“I don’t like the look of this,” said Sasha, leaning on the Maiden’s railing. Behind them, she could see three ships, triangular foresails billowing, masts rolling in the swell. “How far away, do you think?”
“Five leagues,” said Errollyn. “They’re no faster than us, I doubt they’ll catch us.”
Sasha turned to look across the deck, the wind whipping at her short hair, tossing the tri-braid across her cheek. Huge canvas sheets thudded and strained against their ropes as sailors ran on the deck, or crouched, and kept a wary eye to their knots and loops lest something abruptly break. Waves rolled across their path. The Maiden surged as the swell lifted behind, white foam spraying as her bow rushed through the water. Then slowed, riding high atop the wave, mast tilting back to the left as she slid down the rear side, losing half her speed.
Port side, Sasha reminded herself. Port was left, starboard right. It was her seventh day at sea, and she’d not been as sick as she’d feared, despite the weather. Half a year in Petrodor and much experience fishing, rowing and sailing on small boats had granted her enough sea legs that she wasn’t green and hanging over the side, like some others she could name.
“I’m not real keen on learning naval warfare right now,” she said, scanning the horizon for other sails. She saw none besides the three, but the haze and rolling seas could conspire to hide things even from eyes as sharp as Errollyn’s. The three pursuers were almost certainly Algrassien, though it was too far to see the colours. They were past Algrasse now, and it was the Larosa coast that occasionally showed its dim shadow through the distant mist to starboard.
Soon, the captain hoped, they would meet a Rhodaani or a Saalshen patrol, and the pursuers would flee. They were little more than pirates, in the face of serrin naval power. Blockade they had threatened, should Elisse be attacked, and now, blockade they attempted…three vessels at a time, preying on freighters alone or in small groups, never daring to face warships bow to bow. There was too much traffic in the Elissian Sea for all freighters to be guarded all the time, and a few had been lost. Sasha only hoped that this particular Rhodaani freighter was as fleet on the downwind run as her captain claimed.
She wondered if they shouldn’t be hugging closer to the Elissian coast. Elisse was no more friendly to her cause than Larosa or Algrasse, but it had been under attack for weeks. If the latest tales were true, the Rhodaani Steel had bypassed the port city of Algen and were laying siege to Vethenel further north. Given what Sasha had heard of the Rhodaani Steel, she had little doubt that, if true, Vethenel would have fallen by now.
But the Elissian coastline was rugged in parts, its waters treacherous, and its navy had not been entirely smashed, or so the Maiden’s captain feared. More likely its surviving remnants were in hiding, he claimed, in hidden bays known onlocal sailors. He chose for his ships a more westerly course, down the centre of the Elissian Sea. The great Rhodaani port city of Tracato lay barely a day and a half ahead, so long as the wind held to this direction.
Off to starboard, Windsprite heaved and foamed, keeping pace measure for measure. To port, Radiance appeared to be struggling a little. Sasha saw men about her foresail ropes, adjusting tensions, with much gesticulating and pointing. Three against three.
“You’re the master tactician,” Errollyn told her. His bow was unstrung in his hand as he leaned on the rail. “What would you do?”
“Hope they don’t have artillery,” said Sasha.
“Doesn’t seem likely. There’s no room to fire past those foresails.”
“They won’t be carrying cargo either,” Sasha countered. “We’re heavier.”
“But better built.”
“Enough to make a difference when we’re so much lower in the water? They’re bound to be a bit faster, at least, and they probably will have artillery somewhere amidships, though they’d have to draw alongside to use it.”
“We might have to start throwing things overboard,” Errollyn suggested. He stood up from the rail, took a firing stance, and practised drawing an imaginary bowstring. Testing his balance, as the ship slowly heaved back and across to port.
“Fine,” said Sasha. “I’ll start with Alythia.”
Errollyn just looked at her, half amused, half wary. The wind blew ragged, dark-grey hair about his face, framing brilliant, deep-green eyes. “Maybe you’re getting enough practice at naval warfare already,” he suggested.
Sasha snorted. She turned and made her way past the captain’s wheel, down a short flight of steps to midships. Her balance was fine now, even with the ship rolling so heavily…but then, balance was always her strong point. She’d been sick the second day after leaving Petrodor, but pretty good since then. Cool wind, sea spray and a view of the horizon all helped-she was much better above decks than below. Also, it was a relief to be finally free of Petrodor. Half a year in the primary port city of Torovan was her absolute limit, and while the ocean was nothing like the Lenay mountains and forests that she craved, its far, open horizons calmed her nerves and unknotted a winter’s worth of accumulated tension from her muscles.
Kessligh sat with Dhael upon the raised decking about the main mast, talking. Sasha sat beside Kessligh, and gazed up at the pair of heaving, triangular foresails. Their conversation was about sails, boats and winds. Sasha found more interest in Kessligh’s left leg as he sat with his it stretched out before him, the knee nearly straight. He seemed to find it more comfortable that way. The crossbow bolt had gone straight through the meat of his thigh five months before. The wound had healed well and the stiffening had not affected his movement as much as Kessligh had feared. But it was bad enough, and the limp was now permanent. A long, smooth staff rested at Kessligh’s side, his constant companion.
Dhael was Rhodaani, of an age with Kessligh, but considerably taller. He had long, greying hair, but a handsome, lean f›
that was. Such concepts the serrin had introduced to the three Bacosh provinces of Rhodaan, Enora and Ilduur, after the fall of Leyvaan the Fool two hundred years ago. Normally the serrin had not the force of arms to invade their neighbours, but following the demise of Leyvaan’s armies, those three provinces in particular had been left with little to defend themselves. The armies of Saalshen had invaded, and met with many friendly peasants only too happy to be free of their feudal overlords.
Rhodaan, Enora and Ilduur now made a wall of serrin/human civilisation, protecting Saalshen from the savagery of those arrayed against her. Sasha had often wondered why the serrin had stopped where they had. Elisse, too, would have been largely undefended, following Leyvaan’s fall, but the serrin had opted not to invade. Meraine also, and perhaps even parts of eastern Larosa. But many in Saalshen seemed discomforted even at their present, limited conquest, and neither Saalshen nor their Bacosh allies (known most everywhere as the Saalshen Bacosh) had invaded any foreign territory in two centuries since. Until now.
“Algen should come up soon to port,” Sasha remarked. “There should be some ships in the vicinity.”
“Perhaps a blockade,” Kessligh agreed.
“I don’t think anyone will be stupid enough to try to assist Algen by sea,” said Dhael. They spoke Torovan, and Dhael’s accent was lovely-all soft Larosan vowels and lilting consonants. Rhodaan retained its own native tongue, but Larosan was the tongue of nobility and civility in most Bacosh cities. Of all the Bacosh kings, Larosa had supplied approximately half, over the endless, bloody centuries. Most Bacosh nobility traced their lineage back to Larosa at some point. So much conquest had its rewards.
Now, a new Larosan ruler had proclaimed himself regent of the Bacosh. He would no doubt have claimed himself king, had Verenthane nobility not declared that title forbidden…until the one who would claim it had retaken the Saalshen Bacosh from the serrin, and reestablished human dominion there. Regent Arrosh was massing an army in Larosa, by far the largest yet assembled for such an assault. Kessligh and Sasha had hoped to stymie such a development from Petrodor, but Petrodor’s conflicts had only seen the emergence of a new king of Torovan, as there had never been a king of Torovan in seven hundred years. Torovan was marching. The united Bacosh was marching. The Army of Lenayin was marching. And the Rhodaani, unwilling to be threatened on two fronts simultaneously, had struck first-into Elisse.
“Might some of the Elissian nobility try to escape across the sea?” Sasha wondered. “They’ve allies in Algrasse.”
