The cell was deeper in the dungeons than most had cause to venture. Rhillian followed her guard through the low doorway, into a wide stone cell lit with torches. There, a man was chained to a slab of wood, wrists and ankles in manacles. On a chair to one side sat Kiel, morose, flipping his knife in one hand. One look, and Rhillian knew the captive had not talked.
She walked over, and considered the captive.
“You were seen at Voscoraine Port,” she told him. “Reputable sailors swear so. Rhodaani vessels have been forbidden by the council from trading there during this time of war. Other honest sources have seen you in Lady Renine’s company. There is much interest in the intrigue of secret messengers in Tracato. You have been followed.”
“Ha!” was all the young man said, with great bravado. He gave the restraints a shake as though to break free with the sheer force of his disdain.
“He will not even tell his name,” Kiel said. “He does not fear our methods. He knows we are gentle. It makes him brave.”
Rhillian dismissed the guard, and waited for the door to close. “My patience runs thin,” she told the young man, coldly. She leaned close, for the effect of her emerald stare. The man tossed his hair and stared at the ceiling. “You plot the downfall of Rhodaan, you and your mistress. I know of what you corresponded with the Larosans, I have so many pieces of knowledge from so many sources, but it does not yet add up to proof. I know there is more correspondence, hidden in the residences we now occupy. I wish to know where it is. I wish in particular to find a token of good will-a Verenthane Star of the ancient Saint Selene, that was granted Lady Renine as a gift from the Regent Arosh himself. Such are the things I desire. I wish you to grant them to me.”
“You know what?” the man retorted. “I wish you to suck my cock!” He glared at her.
Rhillian placed her hands to either side of his restrained body, and leaned close. “My teeth are sharp,” she said softly.
“You fucking serrin, you waste my time!” he exclaimed. And something else, in Rhodaani, that Rhillian did not catch. She looked askance at Kiel.
“Even less polite than the last,” Kiel told her. “Something about your private parts.”
“I think he would truly find me frightening,” Rhillian observed to Kiel, still in Torovan, “if he truly believed I would hurt him.”
“Serrin have been gentle for too long,” Kiel said. “There is much at stake.”
The prisoner stared at her. “You don’t scare me with your talk!” he snarled. “It’s all you serrin ever do! Words and words and words! I grow sick of your words!”
“I have made the same argument myself, to the councils, on occasions,” Rhillian replied. She smiled. “So you see, my friend, we are in agreement. Kiel, show him.”
Kiel flipped his knife, grasped its handle, and got to his feet. For the first time, the prisoner looked alarmed.
“No! No, wait, you cannot…!”
Kiel grabbed the man’s left arm, and sliced off his thumb with a boney crunch. The man shrieked, and thrashed against the restraints, blood spurting over his hand. Rhillian stared in shock.
“That’s one,” Kiel observed. “There are nine more here. Serrin have little art for this kind of thing, so I’ll start with the most obvious. It shall be a learning experience.”
“Kiel!” Rhillian said sharply, barely hiding the shock from her voice. She beckoned him over, as the prisoner sobbed and wailed. Kiel, she was not surprised to note, appeared utterly calm. “I’d thought perhaps a cut, Kiel,” Rhillian said coldly, in Saalsi. “Something that would heal.”
“If he is as guilty as we seek to prove him, then more likely we’ll cut his head off. Why should it matter if he heals?”
“Kiel, I’m warning you, this is not a path down which I intend to-”
“Rhillian,” Kiel cut her short. “The fool is right. You talk words, but you do not mean what you say. This is the time for action. Let me show you something.”
He turned and strode back to the sobbing prisoner. Grabbed the young man’s other arm, and positioned the blade above the remaining thumb. “Are you now prepared to talk?”
“Yes, yes!” came the sobbing reply.
“I warn you,” Kiel said mildly, “if you give me cause to believe that you lie, I shall take the other thumb and begin working through your fingers. Do you understand?”
“Yes! I understand, please, don’t cut me again, please don’t…”
“Kiel!” Rhillian snapped in Saalsi. “You go too far! He’ll tell you anything he thinks you wish to hear!”
“We shall see,” Kiel replied, with a note of intrigue to his voice. The intrigue of a scholar presented with an interesting puzzle. “We shall see.”
The walk to the Ushal Fortress from the Justiciary was short and unsafe. Steel guarded the major buildings, and Rhillian and Kiel’s escort was six strong, shields ready to lock into formation in case of archers. Two days since the arrest of Lady Renine and most senior feudalists, and the streets remained unnaturally deserted.
Central Tracato was feudalist territory, and though most residents were not nobility themselves, many worked for them, or owed loyalty by other means. Money bought not only loyalty, Rhillian had found, but Blackboots too, many of whom had been removed from service, some temporarily, others for good. Many other Blackboots were refusing to work, for sympathy with those dismissed. Night curfews became a necessity, to keep the thieves off the streets, and though some tradesmen had resumed work today, rumours abounded of retribution against those by the noble families who determined that to stop work was to protest. Only the markets were turning a regular trade, partly as people needed to eat, and partly because the markets were run by country folk who cared little for the nobility’s problems.
