should see the star festivals,” Errollyn said sadly. “The next is in a week, if I have my calendar right. Only I fear it will be skipped this year.”

“I would love to see everything Saalshen has to offer,” Sofy enthused, breaking bread and spreading butter. “I would love to spend a year here—I'm sure even then I could barely scratch the surface.”

“Sofy.” Sasha drew her attention, cautiously. “So you and Jaryd are…?”

“Fucking, yes.” And Sofy laughed at the look on Sasha's face.

“Sofy…you're still married.”

Sofy chewed her bread. “What's your point?”

“To the Regent.”

Sofy shrugged, determined to finish her mouthful before answering.

“I like this new development,” Errollyn admitted, very amused. Sasha was too incredulous to respond. What in the world had happened to her very respectable and proper little sister?

“I could not reconcile it for a very long time,” Sofy said after a swallow. “I mean, I love people, and I love all the things about people that make them difficult. Gods know I had enough of it with our family.”

“No argument there.”

“Yourself included,” Sofy added pointedly, but with a sparkle. Sasha nodded impatiently. “And I got so angry with you sometimes, because you fell in love with all these things that the mindless head bashers in Lenayin love so much. You know, duelling, warfare…”

“We are a nation of warriors, Sofy.”

“We,”
Sofy retorted with sarcasm. “Well, I'm not. And I've never accepted that people are evil, because that's just the excuse these mindless brutes use to justify killing each other. So I could not believe that Balthaar was evil, and for the longest time I refused to accept that he could do all these evil things that you and others accused him of. But then I saw Tracato. And I saw what the Elissians did to those innocent townsfolk we tried to save, and…”

“But none of that was Balthaar directly,” Sasha interrupted, watching Sofy intently. “Tracato was set afire by the Black Order. And the Elissians follow themselves.”

Sofy smiled. “But this is the point, Sasha. I realised it did not matter that Balthaar had not ordered these things directly. This is not a question of personal responsibility. It's a question of ideas. And beliefs. Balthaar's ideas led to that. He shares those beliefs. He thinks them innocuous enough, and godly, and right and proper, as he's been taught. He is not a bad man, and he genuinely believes that what he is doing is right, and will lead to the betterment of all the world, and all the people in it.”

“Except mine,” said Errollyn.

“Yes,” Sofy agreed. “In his mind, serrin are not ‘people.’” And she reached a hand to grasp Errollyn's in apology. “It's only what he's been taught—he does not know any better.”

“How tragic for him.”

“It is,” Sofy agreed. “Because his wife has now realised that none of it matters. Him being good, many of his people being good, it's irrelevant. We have to stop them. Kill them all if we must. There may be no evil people, but there are certainly evil ideas and evil actions. It is very sad if good people must be killed to prevent their evil actions, but there it is. It's really quite stunning how simple it is when you realise it.”

“So what will you do now?”

Sofy looked faintly surprised at the question. “Well, I cannot fight, but I can stand on a rampart and wave a banner. I can declare before all friends and enemies that the Princess Regent is so convinced of the evil of her husband's actions that she has turned against him.”

“And against Koenyg? And Myklas?”

Sofy looked sad, but she did not waver. “Yes,” she said simply.

Sasha let out a breath. She looked at Errollyn. Errollyn nodded. “It's going to be horrible, Sofy,” she said. “The most horrible thing ever. Far worse than what you saw in Tracato, or in the Udalyn Valley.”

“I know.”

“Jahndis are evacuating their children and old folk. Many others are joining them, those not needed for preparations. I'd rather you were with them.”

Sofy smiled. “I'd rather
you
were with them. But here we are.” Sasha sighed. “Now, what are you going to do about these fools who wish to make you queen?”

Sasha blinked. And could not resist saying, half joking, “You don't think I might make a good queen?”

Sofy laughed. “Sasha, don't be silly. You must stop them.”

“And what if they do not listen?”

“It seems that all of your friends and loved ones have been forced to fight their own people recently: Kessligh, Errollyn, Jaryd, your friend Rhillian, and now me. When will
you
start?”