“Perhaps, from further along the coast,” Dhael conceded. “But they’ll not risk Saalshen’s navy nearer the ports. I hear many of the Elissian nobility fled in advance of the Steel, even as they were exhorting their armies to stand fast and fight. They heard talk from across the border, Rhodaanis muttering that they should not repeat in Elisse the same mistake the serrin made in Rhodaan.”
“Leaving the nobility alive?” Sasha guessed his meas marching.
Dhael nodded. “They say Saalshen was too kindhearted two hundred years ago. If they’d put all Rhodaani nobility to the sword then, as was done in Enora, Rhodaan would be much more stable now.”
“It wasn’t kindheartedness,” Kessligh replied. “They just didn’t see the point. The serrin consider no conflict resolved until the opponent has been convinced of his own wrongness. To kill a person to win an argument is not only abhorrent to them, most serrin believe it only loses you the argument, or postpones it to a later date.”
“That didn’t seem to bother them in Enora,” Sasha remarked.
“Serrin killed very few in Enora,” said Kessligh, “and mostly only those who would not put down their arms. The killing there was done by the peasants and townsfolk. Lord Gilis of Enora was a brutal man, and the Enoran peasantry had long been the most friendly to Saalshen. They were closest to the Ipshaal, and many knew friends or family who had slipped across the river, and could testify to the kindness of the serrinim.
“When Saalshen’s warriors came to Enora instead of the returning armies of Leyvaan, the peasants were thrilled. They rose up in a force too powerful for Saalshen to control, and Saalshen did not wish to offend their new friends and rob them of their new-found liberty. But the mobs killed every noble they could find, man, woman and child.”
“And a good thing too,” Dhael sighed. “They erased every claimant to the Enoran throne. Now, Enora is at peace. Rhodaan, however, is always crazy.”
Sasha had heard as much. Enora was the site of the Enoran Grand Temple, holiest of the Verenthane holy sites, and the greatest single cause of the current troubles. But Enora itself was peaceful and secure, with villagers and townsfolk volunteering to form the impassable barrier of the Enoran Steel-one-third of the greatest fighting army ever known to humanity.
Rhodaan, however, was even more powerful. It had ports, ships and trade. Thus, Rhodaan had gold, and lots of it. The Rhodaani also had competing factions, powerful old families clinging to old loyalties from before the coming of the serrin, and a tendency to solve such disputes through force that continued to exasperate their more peaceful serrin friends.
“This was a smart move, though,” said Sasha. “If they’d waited until the regent had mustered all forces on Rhodaan’s doorstep, they’d never have had the strength to defend the Elissian flank. Best to deal with Elisse first, and get it out of the way.”
“No,” said Dhael, shaking his head. “It’s a terrible decision.”
“Terrible?”
“When the serrin came to Rhodaan,” said Dhael, “my ancestors hoped that it was a new dawn. The serrin do not like war, and never engage in it by choice. Many of us have striven to make Rhodaan a place that will never resort to war. Least of all a war of aggression like this one.”
“Aggression?” Sasha stared at him. “Regent Arrosh gathers the largest army ever seen in the Bacosh to assault you and your allies and Lord Arshenen of Elisse declares his support for them, and yet you claim this defensive action is a war of aggression?id D
Dhael shrugged. “We attacked them. We crossed their border and invaded their lands, attacked their armies….”
“Semantics,” Sasha snorted.
“You are Lenay, and Lenays like war,” Dhael sighed. “Alas, even the grace of Saalshen has not swayed enough of my people from their love of bloodshed.”
“Nor their will to defend themselves,” Sasha retorted. “What you describe is suicide. How can you claim to love your people if you will not fight to defend them?”
“I love my people and I serve their interests,” Dhael said shortly. “I was elected to the Council by my peers. It is not for you to question whether or not I love my people.”
He got up, steadying himself as he found his balance, and departed. Kessligh shook his head. “I can’t believe I brought you on a mission of diplomacy.”
“He’s supposed to be schooled in the learned tradition of serrin debate,” said Sasha. “That means he’s not supposed to walk off in a huff when I make a strong point.”
“I’m quite sure you could walk into a Council of the most gentle and wise serrin thinkers,” Kessligh said drily, “and have them all baying for your blood within the hour.”
Sasha grinned. “You say the sweetest things.” She rested her head briefly against his shoulder. Kessligh snorted. She was enjoying being more affectionate to Kessligh these days. In so many ways, he’d been her truest father, much more so than her blood father, King Torvaal of Lenayin. Their relationship had been turbulent, as the master swordsman had attempted to whip the wild brat tomboy into a passable swordsman and Nasi-Keth uma. He’d been the one man whose approval she’d truly craved, while at the same time resenting the power that gave him.
Lately, though, the resentment had faded. Much of the wisdom she’d questioned at the time had turned out to be wise after all, and while she continued to disagree with his outlook on many things, she had gained a new-found respect for the reasoning behind his views. He no longer intimidated her like he once had, which was partly because she had grown, and partly because they had reached a deeper understanding. She was a woman now, and a blooded warrior, a person to be feared by her enemies. And she knew now for certain that Kessligh loved her, however gruffly he might express it. He might have difficulty showing his feelings, but that did not mean she should.
“Dhael is an idealist,” said Kessligh. “He knows serrin teachings well. He believes that if followed, humanity can become a peaceful race, like the serrin.”
“I doubt it. Serrin are just different, they don’t think as we do. If humanity is to find peace, we must find our own path to do so.”
Kessligh shrugged. “Even so, it is important to understand his position. There are many like him, in the Saalshen Bacosh. The Bacosh has had so much war, and people look for solutions.”
“Utopias,” Sasha corrected.
“Some might say Saalshen itself is a utopia,” Kessligh replied.
“But the serrin don’t understand the concept,” Sasha argued. “The serrin were always astonished that any human should think them so perfect. But serrin don’t even understand a concept like ‘perfection’ either…or rather they understand the idea, but they just can’t accept it. It’s always humans who come up with these stupid, simplistic notions, whether it’s Verenthane fanatics who think serrin are evil, or pacifist fanatics like Dhael who think that somehow by imitating serrin ways they can make humans more serrin. I mean, he’s crazy…it’s imitation. Any fool can decide to be pacifist, but if he doesn’t understand why, like the serrin know why, what’s he actually achieved?”
Kessligh smiled. “They’re only human,” he said. “One could argue that it’s better to be a peaceful idealist like Dhael than a ruthless pragmatist like Regent Arrosh.”
“No, it’s not!” Sasha exclaimed. “Because if the peaceful idealists won’t defend themselves, then the ruthless pragmatists will kill them all! And if the peaceful idealists are all dead, what can they possibly offer the next generation? The first imperative is survival; the dead offer nothing to anyone.”
“A moral example?”
“Of what not to do,” Sasha snorted. “And besides, Dhael hasn’t abandoned pragmatism entirely. Did you hear what he said about Enora? It being a good thing they’d killed all the nobility? Some pacifist.”
“You noticed. Good. That’s a rationalisation, Sasha. Those are the most dangerous of all.”
“Break a few eggs to make an omelette?”
“Exactly. Or in this case, ‘We must kill a lot of people now in order to ensure we don’t have to kill even more people later.’”
“I don’t know,” Sasha said glumly. “Enora is more stable now than Rhodaan, and it needs to be, considering its enemies. Maybe killing all the nobility was the right thing to do. It’s made their politics so much less destructive.”
“Quite possibly. Even flawed logic can arrive at the correct conclusion by accident. But that doesn’t make the logic any less dangerous. Because if that becomes the way Enora deals with all future problems, it could easily become a nightmare.”