Clashes had been frequent but isolated, with nothing large or coordinated as yet. Rhillian did not fool herself into thinking those would never come. The nobility had supporters and arms aplenty, they were merely biding their time, waiting until the Steel left for the western front. No, she needed to deal with the feudalists quickly, before the Steel departed. She needed to prove the leaders of this plot guilty, and dispose of them, with the consent of the Justiciary before the gods and all. Then, the nobility may well rise up, but they would have no moral weight. A countryside militia, led by the Civid Sein and perhaps the Nasi-Keth, and backed by her own talmaad back from Elisse, could account for any uprising then, even with the Steel away, and suffer no lasting enmity from anyone for it…save of course the remaining nobility, but in that course of events, they would hardly matter any more.
Across a wall, Rhillian saw, in red paint, scrawling letters that even her poor Rhodaani could read. Kill the white witch.
“I think that means you,” Kiel said with amusement.
Rhodaan for humanity, read another. And, Rhodaan for Verenthanes.
“So the nobility claim to speak for all Verenthanes now,” Kiel observed. “The Civid Sein will be intrigued to hear it.”
Rhillian walked in silence, her expression grim.
The Ushal Fortress was as still as a tomb, save for wandering cats, Steel guards, and the occasional, furtive servant. Rhillian and Kiel left their guard downstairs, and climbed to the top floor of the Renines’ quarters. Once there, Kiel walked to one window and bent to pull aside the heavy rug.
“Now,” he said, “third stone from the wall.” Rhillian watched from the doorway, arms folded. Kiel used his knife, and wiggled te stone until it came free. He reached into the hole, grasped, then pulled on something. From a neighbouring bookshelf came a loud clank. “Good,” he said.
Rhillian watched him remove expensive vases from the shelf one at a time, and place them on the nearest table. She did not assist. “It proves nothing,” she said.
“It proves everything,” said Kiel, removing the last vase. The back of the bookshelf exposed, Kiel rapped on it, then pried one end up with his knife. The panel squeaked open and he peered inside. Rhillian found herself almost hoping that he found nothing within. Instead, Kiel reached inside and withdrew some light, cream squares of paper, fastened with a red wax seal and ribbon. “This seal looks very interesting. Ah the arrogant stupidity of nobles, having bought all the Blackboots and justiciars, and assuming no one would dare invade their sanctum.”
Rhillian let out a long breath, and stared at the wall. Kiel gathered the last of the papers, and looked at her, seeming almost cheerful.
“Well,” he ventured, “to borrow the human expression, this rather turns over a new leaf, wouldn’t you say?”
“It does indeed,” Rhillian said. “Let us hope that leaf does not become a forest.”
Sasha strode down the Tol’rhen hall, still damp from her wash following morning training. Her muscles ached from working too hard, as happened when she lost her temper. Passing students gave her wary looks, and kept their distance.
She reached the class chamber, where twelve students sat at tables and made markings on parchment, faces screwed up with concentration. Errollyn walked slowly among them, observing their work. His hair was also damp, though Sasha had not seen him at training.
He leaned down now to indicate with a finger the line a student’s quill should have been tracing on the parchment. The female student (more than half of them were) gazed up at him anxiously. Rapturously. Sasha’s temper boiled once more.
“Errollyn,” she snapped. All in the class looked up…save for Errollyn.
“It can wait,” he said, and redirected the girl’s attention to her quill work. It was o’rhen, the old serrin calligraphy that outdated most of their spoken tongues, yet remained the preferred style of writing for scholars and poets. Sasha had never known Errollyn to have a particular interest in the old penmanship, but the Tol’rhen had its way of bringing out a person’s scholarly side.
“It can’t fucking wait!” Sasha retorted in Lenay.
“I’ll be back shortly,” he informed the class, and walked to the door, grabbing Sasha none too gently along the way. Once in the hallway, she smacked his arm away.
“Where have you been?”
“In class,” he said. His green eyes narrowed at her.
“Last night!” Sasha pressed. “I hear you shared a room with Emisile!”
“After you kicked me out of my own bed, yes,” said Errollyn. “The alternative being to sleep in the hall.”
“In her bed?”
“On her large, comfortable rug with some cushions,” said Errollyn. “I should have fucked her. She wanted me to, it would have served you right.”
He grabbed her once more and hustled her toward an empty room. Sasha struggled, and Errollyn simply pinned her arms and picked her up. She forgot sometimes just how much bigger he was than her.
Inside, he put her down and pressed her hard against a wall. “What right do you have to kick me out of my own bed, and then complain where I choose to sleep?”
“My sister’s in a Justiciary dungeon because of you!” Sasha shouted.
“Your sister’s in a dungeon because she allied herself with traitors,” Errollyn said sharply. “I’m as sorry she’s there as you are, but-”
“You fucking liar!” Sasha shoved him hard away. He backed up. “What possessed you to go to Rhillian before me?”
“I did go to you, I told you all about what I found-”
“Horse shit! You told me you found evidence of Lady Renine’s treachery, you never told me the details! And I told you you’d be crazy to go to Rhillian, because she would overreact and turn Tracato upside down! And she has!”