Sasha cantered toward the centre of the Lenay camp, with Yasmyn close by. All about were Lenay campsites, mostly open fires, a few tents, many bedrolls or blankets donated by grateful Jahndis or nearby serrin. Men watched as she passed, some pausing in their tasks of washing, mending kit, or preparing food. In far fields, men trained in large ranks, coordinating manoeuvres with great yells.

The valley was wide enough that fifteen thousand Lenay warriors and their horses did not feel particularly cramped for space. Soldiers spread up the hills in search of wood and game, or roamed into Jahnd, or nearby serrin villages. Even here she saw serrin, many bringing food, others cooking or in conversation with these ferocious strangers. Many more serrin were arriving from elsewhere in Saalshen, Sasha knew, and most of them could not fight. Rhillian and Errollyn were at a loss to know what to do with them all.

Ahead, tents clustered near a small bridge across the Dhemerhill River. Men were waiting, having heard her message to assemble. Yasmyn had helped Sasha make the spirit marks on her cheeks, three lines for the three levels of being, like the tri-braid in her hair. She wore a bloodred cloth tied about her head, a
krayhal
the Isfayen called it, the declaration of a bloodwarrior on the path. A second
krayhal
she had tied about her waist. Sasha let the stallion prance, and the young horse obliged, delighted.

Men parted as she rode into the central space between tents. There she found Markan and Ackryd, and a number of lord yuans, as they were now calling themselves. Her allies and friends, men who would die for her, and she for them and their ways. Yet now she pushed all such thoughts aside and rode straight to Markan, and reared the stallion.

His hooves lashed, and Markan backed up. When the stallion grounded, she saw Markan glaring up at her, only too aware of the insult she had paid him, in forcing his retreat before these men.

“You
do not own me!” Sasha yelled at him. She drew her blade and pointed it at his chest. “I am Sashandra Lenayin, once uma to Kessligh Cronenverdt! I am Synnich-ahn, and the great spirit has driven me through walls of enemies, and I have drunk of their blood!” Spirits signs were made in a flurry about the circle, but Sasha did not cease.
“You
seek to put the Synnich in a cage, with a crown on her head! I am not made for cages, I am made for war! Who will fight me, and dare to show me my
place
!”

She wheeled the stallion, and ran him in a circle. Men scampered back as she tore before them, then back again. The horse reared again, and she let him, glaring all the while with a blade in her hand.

Markan, she thought, seemed almost to be smiling. Many stared awestruck, yet Markan knew this game. Worse, he liked it. He bowed a little and looked quite pleased that he had driven her to this at last.

“The men of Lenayin dare not place the Synnich-ahn in a cage,” he replied. “We seek only for the Synnich to lead us to victory!” A huge cheer raised in reply.

“The Synnich does not care for victory!” Sasha snarled. “The Synnich wants only blood! Be careful what you wish for, little man, for the dark spirits care nothing for your glory.”

“The Synnich-ahn should be warned,” Markan intoned. “I am Crastahn, led by the greatest of the old Isfayen spirits. We of the Isfayen know you, Synnich, drinker of blood, destroyer of worlds. We see that you have chosen a servant in this world, and we see that you have chosen well. But the servant is only flesh, and may fall as others fall. I am only flesh, and I will make her fall, if she cuts at my honour and the honour of my spirit guide too deeply.”

“You will die,” Sasha hissed.

“There is no need for death.
Tymorain.
Tonight. All shall come, and honour shall decide it.”

“The Synnich-ahn does not fight with sticks,” Sasha said scornfully, as the stallion fought for his head. “Only steel drinks blood.”

“The Synnich's servant is smaller than I. Sharp steel evens the odds.
Tymorain
then, yet the Synnich-ahn shall fight armoured, while I shall be bare.”

“Done,” Sasha snapped. “You claim to offer me power, yet you clasp the true power to yourself. You make new laws, and insist that others shall follow them. If you truly wish to follow me, you will let
me
make the laws, for all of Lenayin.”

Sasha spun the stallion fast and galloped from the scene and across the bridge, men scattering before her. Yasmyn followed.

“How was that?” Sasha asked her once they had cleared the camp's perimeter, and slowed to a canter heading for Jahnd.