Sasha used to find such philosophical ponderings exasperating. Kessligh seemed to make every discussion needlessly complicated. Since then, however, she’d seen the horrors of simple thinking. The northern Verenthanes of Lenayin, who had decided that the last remaining pagans in their midst, the Udalyn, should be exterminated. Lord Krayliss of the Lenay province of Taneryn, who had been prepared to see all Lenayin burn in civil war in order to see the return of the ancient ways to dominance. The power-hungry Patachis of Petrodor, who knew only wealth and swords, and respected no other currency.
This was the world that Kessligh had sought to escape. These were the simple thoughts and ideals he had striven to find answers to.
He glanced over his shoulder. “Are we being caught?”
“Errollyn doesn’t think so.”
“Eiv›
“And Errollyn knows much about boats?”
Sasha shrugged. “Rhillian did. Rhillian’s uma was a boat builder, amongst other things. Rhillian told Errollyn quite a lot.” She gazed up at the flapping, heaving foresails, her mood suddenly dark.
Kessligh put a hand on her shoulder. “Rhillian chose her own path,” he told her.
“I know,” Sasha muttered. “She’s a bloody fool.”
Meals on the Maiden were not as bad as Sasha had initially feared. The beef in the stew was salted and tough, but there were good vegetables too, and fruit, and even some half-fresh bread and cheese. The run from Petrodor to Tracato rarely took more than twelve days, but with this roaring tailwind the captain was confident they could do it in nine. Food kept well enough over such periods, and Nasi-Keth warriors like Sasha and Kessligh, and talmaad warriors like Errollyn, were somewhat particular about what they ate.
They weren’t the only ones. Also aboard the Maiden was a lieutenant of the Rhodaani Steel, and two dharmi-footsoldiers of the Steel. Sasha had sparred against all three, and had been impressed. They used shorter swords than the Lenay warriors she was accustomed to, and she’d been expecting them to show less competence when fighting alone. Instead she’d found them a comfortable match to most Lenay warriors she’d known, untroubled by the shifting deck beneath their feet, and probably more practised at contesting her own style, too.
Sasha had taken the opportunity to speak with all three men at length, and had learned a great deal. The Steel were serrin metalworking, weapons and armour, combined with serrin philosophies of motion and tactics, and the human knack for logistics, pragmatism and ruthlessness. One of the dharmi was half serrin by parentage, a common enough thing anywhere in the Saalshen Bacosh.
The lieutenant’s name was Geran, and he had travelled to Petrodor to speak with the Nasi-Keth, and assess lessons from the great battles that had wracked the city. The Steel, Sasha learned, were like that-always learning, always trying new things. Councilman Dhael had travelled on similar business, and to meet with the new king of Torovan’s representatives (those who would deign to see a councilman from a nation Torovan was busily preparing to make war against). Being a merchant as well, he was also conducting trade. Nothing stopped the trade, it seemed. Not even war.
In addition to Dhael’s three travelling retainers, there were five other passengers aboard, all Rhodaani. And, of course, there was Sasha’s sister Alythia.
Alythia was now busily charming Councilman Dhael at one end of the passengers’ table. She laughed and smiled between mouthfuls, dabbing daintily at the corner of her lips with a napkin, in such a way as to draw attention to their fullness. She wore a red gown of flowing folds that fanned from the waist, with white, lacy trim. It enfolded her in a tight corset about the torso-a current fashion of the Bacosh. Alythia’s assets, Sasha noted drily, were just about spilling out, and the men at the table were staring. Dhael was married with four children, yet Alythia’s eyes, and breasts, seemed positively fixated on the man. Sasha knew only too well what that meant.
Sasha finished her meal, and took a pear and her water flsk up steep, narrow stairs to the deck. She held onto a rail where she thought she couldn’t possibly get in the way, and ate the pear, listening to the rushing, roaring heave of the sea. The air smelled an intoxication of salt and freshness, as though alive. Cold, perhaps, but her sheepskin jacket was thick, and she had layers beneath…and she was Lenay, after all, and well used to cold.
After a while on deck, she tossed the pear stem overboard and returned below. The galley table was clear, and she followed the narrow corridor up to the forequarters and the only half-decent guest lodging available on ship, up near the bow. The door was closed, and she recalled her manners at least long enough to knock before entering.
She found Alythia struggling with her corset. Her sister looked annoyed that she’d entered before being invited, but also a little relieved. “Oh, Sasha. Could you help me with this? I can’t reach the laces properly.”
“I can see,” said Sasha, amused. She shut the door, and stepped behind her sister. Alythia was taller, and her bundled hair tonight added to the effect. To say nothing of her boots, which Sasha saw only now were red leather, high with big heels. “Dear Lords, where did you get those boots?”
“These? Oh, there’s so much for sale along the docks if you look, Sasha. You never looked. You lived in Petrodor for six months and you missed everything.”
“Everything meaning clothes, jewellery and perfumes,” said Sasha drily. “You lived there for six months and you never once went out fishing.”
“I leave fishing to men and tomboys,” said Alythia, unconcerned.
“I leave dresses and jewellery to flirts and whores,” Sasha replied, loosening the laces with difficulty. Once, Alythia would have flown into a rage at such talk. Now, she might even have smiled…only Sasha could not see her face from behind.
“Your opinion of fashion does not truly interest me, Sasha,” Alythia said mildly. “I’ll not take tips from someone who wears more dead animals than a Lisan sailor.”
“Skins are the Lenay tradition,” said Sasha, straining to get the middle laces loose. “Of course, I wouldn’t expect you to know what that means. How in the world did you get these laces so tight? Considering you can hardly reach them?”
Alythia smirked. “I had Lieutenant Geran come and help me into it. He was most accommodating. His hands are so strong!”
“So the plan was to have Lieutenant Geran dress you, and Councilman Dhael undress you?” The laces finally came loose, and the corset shifted, loosening visibly. Alythia let out a small gasp.
“Councilman Dhael is a very interesting man,” Alythia said, struggling out of the dress. “If I am to be located in Tracato for the next Gods-know-how-long, the least I can do is learn how the city functions.”
“Councilman Dhael is a very influential man,” Sasha corrected. “What are you plotting, ’Lyth?”
“Plotting,” Alythia snorted. “You have a devious little mind.”
“Isn’t it slightly beneath the dignity of a Lenay princess to be a councilman’s mistress?”
“Don’t you talk to me about dignity,” Alythia snapped. “If you knew the meaning of the word, you’d not walk around in pants with a sword on your back. Talk about being a blight on the dignity of Lenay princesses, you’ve got some nerve.”
She shrugged the corset down her body and finally stepped out of the dress, which revealed curves that might have turned a less self-conscious woman than Sasha green with envy. Alythia, as most men seemed to observe, had a body made for sin. Sasha didn’t mind. She had a body made for war, and Errollyn liked it just fine.
“So what did he tell you?” Sasha asked, bouncing onto Alythia’s small cot. “About Tracato?”
Alythia took out a plain, brown and white dress from her chest, and pulled it carefully over her head. “It seems a strange place,” she said, muffled under her dress. Watching her, Sasha noticed that Alythia wore a knife in a sheath strapped to her shapely thigh…and Sasha wouldn’t have wagered good coin on the odds of that six months ago. “No kings nor queens, just the Council and the High Table. I’m not sure how it all works yet, but I understand more than I did.”
“Kessligh says the idea is to give the ordinary people a voice,” said Sasha. “Instead of just petitioning their lords, they have actual representatives in the halls of power.”
“Oh, Sasha,” Alythia said crossly, “for such a ruthless general, Kessligh can be so woolly-headed sometimes. It would never work, and there’s no way of truly telling who the people want as their representatives anyhow. People are so fickle.” She began letting down her hair, one pin at a time.