“Who else then?” Errollyn demanded. “Kessligh’s hands are tied because half of the Nasi-Keth are in love with the Civid Sein, and think this is just the excuse to kill all the feudalists….”
“And they don’t now?”
“Rhillian can stop them! She’s the only balance in this city. Someone had to stop Lady Renine, and the only two forces that could were Rhillian backed by the Steel, or the Civid Sein! Which would you choose?”
Sasha stared at the ceiling, hands to her head.
“Sasha,” Errollyn persisted, “I’m sorry Alythia got caught up in this, but Lady Renine has forces that can’t be underestimated. What if she declared open rebellion when the Steel were at the front? A quarter of the Steel has feudalist loyalties, the army could split just on that declaration alone.”
“Damn it, you didn’t know that. You were guessing. If anything happens to Alythia because of this…”
She couldn’t complete the sentence. Errollyn stepped back. He looked remote, in that way he sometimes had, when he pulled back, and trusted no one. He’d always been an outsider among his own people. Could he have been reaching out to them, seeking to prove himself with this act? Surely they must trust him now. Sasha knew how much it had hurt him to be cast out after Petrodor.
He shook his head, and walked for the door.
“Wait! You’re just going to leave?”
He stopped. “I don’t like arguing as much as you do,” he said. “What else do you want?” Sasha stared at him. “Make up your mind. You can either be angry with me and thrust me away, or you can forgive me, and let me back in. Yu can’t have both. And I’m not going to go chasing after you to beg for forgiveness. Lenays aren’t the only ones with pride.”
“Good for you, finally a serrin who understands the term.”
She walked past him to leave. Errollyn grabbed her arm and pulled her back. She hit him in the chest, and he caught her and pulled her close. Suddenly they were kissing, frantically, hands grasping to burrow beneath each other’s clothes. It had been a while since they’d gone a day without sex, Sasha managed to think as she sought purchase with her back against the wall. Perhaps that was all it was. Or perhaps it was fear. They’d argued before, but rarely as heatedly as this.
There was a storage closet at the room’s end, which was cramped, but with the door pulled to, safe enough from immediate discovery. With no room to lie, and nothing to sit on, they stood, belts unfastening with fumbling hands as Sasha tried to think of something she could do to take charge, because she was still angry, and not about to just submit to his male attentions. But there was nothing but the obvious, and frantic lust compelled her to turn about, braced against a wall, and let Errollyn take her from behind until her legs threatened to give way from the shaking, and his fingers made bruise marks upon her waist and hip. Even now, he made sure she climaxed first. As she recovered, she found that funny, and nearly laughed.
There was a silence as they dressed. Sasha wondered what to say. It had never been a problem between them before. She still hadn’t forgiven him. Was their relationship nothing more than this? Mutual need? No. Of course not, she was just angry, and thinking crazy things. And she’d never fucked angry before. Everything was confusing, and she had no idea what to make of it. Neither, it seemed, did Errollyn.
Finally she buckled her belt, and left the closet. Errollyn followed. They walked the hall in silence. Errollyn turned back into his class, and Sasha kept walking.
The Tol’rhen hallways were filled with running students and crowds of Civid Sein. Many farmers held pitchforks and other tools, while students bundled large banners, scrawled with Rhodaani script. Others piled torches against a wall, and smeared them with oil from earthen jars, ready to burn.
Sasha waved down a girl she recognised.
“Hala, what’s going on?”
“Reynold is organising a march on the Tracato courthouse!” said Hala with enthusiasm, clutching a bundle of linen. “There should be several thousand people marching!”
“Marching for what?” Sasha asked. Hala shrugged. “What’s with all the linen?”
“For bandages, in case there is trouble.” Hala hurried on, apparently not worried by this prospect.
Frowning, Sasha pushed through the throng. The hall opened onto the grand courtyard, and there was indeed a great crowd gathering, some with makeshift weapons, others with banners or flags, or other symbols the significance of which Sasha did not know. Most of those gathered were Civid Sein from the courtyard encampment, but there were a lot of Nasi-Keth helping them.
She searched the confusion until she spotted Kessligh, arguing with Reynold, but she held back. She did not want to confronth o again, not in front of Kessligh. That would be awkward.
Then she realised what she was thinking, and what Reynold had reduced her to. Furious at herself, she thrust forward, pushing past bodies with determination.
“…no Nasi-Keth involvement in this sort of thing!” Kessligh was insisting loudly to a young Nasi-Keth. It was Timoth Salo, a disciple of Reynold’s. He was a blue blood himself, won over to Reynold’s cause, and promoted, Sasha guessed, largely for the significance of his conversion.
“The Nasi-Keth tires of your neutrality, Kessligh!” Timoth replied with frustration. “Can’t you see what’s happening here? These brave men have come to take the fight directly to the feudalist oppressors, and they deserve our support.”
Several more young students echoed loud agreement.
“Kid,” said Kessligh, “you have no idea what you’re doing. This isn’t what the Tol’rhen is for.”
“It’s exactly what the Tol’rhen is for!” Timoth retorted. “To side with the weak against the powerful, to make right that which is wrong! If not for this, why have a Tol’rhen at all?”
“You’re not the weak and powerless,” Sasha snapped. All looked at her for the first time. “There’s more Civid Sein than feudalists, and if the Nasi-Keth join it, there’ll be a proper massacre, they won’t scrub the blood off the pavings in Panae Achi for weeks.”
“If that’s what it takes!” said Timoth, eyes blazing. “Or would you rather that a small group continue to wield power over the majority forever, Princess Sashandra?”
“No,” said Reynold, before Sasha could escalate things. “No, Kessligh is right. There should be no Nasi-Keth marching on the courthouse today.”
Timoth gaped at him. “But Reynold…”
“Do as I say,” Reynold instructed, with a level stare. There was a meaning in that stare Sasha could not guess. Timoth fumed, and stalked off. “Kessligh,” said Reynold, with a faint bow to him, then, “Sasha,” with a small smile.
Sasha’s hand twitched toward her blade. But no more than that. Reynold turned away, into the crowd, and Sasha hated herself all over again.
“You should stop the whole thing,” Sasha told Kessligh.
“I don’t have that much sway with the Civid Sein.”
“Nor with the Nasi-Keth, it seems,” said Sasha. Kessligh’s look was hard. “You’ve deliberately kept out of it.”
“Maybe.” Men in the crowd jostled past them. Somewhere, Nasi-Keth were shouting new orders. There were protests. “I recall giving you a lot of lectures, when you were younger. Lectures alone taught you little.”
“I listened sometimes.”
“Only after you’d had the substance of my lecture beaten into your thick skull with demonstration,” ure beatenKessligh. “I could lecture these people until I was blue in the face, I’d change very few minds. People need to learn by experience, Sasha. Otherwise, even should they heed my words, they would never entirely believe the truth of them.”
Sasha recalled a line of Tullamayne. “Men only learn that swords are sharp when a thousand heads lie severed on the ground.”
Kessligh nodded. “And even then, there remains some dispute. Lessons learned are nothing next to lessons earned.”
Sasha looked about them, sourly. “You seem less enamoured of your grand learning institution today than last month.”
Kessligh said nothing. He looked up and around at the statues towering over the courtyard and sighed. “Ideas made these men,” he said. “Ideas carved this stone. I’ve always been a man of ideas.”
“Ideas without morals are like knowledge without wisdom,” said Sasha. “Any fool can shoot an arrow; it takes morals and wisdom to know what to aim it at.”
“Is that Tullamayne too?”
“No,” Sasha said wryly. “That’s just me. But it’s what you taught me.”
Kessligh smiled at her. That didn’t happen often. “Go and find what route this march intends to take. I’ll find a Blackboots lieutenant and see if there can’t be a force to accompany them. Some feudalists will take this for a provocation.”
“I don’t know what help the Blackboots would be then,” said Sasha. “But I’ll ask.”
The people she found in the milling crowd knew little enough, everyone pointed to someone else. She received an evasive answer from one Civid Sein organiser, a pot-bellied pig farmer from the northern border regions, and then Daish emerged from nowhere to grab her arm.
“Justice Sinidane is here!” he shouted in her ear. “He’s looking for Kessligh!”
“Sinidane?” Sasha was astonished, and let Daish drag her from the teeming courtyard. “He’s here himself?”
“He has a palanquin!” Daish explained. Sasha saw the palanquin waiting by the Tol’rhen steps, the strong men who’d carried it resting while Sinidane stood on the third step, and peered at the crowd.
Sasha ran with Daish.
“Justice Sinidane!” she shouted to him. The old man saw her.
“Ah, the lovely barbarian herself!” Sasha did not often smile when someone used that word in front of her, but now she laughed. “Have you seen your wise and courageous uman?”
Sasha nodded vigorously. “Aye, he’s about this high, grey hair, walks with a limp.”
Sinidane scowled, but his eyes twinkled. They’d met twice before, at Tol’rhen functions. Sasha guessed he’d once been a skilled hand with the ladies, and liked to demonstrate that he had not entirely forgotten.
“Dear girl, are you a tease, or a fool?”
“Must I choose?” And to Daish, “Find Kessligh for me?” Daish nodded and rushed back into the crowd. Sasha climbed the steps to the old man’s side. “Aside from flirting with me, what brings you here, Your Justice?”
“Oh, things.” Sinidane’s humour faded as he regarded the crowds. “I never tire of this city and its curious sights. Do you know what route they take?”
“Up High Road, as far as I can make out.”
“Feudalist territory,” said Sinidane. “But it could be worse, much of it is feudalist territory, around the Justiciary. When I was a young man, I recall dreaming of the day when all Tracato’s lands would be merely lands and not defined by the loyalties of one group or another.”
“I miss the countryside,” Sasha said sombrely. “When I lived there I had wild, youthful ideals. The longer I stay in cities, the more my ideals choke and die.”
Sinidane regarded her seriously. “I am sorry for it,” he said. “Youthful idealism can be a curse, but without it, civilisations would perish.”
“How many have perished because of it, I wonder?” Sasha replied, looking out at the courtyard.