“Is that what Councilman Dhael thinks?”
“Don’t be daft, Sasha. Never ask a man what he thinks. Let him tell you of his own accord, that way he’ll never know which of the things he’s told you are valuable to you.”
“I didn’t ask whether you asked him his opinion,” Sasha retorted. “I asked whether you know his opinion.”
“He thinks Tracato doesn’t work very well,” said Alythia.
“How doesn’t Tracato work very well?”
“Oh, all this talk about ‘representatives of the people,’” Alythia said dismissively. “Councilman Dhael speaks prettily enough of his ideals, but truly, he’s just a merchant. Few enough of the Council are truly common folk, whatever their pieties; most are just schemers out for power. It’s so much simpler, Sasha, when the people know who’s in charge. But in Rhodaan, everyone thinks to be in charge, and stand on the shoulders of the other person to get there.”
“Aye,” said Sasha, sarcastically, “because the nobility are so much more well behaved.”
“You make fun,” Alythia said mildly, as dark curls unbundled down her back, “but in truth, they are. It is the natural order of mother nature, Sasha. Even wolf packs have leaders.”
Princess Alythia.”
“Aye, and if wolves owned lands, you’d have a fair analogy,” Alythia retorted. “But we can’t have everyone scrambling for power all the time, can we? Fighting over titles for lands? It would be a bloody massacre. It seems poorly enough in Rhodaan. Humans need structure, Sasha. Royalty and nobility serve their Godly purpose. This Rhodaani experiment seems ill advised indeed. The meddling of idealistic serrin and Nasi-Keth dreamers.”
Sasha thought about it as she lay in her hammock later that night. She was sleeping in the general quarters, as there was precious little dedicated space for high-class passengers on the Maiden. Councilman Dhael had the only other quarters, though he had graciously offered them to Sasha…her being a princess too, in her previous life at least. Sasha had, of course, declined. It was her own little snobbery, perhaps, that she did not need such luxuries. She liked being tougher and less refined than women like Alythia, or men like Dhael. It made her smug.
She, Kessligh, the three Rhodaani soldiers, Dhael’s three retainers and five other passengers all slept in the main quarters with the sailors. Privacy of sorts came from old sheets and blankets draped over ropes between hammocks. Being the only woman, she’d been allowed the forward-most space, up against the wall that separated main hold from forequarters.
Sasha lay with a blanket folded three times over her to ward the chill. Boards groaned and creaked, and above decks men shouted direction. Frequently there were footsteps or conversation over by the crew hammocks, as tired sailors changed shifts, or returned below decks for things they needed.
More footsteps, and then Errollyn pushed past the hanging blanket. He looked a little tired and grim.
“I was up the rigging,” he answered her unasked question. “The captain wanted a better look at the lights on our pursuers. He thinks to know them better by their nightshift.”
Sasha nodded. Serrin could see by night nearly as well as humans by day, and Errollyn’s sight was sharp even by serrin standards. “Do they draw closer?”
“No.” Errollyn removed boots, socks, bandoleer and jacket, stowing them in their saddlebags against the wall. “The captain fears a trap.”
Sasha nodded, biting her lip.
Errollyn climbed into the hammock beside hers…an unusual arrangement, which had caused some consternation amongst some crew and passengers, and some mirth with others. Sasha was usually bothered by little where lewd or stupid remarks on her gender were concerned, but this was different. Some called her “whore,” she knew, and it worked on her temper as such things never had before. Well…before Errollyn she’d been a virgin, so it had hardly been applicable.
She was one of only two women aboard, and she was sleeping with (or alongside, at least) a man who was not her husband…and was serrin, even worse. She’d thought a Rhodaani crew, with their superior affection for all things serrin, might not be bothered by this arrangement, but she was leaning that humans were more similar from land to land than she’d have liked. Errollyn, they were fine with. Some might have even respected him more, for appreciation of his “conquest.” It was her they called the slut.
Errollyn pulled his blankets up, and reached across to put a hand in Sasha’s hair through the hammock netting, as she scowled at the ceiling. The motion of the ship made their bodies swing in time, barely touching.
“Why the face?” he asked her.
“It’s nothing.”
“Alythia?”
Sasha shook her head. Errollyn reached his hand beneath her blankets to grasp her own. Then he put it on her thigh. Sasha removed it. “That’s not like you,” Errollyn teased.
“Just rest it for a moment, will you?” Sasha said. Errollyn sighed, withdrew his hand, and laid his head back to sleep.
“I’m sorry.” Sasha wriggled sideways in the hammock. “I didn’t mean to snap.”
“You always snap. I’m used to it.”
Sasha could have argued, but didn’t. Denying her own temper was foolish. If she wanted the man she loved to stay in love with her, at some point she was going to have to stop picking unnecessary arguments.
“This ship annoys you. Very few serrin women would envy you, being what you are, here amongst humans.”
Sasha smiled. Of course he understood. He always understood. She reached, and took his hand. Her frustrations had hardly kept them abstinent, of course. The hammocks were not suitable for a couple without the privacy or patience to experiment, but the cargo hold was usually empty. Which had been hardly romantic, with no space between crates and bags to lie down, but they’d managed nonetheless. As svaalverd warriors both, they shared an interest in physicality, and discovering what their bodies could do together-in positions that did not involve lying down-had been an entertainment all of its own.
There came a round of unpleasant coughing from behind the next partition. Sasha swore lightly, and slid from her hammock. The other reason the hammocks were unsuited was that Kessligh bunked directly alongside. She suspected he wouldn’t have cared, but even so…
She slipped past the blanket, and found him half seated in his hammock, sipping from a water flask. “You all right?”
He grimaced, nodding as he drank. There was a small pan on the floor beside the bed, just in case. “Damn ships,” he muttered. “We’ll be in Tracato soon, that’ll cure me. What did Errollyn see?”
“They’re not gaining. The captain fears a trap. Perhaps we’d best not sleep?”
“If there’s an ambush, we’ll have enough warning to wake, dress and arm. Better to fight rested.”
Sasha nodded. “How’s your leg?”
“It’s fine, dammit woman,” Kessligh growled. “My mother died long ago, you don’t have to check on me every time you hear a noise.”
“Oh, but look at you,” said Sasha in consternation. “Your hair’s a mess, you haven’t shaved in two days…here, just let me…” She moved to comb his hair down with her fingers. Kessligh swatted at her, dangerously fast, and she danced away with a mischievous grin.
“You,” Kessligh said warningly, “will find you’re not too big for a spanking.”
“You’d have to catch me first, old man,” Sasha laughed. “Sleep well.”
She retreated back into her hammock. The ship lurched and rolled, but the only twisting in her stomach was from happiness. Woman. Kessligh called her “woman,” not “girl.” It was hard not to grin with delight.
Errollyn noticed. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing.” Sasha turned onto her side, facing him. “Say, you want to go downstairs and fuck?”
Errollyn grinned. Spirits he looked nice when he did that. Those incredible green eyes flashed, full of humour. Sometimes she couldn’t believe her luck.
“You’re impossible,” he said. “Tracking your moods is like sailing through four seasons before breakfast.”
Sasha laughed. Impulsively, she leaned over and kissed him long and deep on the lips. Then she lay back again, and contented herself with holding his hand.
“Sasha?” Errollyn asked. “I’ve a question. Don’t kill me.”
“Ah,” said Sasha. “A stupid serrin question. Go ahead, I’m bracing myself.”
“Do you think…I mean, Kessligh is like a father to you. But it’s all very well to say that, it’s another thing when a man hasn’t had a partner in a long time, and after all, you’re not his daughter…”
Sasha frowned. “You know, for a serrin wordsmith, that’s an appallingly opaque question. Spit it out.”