“Do not despair yet,” said Sinidane. “For as long as the Nasi-Keth have influence over the Civid Sein, I will not give up hope.”
“Kessligh does not believe the Nasi-Keth in Tracato can be led,” said Sasha. “He says their beliefs are too strong to be swayed by him, and they must learn for themselves.”
“Reynold Hein, at least, seems an intelligent, reasonable sort,” Sinidane offered.
“He tried to rape me,” said Sasha. She did not look at him, but she felt his silence, pressing at her side. It was important that he knew. So much more important than her own wounded honour. When she did finally look at him, she saw something in the old man’s eyes that chilled her.
Fear.
Kessligh climbed the steps to join them, with clacks of his staff. “Your Justice.”
“Yuan Kessligh. Or would you prefer Ulenshaal?”
“The Nasi-Keth will not be marching with them,” said Kessligh, ignoring the question. “Reynold Hein has forbidden it.”
“That’s something at least,” said Sinidane.
“Something, yes. Good or bad, I don’t know.”
Sinidane look at Sasha, then at Kessligh. Wondering, perhaps, if Kessligh knew what Sasha had just told him. Sasha did not know herself. Perhaps Sinidane saw, or guessed.
“Something I wished to ask you,” said Sinidane, skipping over the issue entirely. “Four of the seven senior justices have been dismissed by Lady Rhillian.”
“Only four?” Kessligh did not appear particularly surprised. “Generous of her, I hadn’t thought she liked even three of you.”
“My own position with the feudalists is now somewhat difficult,” Sinidane explained, “since I helped her to select the four dismissed.”
At least half of the senior justices, it was common knowledge, and considerably more of the junior ones, were in the pay of the feudalists. Sinidane alone remained beyond reproach. No doubt the two others selected to stay were under Rhillian’s duress…and probably Sinidane had helped to arrange that too. It was a bold move from a stubbornly principled man, who knew where many skeletons were buried.
“And now you’d like me to suggest men from the Nasi-Keth to fill some of the vacancies,” said Kessligh. Sasha wondered if he and Sinidane had talked of this before. Perhaps not…where else were Sinidane and Rhillian going to find educated scholars of law, with independent hearts, to fill such seats?
“I’d ask for you yourself,” Sinidane affirmed, “but you’re needed here.”
“For what good it will do. I will ask some of those best suited, but I can’t promise you anything.”
“Good enough.”
“Your Justice, how is my sister?” Sasha asked.
“Dear girl,” he said, “I’m afraid I cannot know. We justices are not to be directly involved in the affairs of prisoners in the Justiciary.”
“I know that.” Sasha scuffed at the steps with a boot, frustrated. “Just make sure she’s looked after. You can at least ask someone to see to that.”
“The Justiciary is independent, dear girl,” said Justice Sinidane, sadly. “Would that I could intervene.”
“You’ll find that you can.” Sasha gave him a deadly stare.
“Sasha,” Kessligh warned her.
Sasha waved a hand in angry frustration, and strode back to the crowd.
News of the fighting arrived in the late afternoon, as Sasha struggled to take her class of Rhodaani youngsters through the works of Tullamayne in the Lenay tongue.
“Wait here!” she told them, jumping off her podium and snatching her sword. Out in the hall, many were running, shouts echoing off the high ceiling. In snatches of Rhodaani, and distant Torovan, she heard “High Road,” and “Justiciary,” several times. A fair run then.
She turned back to grab her waterskin, and found her way blocked by eager boys ignoring her instruction. “Where the crap are you lot going?” she asked them, pushing through to her podium. “You’re not going outside.”
“But, M’Lady!” Willem protested. Several more ignored her, and ran out into the hall. Others followed.
“Hey!” Sasha yelled, returning with her skin. “All right, get out, see what you can do and obey your seniors!”
They ran before her, all boys, for no Rhodaani girl thought the Lenay tongue a suitably feminine subject. Sometimes Sasha wondered if she were the only sane human woman in the world, or the least.
She ran from the hall, dodging traffic, and paused at the broad atrium to join the gathering who were filling waterskins at the basin.
“Sasha!” called Daish from nearby. “I hear there’s fighting!” He looked excited at the prospect. She saw Reynold Hein nearby, with several Civid Sein friends, and scowled.
Errollyn came running, bow in hand but with no water. “Borrow mine,” said Sasha. “Let’s go.”
They ran down the marble stairs. Sasha had no idea how the Tol’rhen remained so cool, for the air was stifling, despite the shade between buildings. The streets remained quieter than usual, a few clattering carts, some servants on errands, a running messenger. Elesther Road ran through the city and away from the bustling back alleys and courtyards of neighbouring districts. Working class folk did not venture so much here.
“Is it the march?” Errollyn asked as they ran.
“What the hells do you think?” Sasha snapped. “Of course it’s the fucking march, they were spoiling for a fight from the moment they left. Reynold set this up.”
Errollyn said nothing. Sasha knew she should not have snarled at him, but damned if she’d apologise. If Errollyn had kept his mouth shut, Rhillian might not have moved to take over the city at all.
“Spirits know what Rhillian thinks she’s up to, giving the Civid Sein free rein like this,” she muttered. “The marchers were all shouting for Civid Sein friendly justiciars to replace the ones Rhillian dismissed, and if she gives in, the Civid Sein will control the Justiciary…what the hells was she thinking?”
As fit as she was, Sasha was not accustomed to running in such heat, and as she and Errollyn reached the first of the Civid Sein column, she was dripping sweat and gasping. A crowd of men swarmed on the road, most retreating, many terrified. Some carried wounded, others tended to those who had collapsed by the side of the road, unable to run further. Sasha had seen victory and defeat on the battlefield, and this looked like defeat.
They passed carts piled with bodies, dripping streams of blood onto the cobbles. Some Civid Sein were crying, others rallying their comrades to rush back to the battle. But there was no momentum for it, and Sasha ran past without bothering to counsel them otherwise.
Errollyn led them onto High Road, a right turn upslope, following the trail of the rout. Sasha paused to drain some water, then resumed, finding her second wind on the toughest part of the run. Other Nasi-Keth were ahead of them now, as Errollyn held back to wait for her.
About a bend, and here rose the great Merley Inn, overlooking the Justiciary and Ushal Fortress both from atop a high hill. It was perhaps the highest point in Tracato, and a cool wind blew off the sea that chilled her sweat-a beautiful scene, were it not for all the blood.
The fighting had ceased, and bodies lay strewn about the courtyard, and along the road. Desperate men loaded wounded onto carts, then ran off to find a surgeon. Two sections of Steel had arrived, and a third was coming from the other direction at a run, ten men in tight formation, shields slung, labouring up the incline in heavy armour.
Most of the dead and wounded seemed well dressed, tailored shirts a sleek pants now torn and bloodied where they lay. Perhaps twenty dead, Sasha counted, and another twenty wounded…although more had been carried away.
She looked up at the rooftops, and saw crossbowmen surveying the scene. On the courtyard, more men were gathered, blood spattered and wild eyed, to confront the arriving Nasi-Keth. Feudalists all, and expecting more trouble.
Sasha strode forward, empty hands raised. They recognised her, and broke into fast, terse conversation amongst themselves. Sasha recognised Lord Elot, long blade in hand, his embroidered tunic slashed about its broad girth. Long hair plastered to a sweaty forehead beneath his bald dome, his eyes proud, his sword bloodied.
“Lord Elot,” she said in greeting, and several feudalist men moved to her flank.
“Princess Sashandra,” said Lord Elot. Those men around her paused, and made no more threatening move. Princess, he called her, and the men stopped. It was provocative, yet an offer of friendship all the same.
“What happened?” she asked.
“This was arranged,” said Lord Elot, and spat. He seemed a man of cool temper, even in battle. Sasha could not help but admire it. “Your boys came right through our territory, shouting slogans of killing young Lord Alfriedo, and raping his mother.”
“Not my boys.”
“His,” said Elot, and pointed with his sword. Sasha looked, and saw Reynold, surveying the scene. He did not seem shocked. Sasha felt her blood cool. Reynold had ordered the Nasi-Keth not to attend. The Civid Sein were little more than farmers and villagers, some with experience in the Steel, but not many. Feudalists, however, trained with swords for sport, and Elot’s men were far better armed. Reynold must have known they’d be massacred.
“You’ve made them angry now,” said Sasha.
“No doubt the intent,” Elot said bitterly. “The White Lady sits on Council once more, and never mind that half its elected members languish in Justiciary cells. Civid Sein have numbers there now, and tomorrow they vote on the new justices. They’ll be howling, all four appointments shall be Civid Sein or their cronies, you watch.”
“All four.” Sasha gulped more water, thinking fast. Seven justices. A majority vote was required to convict. There were clamours for Lady Renine’s trial on treason…if the Civid Sein could muster four of the seven votes, they’d have her head. “Surely not. Justice Sinidane was just now at the Tol’rhen, asking Kessligh for help with the appointments.”
“He seeks to present the White Lady with an alternative list,” said Elot. “Sinidane is a good man, but Rhillian needs Lady Renine dead; it is the only way to control the mob.”
“You think she’ll fix the appointments?”
“I know it,” said Elot. “Princess Sashandra, your sister is charged with complicity in treason. A Lenay king marches upon our northern border. There are far more who want Princess Alythia’s head than Lady Renine’s. Surely you’ve heard the talk?”
Sasha had heard the talk. Tol’rhen students who liked her had whispered it to her in the hallways, nasty things said by others. Apparently even some students were saying it, echoing what they’d heard demanded out in the courtyard, where angry farmers sharpened their hoes and scythes and called for royal blood. There had been writing on walls, and some effigies found hanging.
“Some are saying it’s Alythia’s plot, and that she is the one who led Lady Renine into treason.”
Elot nodded. “I’d watch my back closely if I were you, Princess. If you wish to save your sister, come on your own at dusk to Shemon Square. It is the only way. Betray us you can, but Shemon Square is feudalist territory, and I know you love your sister well.”
“I will,” Sasha agreed.