“Do you think he’s ever fancied you?”
Sasha stared at him in horror. “No!” And remembered to keep her voice down. “How can you ask me something like that?”
Errollyn shrugged helplessly. “Stupid serrin question, remember?”
“We were…dammit, Errollyn, we’ve been together since I was eight! He still thinks I’m a little girl, or…or…” Only now, he called her “woman.” She broke off in frustration.
Errollyn put a hand on her arm. “Don’t be angry. I was just curious.”
Somehow, Sasha found that she wasn’t angry. If anyone else had suggested such an appalling thing, she’d have most likely hurt them. But serrin were so innocent, in some things. Not innocent like children, far from it. But they weren’t offended by the notions that most humans found so terrible.
He reached, and put a hand on her hip. “Do you still want to go downstairs and fuck?”
“Gods, never again.” In the dim wash of lamplight, Sasha thought she saw Errollyn’s face fall. As if she’d actually managed to offend him. She grasped his hand and held it tightly. “I’m joking! Errollyn, I’m kidding.” He looked a little relieved. “Just…maybe tomorrow. You’re fine in the dark, but I’ll whack my foot and break something.”
“Tomorrow we may die,” Errollyn said reasonably. “I’ll make certain you don’t break anything.”
Sasha gave him a hard look. She hated it when he did that-said exactly the right thing to talk her into something she’d already decided she shouldn’t do. “All right,” she sighed. “It’s not late yet. We’ll get a lantern and go down the front way.”
Sasha was up at dawn, and found their pursuers gone. What was more, the wind had fallen to a cool breeze and the seas were calming. She exercised on the deck, watching the sky change from dark to pale blue, then yellow, red and gold. To starboard, Windsprite gently rocked, her sails full as she cut through azure seas.
To port, Radiance lagged a little, and seemed to have damaged a foresail. At the captain’s wheel, the night helmsman cast dark looks in Radiance’s direction. When the captain rose to relieve him, some unimpressed gestures were aimed in the other ship’s direction.
Errollyn joined her soon enough, and was delighted to find their pursuit had vanished. He pulled off his shirt, and Sasha chided him in Saalsi for his vanity. She’d have been prepared to fall for a man less pretty than this one, so long as he’d been the right man. This, however, was serendipity. And what she’d done with him in the cargo hold last night had been considerably more than that. She couldn’t believe no one else on the ship had heard her. She’d tried to muffle it, but there’d been a few shrieks that surely could have been heard above a raging thunderstorm.
She and Errollyn sparred as the sailors watched them. Most Rhodaani men might have seen serrin women spar, but few would have seen human women at her standard. The svaalverd, at the level practised by Sasha and Errollyn, was blindingly fast. Neither of them missed a stroke, a shifting, circling dance of sliding feet and flashing wooden blades, the sharp cracking of wood-on-wood breaking the morning calm.
Errollyn suggested variations, and Sasha complied with flashing attacks, complete sequences but for the killing blow. She found herself actually enjoying the shifting deck beneath their feet. All svaalverd fighters were obsessed with balance, and anything that challenged it was an intrigue to be explored at length.
“Keep bossing her about, lad,” said one bald, pot-bellied sailor in passing. “You can still teach her a thing or two, I’ll wager.”
Errollyn grinned, windmilling an arm, sweat dripping down his flexing chest and hard stomach. Sasha realised the sailor had mistaken Errollyn’s suggestions for commands. “She’s teaching me how not to die,” Errollyn corrected the man. “If she came at me with something I was not prepared for, I’d last two strokes.”
A few listeners laughed, as if thinking him joking. Or chivalrous, complimenting the girl. Watchers could not see what both Sasha and Errollyn could feel,n every flashing combination, in every clash of wood-on-wood. She was better. Not faster, and certainly not stronger. She simply translated thoughts and forms into actions faster and with greater cunning than he did. In fact, the ease with which she was coming to handle Errollyn in sparring sometimes bothered her. Errollyn was formidably good, by any standard. Perhaps, she sometimes thought, she was simply coming to know him too well. Perhaps she was not truly as superior as her results suggested. Perhaps she was only getting better at beating him. On mornings like this one, however, she doubted it. She could feel herself improving, and it was addictive. She wanted more. She wanted to know where the boundaries lay. And she wanted to know for certain that, the next time she met her enemies in battle, as many of them as drew steel against her would die for it, no matter what their numbers and standard.
Tracato announced its proximity approching with an increasing number of ships converging on the sea. At first one sail appeared on the afternoon horizon, then a couple more. All resolved into traders of one sort or another. Then came another pair, larger, twin-masted with huge, billowing sails. They came close, cutting the water with greater speed than Sasha had ever seen. Sailors lined their sides, and up in the rigging, most with bows. Amidships was a pair of ballista-huge things that no doubt fired flammable oils over a range many times further than a longbow.
Serrin warships. They flew no flag, for serrin had never yet agreed on the necessity of a single banner to represent their diversity. Neither was the hull painted, nor figures mounted on the bow, nor gold trim about the captain’s quarters. Simple, they were, and beautiful in their sleek lines. Only the sails bore decoration, a dark embroidery on canvas white, a swirling pattern that might have made the outlines of a square or a rectangle.
“Saalsi script,” said Errollyn, leaning at her side to watch them pass. Sasha took a closer look, and suddenly she could see it. Saalsi letters, overlaid and stylised.
“What do they say?”
Errollyn smiled, and shook his head. “Oh, a thousand things.” Sometimes, even Errollyn failed the translation.
Toward evening, they came upon another warship, towing a second, half-size vessel in its wake. The captive’s sails were blackened, some furled, others missing. Half the usual, tangled rigging seemed gone, and the masts were burned in places. As the Maiden heaved alongside the slower tandem, Sasha saw folk huddled on the deck in tight groups. Some appeared injured, others sooty. Yet others with swords stood over them, guarding, and even from this range Sasha could see that those were serrin. She could tell from the way they stood, and grasped the blades in their hands. And some appeared to be women.
This time, it was Kessligh at her side as she watched. “Elissian refugees,” he said grimly. “Nobility, by the look of them.”
Sasha nodded. Only nobility would have the money to pay such a passage. Trying to cross the Elissian Sea, only to be intercepted and captured. “Heading for Algrasse or Larosa,” she agreed. “They must have been scared. Perhaps they recall what happened in Enora.”
“I’m sure they do.”
The Maiden reached Tracato shortly before midnight. The › he did not look like much from out to sea, not after the gleaming slopes of Petrodor. Two dancing lights burned brighter than the others, reflecting double off the dark water. Some smaller lights above burned, and the flickering glow of many boats bobbed on the water like firebugs upon a Lenayin lake. To either side fanned the tall, dark cliffs of the Rhodaani coast.
Only when the port city drew closer did the scale of those two fires become apparent. Each was a great bonfire, burning atop a huge, square-sided tower of stone. Sasha stood amidships as the Maiden passed beneath the port tower, and stared up at its walls in amazement. Never in her life had she seen a structure so large. The twin fires lit the harbour mouth to near-daytime glare, and cast unearthly shadows across the rigging. Protruding from each tower’s lower wall, Sasha could see the links of an impossibly huge steel chain. Within each tower would be winches, she knew, having heard tell of this particular defence. If under attack, the chain would be pulled tight, to keep invading ships out. To gain entrance to Tracato harbour, the towers would need to be captured first. From the sea, that didn’t seem likely.
Within the harbour mouth sheer cliff walls loomed above a wide circle of sheltered water. Here, as sailors scrambled to fill out the sails in the dying breeze, Sasha could see the city lights-the lanterns on the docks, the midslope lights from the occasional house window, and the dancing line of torches above the great wall of Ushal Fortress. Tracato was barely a quarter the size of Petrodor but, many said, considerably more beautiful. Houses climbed the hill from Dockside toward the fortress that loomed over all-save the spires of the Heleshon Temple, lower and to the right-from this harbour view. But the dark robbed her of the sight of flying banners and colourful commotion on the docks.
Tracato was known to be windy, yet so sheltered was the harbour that barely a breeze pushed at the Maiden’s sails as she drifted slowly to an available mooring at the end of a long pier. There were many tall ships, lashed close together along the piers, frequently two abreast on either side. It made for a unique sight, so many masts and forests of tangling rope dimly lit from below by the nightwatch lights on deck. There seemed to be quite a few guards, Sasha noted, seeing the armed figures standing on the decks, or down on the piers.
The sailors worked fast, lashing sails and securing ropes. Sasha went below decks to fetch her small bag, and by the time she reemerged, a wide planking had been raised to the Maiden’s side. The captain was already on the pier, talking to a man in a wide black hat and a long red coat flanked by a pair of equally important-looking guards, who Sasha took for the Tracato Blackboots. They wore blue coats over mail, and their boots were indeed tall and black. A separate militia, to keep order in the city. She’d never seen their like before either.
Kessligh disembarked first, walking staff-in-hand, his saddlebag of luggage over his shoulder. Then went the three Rhodaani soldiers, and Councilman Dhael with his retainers. Sasha looked about to find Alythia standing close, wearing a flowing green gown with a laced back.
“Where’s all your luggage?” Sasha asked. Alythia’s hair fell in rich, black folds down her back and shoulders, her lips painted red, her nails long and sharp. Who she thought she would be making such a grand entrance for at this hour, Sasha had no idea.
“Councilman Dhael has arranged for his servants to collect it for e,” she said mildly. Alythia, of course, had not come travelling with just a saddlebag. How she’d managed to accumulate so many possessions, after everything she’d brought from Lenayin had been lost in the fall of House Halmady was also a mystery.
Sasha disembarked after Errollyn, with Alythia behind. Soldiers and gathering dockworkers on the pier stopped whatever they were doing and stared. And not at her, Sasha noted.
The man in the red coat finished his business with the captain, who turned and made his way back up the plank to his ship. Sasha expected Councilman Dhael to announce himself first, but he stepped aside for the three Rhodaani soldiers. They thanked Dhael, conversed briefly with the red-coat, showed him a tattoo each had on their upper arm, and passed. The Steel were respected in Tracato, if even a councilman should step aside for them.
Dhael then introduced himself. The red-coat barely glanced at his face, made a mark on the parchment he carried flat on a writing board, and waved him and his retainers on. Dhael spoke with the senior-most of his retainers, striding down the pier without a glance behind. Sasha could just smell Alythia’s annoyance.
“Ur nahrom?” the red-coat asked Kessligh. “Your name?” Sasha reckoned that was. She’d learned a little Larosan over the last six months in Petrodor.
“Kessligh Cronenverdt,” he said, and continued in Torovan: “This is my uma, Sashandra Lenayin, her sister Alythia Lenayin and our companion Errollyn Y’saldi.” Sasha winced inwardly. Errollyn never used the second name. It meant things that most humans did not understand. Here, it was formality.
“I shall ask them their names in turn,” said the red-coat dismissively, also in Torovan. He peered at Kessligh, apparently unimpressed. There was little politeness about him. “Prove that you are Kessligh.”
“Prove that I am not.”
The man’s nostrils flared. “Here in the great city of Tracato, all are answerable to the Council of Rhodaan and the High Table. Their appointed officers wear red coats, like mine. You shall answer my questions, or you shall not be allowed entry. Prove that you are Kessligh Cronenverdt.”
“He could chop your fucking head off,” Sasha snorted in Lenay. “That’d prove it.”
“He could indeed,” responded the red-coat in flawless Lenay. Sasha blinked. She’d not expected any in this part of Rhodia to understand her. “But it would not gain him entry to this city.”
“Dear Lords, Sasha,” Alythia exclaimed in exasperation, also in Lenay. “You’re such a mindless unsophisticate, I can’t believe you’re my sister.”
“Me neither,” said Sasha, in Saalsi. Alythia frowned, uncomprehending.
“You speak Saalsi too?” the red-coat asked Sasha, also in Saalsi.
“Better than you, I’m certain,” Sasha replied in the same.
“I quite doubt that, young lady-all the red-coats of Tracato are schooled in the language of our serrin friends since childhood.” Sasha stood sullnly. His Saalsi did seem rather good. “You certainly do have the reputed appearance of Sashandra Lenayin…but these things are known to many, and could be imitated.”
“Our languages too?” Sasha asked incredulously. “My tattoo? I’ll show you that too if you like!”
“Sasha…” Kessligh began, with weary impatience.
“This is ridiculous!” Sasha exclaimed. “Who the hells else would we be? What kind of honourless people go about asking others to prove who they are?”
Errollyn put an arm about Sasha’s shoulders to restrain her, and leaned forward. “Excuse me?” he asked, back in Torovan. “I’m rather tired and I’d like to lie down. If this is going to take a while, could I just go on and leave them?”
The red-coat looked amused. “Of course, serrin sir. Whenever you please.”
“Oh that’s great!” said Sasha. “Serrin get to enter whenever they please, and the rest of us must…” Errollyn muzzled her with a strong hand.
“I couldn’t take her with me?” he asked the red-coat. “She’s quite sweet with me, she only barks and growls at strangers.” Sasha struggled to remove his hand, but it wasn’t easy-Errollyn’s right-handed grip came more from bows than swords, and had ferocious power.
“Master Errollyn,” said the red-coat, “I do believe I recall you from Council sessions. How many years has it been?”
“Nearly three,” said Errollyn.
Sasha finally freed herself, though it took both of her hands to do so.
“And you can vouch for these others?”
“For Kessligh, Sashandra and Alythia, yes. I’m quite sure I haven’t been deceived as to their identities, by this one least of all. She’s far too annoying to be anyone else.” Alythia laughed like that was the funniest thing she’d heard in weeks.
The red-coat smiled grimly. “Very well. I shall require your marks on this paper, and you must report to a council officer before sundown tomorrow. Failure to do so shall be taken as admission that your stated identities are false, and the Blackboots shall be alerted.”
“Thank you, Errollyn,” Alythia said graciously as they walked down the pier. “If we’d left it to Sasha, I’m sure we’d have all spent the night in a Tracato dungeon, at best.”
Sasha let them talk, stalking angrily ahead. The decking felt as though it were still heaving beneath her, and it was a curious sensation indeed to take long strides and be certain that the boards were, in fact, not moving. The pier was wide: two horse-and-carts could easily have passed, making it possible to unload two large vessels simultaneously.
Fronting the docks were mostly warehouses, grim and silent, and guarded by militia men who Sasha guessed might be hired swords. There was little of the life and bustle of the Petrodor Dockside, and the water smelt foul as it lapped against the retaining wall. A sheltered harbour, Sasha realised, with nocean currents to disperse the city’s wastes.
Tracato Dockside was far more orderly than Petrodor’s. The stone facades of taverns and dwellings presented a friendly face to the sea, alive with the light of lanterns.
Ahead, Councilman Dhael had walked to the forecourt of a tavern, where men waited with horses tethered to carriages to take folk up the incline. Sasha was in half a mood to walk, to stretch her legs and to see Tracato up close. But Alythia would assuredly dislike the notion, to say nothing of Kessligh’s leg, so Sasha headed toward the carriages.
There were four of them, their drivers standing around a forecourt fountain, sharing drinks and laughing. And now, stepping about the carriages, were men in wide hats, matching dark tunic and pants, and tall black boots. Those men were looking at her. And now, they were coming toward her, swords swinging at their hips.