Sasha was waiting in the alley when she heard a soft shuffle behind her, and spun. Errollyn was there, a shadow in the evening gloom.
“Damn you!” Sasha whispered, as her heart started again. Errollyn looked one way and the other, bow in hand. The air was hot and still, and there was barely a sound. Even here, on the feudalist midslope not far from the docks, people stayed indoors tonight. “I said I’d come alone!”
“You say a lot of things.”
“They barely trust me!” Sasha insisted, back to the wall so as not to make a silhouette in the fading light. Errollyn leaned alongside. “They’ll certainly not trust a serrin!”
“They will if I’m with you. Everyone knows I’m du’jannah.”
“Aye, well I know that you’re the reason Rhillian started this mess! If they’ve found out you’re the one who spilled Lady Renine’s plans to Rhillian…”
Errollyn reached across her, a hand on the wall by her head, his eyes intense and close. Even now, as well as she knew him, those startlingly bright eyes in the gloom gave Sasha an involuntary chill. “Sasha, Alythia’s my friend too. I’m not sorry for what I did, but I am sorry for Alythia. If you think for a moment, you’ll realise that you need me.”
Need him? Abruptly Sasha recalled their passion in the Tol’rhen store room. She wondered if Errollyn might just take her here in the deserted alley, and did not mind the notion. But looking at his eyes, she realised that he meant his night vision.
She threw her head back in exasperation. “This is crazy. I don’t know whether to fuck you or hit you.”
“Can’t you do both?”
Sasha glared, angry at him for daring to remind her why she loved him.
“Cover me,” she told him, and slipped beneath his arm, edging toward the near corner.
Sasha crept about the courtyard, beneath the cover of arches. Errollyn followed, an arrow nocked to his bowstring, searching the darkness. Ahead, leaning against a column, there was a man in a cloak. A smoke stick flared orange, a gleam beneath his hood. Sasha left her blade sheathed…there was no advantage to feudalists in killing her, or taking her hostage now. But to recruit her to their cause…
“Sashandra,” said the figure. Sasha came closer, and recognised Councillor Dhael.
“Councillor.” She was surprised. She’d not seen Dhael since their voyage together, though she’d heard him spoken of. He was not a feudalist, nor was he said to have as many ties to them as some. “You are still free.”
“Indeed,” said Dhael, tapping his smoke. “There are those in Council who stand taller than I. I’ve long found that those who stick out their necks get their heads chopped off.”
Sasha glanced back at Errollyn, who peered from the shadow of columns, searching the windows above.
“But you work with the feudalists now?” she pressed Dhael. She was here on Lord Elot’s invitation. She did not want her time to be wasted. “I’d taken you for a friend of Saalshen. An idealist.”
“A pacifist,” said Dhael, with irony. “I know how you Lenays must dislike the word. Lord Elot asked me to speak to you.”
“Because you once stood with Saalshen? I still stand with Saalshen. I just want my sister back. The way Rhillian’s replacing high justices, she’ll have the votes to take her head off. Spirits know the people are demanding it.”
“Ah,” said Dhael. “Well, there are no means here to help merely your sister.”
“There’s a plan to help them all escape?” Sasha guessed. “A breakout?”
Dhael regarded her warily. Then he looked at Errollyn. “A serrin working against Saalshen?”
“I told you,” Sasha said impatiently, “we want Alythia. Nothing more.”
“Such odd distinctions,” said Dhael. “It is not an easy thing, Sashandra, to work for peace. Peace in this world is hard to find. Sometimes, its trail is confused.”
“Kill your enemies,” said Sasha. “Peace follows.”
“Yes,” said Dhael, amused. “Peace has followed you Lenays everywhere.”
“I didn’t say it would last. But that’s your problem, Councillor, it never does. You seek the impossible; men like you search all their lives and find nothing.”
“Saalshen, I think, has made a mistake.” Dhael took a long breath of smoke. “Saalshen loves freedom. That is why serrin and Lenays have long enjoyed each other’s company-you each have the love of freedom in common. But we humans…we know not what to do with serrin freedom. Rhillian now strives to preserve the order of freedom, by violence. I think perhaps Lady Renine has the best idea for the human future after all.”
“Kessligh warned me the pacifists would all side with the tyrants in the end-freedom is always violent, so tyranny must be for peace. I’m not interested in Lady Renine, Dhael, and I’m not interested in her plans to restore the throne of Rhodaan and put her son’s skinny backside on it, and I’m quite certain it won’t lead to a more peaceful world, just a world where the violence is more well controlled, and less inconvenient to the powerful. I only want ake sure that my sister’s head stays attached to her shoulders. Now what is this plan of yours?”
It was cool underground. In the blackness, even Errollyn needed a lamp. Sasha walked behind, blade sheathed, fingers trailing the tunnel’s stone wall. Behind them, five noblemen. She trusted none of them, and was uncomfortable to have them at her back, but reasoned well enough that if they wished to dispose of her, they’d surely wait until after she’d done them something useful.