Sasha kept walking, counting ten Blackboots in all. They were spreading out now, across her path. Heart thumping in anticipation of trouble, Sasha found herself paying more attention to the dockfront windows behind the men than the men themselves. A Petrodor reflex that was, searching for archers-always her greatest concern. Swordsmen she could handle. Perhaps not ten, but maybe.
“Sashandra Lenayin!” announced the leader.
“Aye,” said Sasha, with as much unconcern as she could muster. “Who blocks my way?”
“We are the Blackboots of Tracato!” he said in Torovan.
“I can see that.” She stopped. A city militia, by the coin of the Council of Rhodaan, the Blackboots kept the peace, it was said. And given that the Council was largely under the control of the feudalists these days, it was also said the Blackboots were bought and paid for by the noble families of Tracato.
“We have orders that you are to be detained.”
She was not particularly surprised. There had been enough Tracatans in Petrodor of late, many of whom she’d talked to. It was common knowledge that she and Kessligh were headed this way. No surprise that someone here found the fact disquieting. But she did not like how it developed on this quiet, nighttime dock, with only a few witnesses who could be arrested, paid off or murdered.
She drew her sword. “By whose authority?”
Swords came out in reply. “The Council of Rhodaan,” said the lieutenant, stony faced. Sasha looked beyond him to Councilman Dhael, now boarding his carriage. Dhael looked her way. He saw, but did nothing. He was an elected member of the Council of Rhodaan. Had he known?
Dhael’s carriage rattled off.
“Now lads,” came Kessligh’s voice from Sasha’s back, “your seniors have done you a grave disservice in sending only ten of you.” He came closer, yet Sasha could not hear his staff tapping on the paving. That meant he’d drawn his blade, as no doubt had Errollyn. “I am Kessligh Cronenverdt, and this is Errollyn. If you know our identities, then you’ll know that ten to three are odds greatly in our favour.”
“You have no authority to defy the order of the Council of Rhodaan,” said the lieutenant. “Besides which, you may wish to reconsider the dds.”
More Blackboots were emerging from the tavern. Some were putting their hats on, others adjusting their sword belts. They’d been drinking, clearly, and caught off guard.
“Twenty to three?” Errollyn said in Lenay at Sasha’s side, testing the weight of his blade.
“You can have the seven on the left,” said Sasha.
“Oh, generous.”
“Oh look, you pack of imbeciles,” said Alythia, striding to stand between the groups. “Seriously, why must everyone always draw swords at the slightest provocation?” She drew herself up to her full height before the lieutenant, chin up and chest out. The lieutenant’s eyes dropped, predictably. Sasha nearly laughed.
“Fear not, my friends,” she said in Lenay, “my sister’s breasts may save us yet.”
Alythia threw Sasha a nasty look. “Lieutenant,” she said, “I am Princess Alythia Lenayin.”
“Princess,” said the lieutenant.
“Yes, Princess! Wedded to Gregan Halmady, and widowed in the War of the King. I have come to Tracato to meet with the Lady Renine, and her son, the young Lord Alfriedo. They shall be expecting me.”
The lieutenant looked wary. Not a bad ploy at all, Sasha reconsidered. The Renines were the highest rank of nobility in Tracato, direct descendants of the last Rhodaani king. Some Rhodaani feudalists, pursuing the distant dream of a restoration of royal power, called Alfriedo “The Young King.” And now, come treating upon their doorstep, was a princess.
“One of these days,” said Errollyn in Lenay, “you shall stop underestimating your sister.” Alythia might have heard him, for she seemed to stand a little taller.
The lieutenant conferred with his men. There was hand waving, and some agitation. Alythia threw Sasha a superior look.
“Don’t get smug yet,” Sasha told her in Lenay, “there’s still twenty of them.”
“And vastly less dangerous, without a blade being swung,” Alythia said. “When will you learn?”
Yells from across the dock interrupted the lieutenant’s arguments. Everyone looked as down a nearby road came running young men with no apparent uniform, save the swords across their backs. But not serrin. Nasi-Keth then. The lieutenant rolled his eyes in exasperation.
The Nasi-Keth came on with no small amount of hollering and whooping, like boys on their way to a mud fight. As they came closer, Sasha saw that many of them were just that-boys, or teenagers at least, sprinting now with the enthusiasm of those who feared they’d nearly missed an excitement.
“Kessligh Cronenverdt!” exclaimed the first to arrive. This was a man, not a boy, bald with a red goatee. His blue eyes shone with lively welcome. “I am Reynold Hein of the Tol’rhen, welcome to Tracato!”
He grasped Kessligh’s hand and shook, ignoring the drawn blade. Other young men skidded in, out of breath and happy.
“I’m sorry we didn’t get here sooner,” Reynold continued. “Our Ulenshaal predicted the winds and thought it a good chance your boat would arrive this evening, so we waited at the tavern up the road. Its owner is a good friend to Nasi-Keth; there’s not the same unsavoury characters that frequent some other taverns…” He threw a glance at the Blackboots. “But our Dockwatcher strolled off to talk to a pretty girl who works along the way….”
Catcalls and jeers came from the Nasi-Keth at an unfortunate young man who blushed red and looked at his feet.
“…and we nearly missed your arrival!”
“Step away from them!” barked the lieutenant, brandishing his sword. “They are to be detained by order of the Council of Rhodaan!”
The Nasi-Keth laughed, not even bothering to draw their own weapons. Several danced daringly close to the Blackboots, bare handed, making faces. The Blackboots seemed concerned all the same, weapons ready.
“Oh, don’t mind them,” said Reynold, “they can barely use those toys they’re holding. I daresay you three could take them all without a sweat, but it’s really better if we don’t have to kill any Blackboots tonight….”
An infuriated Blackboot lunged at one young man who came too close. The Nasi-Keth backed up, laughing and hooting. The Blackboot’s hat fell off in his lunge. In a flash a Nasi-Keth grabbed it and ran off with his prize, waving it in the air. Several others pursued, wanting to try it on.
“But I haven’t introduced myself to everyone,” said Reynold, moving on to Sasha. “You must be Sashandra Lenayin! An honour…and Princess Alythia!”
A flurry of introductions followed, eager young men equally pleased to meet them all. Alythia seemed a little frustrated. She’d been grooming Councilman Dhael throughout the long boat journey, and now he had ridden off. The Blackboots had seemed about to take her to Family Renine, yet the Blackboots now faded back toward the fountain and carriages, plotting their next move. Alythia sought the powerful like a river sought the ocean. Sasha, however, was more pleased with present company.
The Blackboots returned to their tavern while the Nasi-Keth commandeered a carriage. It became clear, however, that there was not a great distance to walk, and that the Nasi-Keth lads would all be walking. Sasha, Errollyn and Kessligh joined them, Kessligh insisting that his leg was fine over short distances. Alythia rode in the carriage, with three young men valiantly volunteering to accompany her. All three looked quite anxious in her presence, so Sasha did not have much concern for Alythia’s honour.
“Where do all you lads come from?” Kessligh asked as they walked together up the slope.
“From all over,” Reynold Hein said proudly. “We are the sons of poor folk and wealthy folk, farmers and land owners, traders, craftsmen, from all of Rhodaan to the north, east, west and south. All come to learn the ways of the Nasi-Keth in the Tol’rhen; it has been thus for two hundred years.”
“And for far longer than that,” Kessligh agreed.
“Oh, of course,” Reynold excled, as though delighted to be reminded that he was not talking to someone who knew little of Nasi-Keth history. “The Nasi-Keth have been in Rhodaan for more centuries than we know how to count. We were a persecuted movement for centuries beneath the feudals, and now we flourish. Our greatest regret is that we have not been able to spread our wings beyond the Saalshen Bacosh, into further lands. That is why we have been so excited the last few months, hearing that the renowned Kessligh Cronenverdt had come to Petrodor, and was likely to continue on to Tracato!”
“The Blackboots back there,” said Sasha, “why did they want us detained?”
“Some feudalist no doubt finds your presence threatening,” Reynold said dismissively. Despite his baldness, he was a young man…no more than thirty, Sasha guessed. Lean and fit, he moved with the lightness of a fighter. “They squabble a lot. And of course, you’re both Lenay…or Sashandra, at least, and Kessligh is most commonly thought of as Lenay….”
“I think of myself as Lenay,” Kessligh agreed.
“And your army currently marches on us from the west,” Reynold continued. Neither Kessligh nor Sasha replied.
“Anyhow,” Reynold continued, “you are Nasi-Keth, and you cannot help the actions of the Lenay king. You are welcome guests of the Tol’rhen in Tracato. Just be warned-not every Rhodaani shall feel the same.”
“I understand,” said Kessligh. He seemed to walk easily enough with his staff, and the incline was not steep. “What are you all studying?”
“Us here this evening? I am a junior Ulenshaal myself, I teach history and philosophy. These are some of my students, but not all.”
Some of the other lads volunteered their areas of learning. There seemed no particular pattern of interests, though philsophy seemed very common. One boy, who could not have been more than fourteen, enthusiastically explained how he was studying the applications of mathematics to stonemasonry. He hoped to become a great builder, and make grand buildings in Tracato and across the Saalshen Bacosh.
“And in Elisse too one day,” someone suggested, and there were cheers. That turned the conversation to the war in Elisse. General Zulmaher was making great progress, it seemed, though there remained a worry that he would not complete his conquest before the great Larosan and Lenay armies mustered in the west. Some concern was voiced that General Zulmaher was a feudalist, and did not truly wish to liberate Elisse from feudal tyranny. Others argued that it did not matter, so long as Elisse was eliminated as a threat to Rhodaan’s northern border while the Steel faced the oncoming, and far greater, western threat.
Another young man thought it wonderful that Elisse would soon become the fourth province of the Saalshen Bacosh, the first such expansion since the serrin arrived two centuries before. Sasha recalled what Councilman Dhael had said about imperial ambition, and how some felt it didn’t belong in Rhodaan. None of these young students seemed to agree. Perhaps times were changing.
The road entered a grand square, with statues twice the size of a man towering before the walls. Lanterns illuminated the figures from below, stone faces aflicker, eyes wise and distant. About the facade walls were arches, and smaller sttues adorned high rooftops. Sasha stared about, amazed.
“Who are these people?”
“Surely you recognise the lady here?” Reynold said, pointing to a statue of a woman in a flowing robe. She held a book before her, as though in prayer over its pages. From the faint angle of the sculpted cheekbones, Sasha thought the woman must be serrin.
“Maldereld?” Sasha said dubiously. “But she was a warrior.”
Reynold nodded. “More renowned to Tracatans as a scholar, and a builder of institutions. The artists most commonly portray her with books or scrolls.”
Suddenly the air clattered with hooves. Horses burst into the courtyard, men astride wearing jackets and swordbelts that glittered gold and silver in the lantern light. The Nasi-Keth lads stopped, and fell back cautiously, yet no blades were drawn. For an instant, Sasha thought the horsemen might attempt an encirclement, but they reined to a halt not far from the group, and presented no immediate threat save that they blocked the way.
The lead rider swung down from his saddle. He was a portly man of perhaps middle age, with long hair and a trim beard.
“Lord Elot!” called Reynold, with little apparent concern. “A nice night for a ride?”
“Indeed, Master Reynold,” said Lord Elot. “I had heard that you may be in the presence of royalty. This caused us much alarm, for surely little would you know of how to treat a royal lady.”
“And now you have blocked her path, and delayed her arrival at a meal and a hot bath, which she was surely desiring. Where are your manners, Lord Elot?”
“You have guests and you have not introduced me,” Elot replied, unfazed. “Where are yours, Master Reynold?”
“Kessligh Cronenverdt,” said Reynold, indicating Kessligh. “His uma, Sashandra Lenayin. Master Errollyn. And in the carriage, as befits her station, Princess Alythia Lenayin.”
“Yuan Kessligh,” said Lord Elot, walking to him. “I am Lord Desani Elot, cousin to the Lady Renine.”
“A pleasure,” said Kessligh, shaking his hand. “My uma, Sashandra.”
Elot took Sasha’s hand also, but seemed uncertain what to do with it. Sasha was used to that. She escorted the lord back to the carriage, which she guessed was the proper form, and opened the door. Alythia emerged, with no small drama. Elot took a knee.
“My dear Lord,” said Alythia. “A true pleasure to meet one of the great line of Renine. I have read so much about you.” Sasha knew that it was true. Alythia had done considerable reading over the last few months in Petrodor on the history of Rhodaan. She knew who was in power when the serrin came, who had resisted and perished, who relinquished their feudal powers willingly to help the serrin make a new Rhodaan and who never returned at all from the forests of Saalshen.
She had also read some small amount on Enora, and had recounted with much shock her findings to Sasha. The example of Enora had frightened many Rhodaani noble families into cooperation with the serrin, and the serrin, perhaps ashamed of the slaughter, had t red those families less harshly as hindsight now suggested that they might have been. The serrin had expected nobility, awkward and antiquated concept that it was, to die a natural death. Instead, it had clung on long enough to rise again with the flourishing wealth of the new Rhodaani nation. Today, noble families were powerful once more, and although their old entitlements were stricken from Rhodaani law, that did not mean as much to some as the enforcers of the new laws believed it should.
Lord Elot kissed Alythia’s hand. “Princess Alythia. An honour.”
“Were those your men who tried to abduct us at the docks?” Alythia enquired mildly.
“A misunderstanding, Your Highness,” he said. “Several of our noblemen heard only that some powerful Lenays were coming to Rhodaan…the men and women of Lenayin are not greatly in favour in Rhodaan at this time, please understand.”
Alythia inclined her head, gracefully.
“I hope that they did not cause you too great an inconvenience?” Elot pressed.
“Not too great,” said Alythia.
“Your Highness, I am here to offer you an invitation of hospitality, from Family Renine to you. We would be honoured for you to join us, where we can lodge you in the manner to which you are rightly accustomed.”
Alythia’s gaze flicked to Sasha. Smug.
“I should be very pleased to accept such a gracious offer,” she said. “Would you be so good as to grant me an escort?”
“Your Highness, I am most relieved. I had feared our rash noble friends had caused you an offence. I shall escort your carriage personally.”
He rose, and strode to his horsemen.
“’Lyth, you’re crazy!” Sasha exclaimed in Lenay. “You’ve no idea who the hells he is!”
“He is nobility, Sasha,” Alythia said calmly, as though that made everything fine.
“And you’re the daughter of the man who leads the best warriors in Rhodia into a war against Rhodaan! You don’t think you’d make a wonderful hostage?”
Alythia did not get angry. Instead, she placed a hand on Sasha’s shoulder. “Sasha, it’s very sweet that you’re concerned for me, but please. You know me. This is what I’m good at. You have your sword, and Kessligh has his high reputation and military mind, and I have the influence of status and royalty. Besides which, if not to make contacts of this sort, why on Earth do you think I came along?”
“Because in Petrodor you were poor,” Sasha said drily.
“Exactly,” said Alythia, smiling sweetly. “This is my element, Sasha. I don’t tell you how to fight. Do me the same courtesy, yes?”