They had entered the tunnel from the wall of a basement, downslope of the Justiciary, and Sasha figured that it would make a straight line for the dungeons. The basement had been part of an unremarkable house, owned by a family who owed allegiance. The tunnel had existed for quite some time, unbeknown to most, the Tracato nobility having long ago foreseen a day when such access to the Justiciary dungeons would prove useful. Certainly it was no rough-cut rabbit hole, its walls smooth stone, its floor paved, its ceiling a flat surface of timber planks.
After some distance walking hunched, the tunnel turned a bend, and stopped. Errollyn placed his lamp on the floor, handed his bow to Sasha (even in such tight quarters, he insisted on bringing it) and pushed on an overhead stone, uncovered by ceiling planks. The cell above was empty, they’d been told, courtesy of some inside source. That meant that it had been empty at the time the source had walked past it, most likely some time earlier today. A late transference of prisoners, or some newly captured person, would make things interesting.
The stone scraped as Errollyn heaved, then came free. He pushed it up, reached to set it aside, then heaved himself up on the lip to peer within. After a moment, he hauled up and disappeared, only to reach back down for his bow and lamp. Sasha followed, and rolled up onto a stone cell floor. The first of the nobles pulled himself through, unwrapped some keys from a bundled cloth and moved quietly to the door.
Sasha crouched beside him, and peered through the bars of the door’s small port, listening intently. She heard nothing but the clacking of the key, then the slow squeal of the lock. The cell door opened, and Errollyn pushed past into the corridor, handing the lamp to Sasha and gesturing for the others to stay back. He moved with catlike grace beyond the lantern’s dim light, past adjoining doors, and vanished in the dark. Sasha stood in the corridor, and could hear only her own breathing.
After a moment, Errollyn came back. “The first guards are not where they’re supposed to be,” he whispered. “They’ve gone.”
“Then our way is clear,” replied the senior nobleman-Torase was his name, and he was young, blond and brash. “Let’s go, quickly!”
Errollyn led the way, Sasha this time bringing the lamp. The corridor turned, briefly right, then left, and then some stairs leading to an arch. That was where the guards would be, they’d been told. Errollyn had been confident that even with their illumination, he’d have been able to approach and disable them without killing, guard duty being dull at the best of times, and in a hole deep underground, even more so. There was no illumination now besides the lamp.
Errollyn gestured Sasha to stay at the arch, and walked alone to where his eyesight gave him the advantage, without illumination to give away his presence to any guards. He’d barely gone aces before he stopped, and cocked his head, listening. Sasha listened also-serrin hearing was no better than humans’.
There, she heard it. A distant yell, echoing. And another. More yells, a shouted conversation, somewhere up the corridor. A rattle of metal, an armoured man running. Sasha’s hand moved to her blade, then stopped, as she realised the man was running away, sounds growing fainter.
She advanced on Errollyn. “An alarm?” Errollyn wondered.
“Guards won’t leave their post for a mere alarm,” Sasha muttered. “It’s an attack.”
“Conveniently timed,” Errollyn said darkly.
Sasha nodded, and swore. The nobleman Torase approached, and Sasha had her blade at his neck before he could blink. “You told us nothing of an attack!”
Torase stared at her, his companions coming warily up behind, drawing weapons. He opened his mouth to lie, looked again at Sasha, and thought better of it. “It was necessary,” he said. “We needed a diversion.”
We’re fools, Sasha thought bleakly. Naive fools, to have trusted them. But still, it could work.
“Dammit,” she said. “Let’s move fast before they suspect something.”
Torase had the only keys, courtesy again of the inside source. Sasha moved with Errollyn to the head of the corridor, leaving the lamp with the noblemen. The light dimmed then brightened as cell doors were opened along the row behind, one after another, whispered words exchanged, footsteps scampering amid hushed cries and exclamations. Sasha peered up the steps from the dungeon, listening to the distant commotion. Errollyn had an arrow nocked to his bowstring, and he tested the tension.
Several loud, metallic blows, then, that echoed dangerously between walls. Someone was breaking chains. A hushed exclamation followed, as nearer doors creaked open. Then a fast approaching shuffle of footsteps.
“Sasha?” It was Alythia, barely visible in the dark. Her eyes were wide from several days without sunlight, her hair bedraggled. She hugged Sasha hard. “I knew you’d come! I knew it!”
“’Lyth, you have to go with the others,” Sasha begged. “Quickly, I’ll be right behind you.”
Alythia gave her a final, grateful kiss, and shuffled off, holding her dress up with both hands. Those retreating down the corridor were now carrying extra lamps, Sasha realised. At least the prisoners had not been left entirely without light. This row of cells now emptied, several of the noblemen were in dispute with a pair of newly released prisoners.
“My master Lord Hainel is not amongst these!” a furious ex-prisoner in dirty, once-expensive clothes whispered harshly, as Sasha retreated toward them. “There are more cells further along, we must empty them also! Hundreds of our noblest languish there!”
“We have the Lady Renine, and the Princess Alythia,” Torase retorted. “If we try for more we may jeopardise the rescue for them. We do not take risks with the Lady Renine’s freedom…!”
“And I say that my loyalty lies firstly with the Lord Hainel!” the exprisoner bristled. “I refuse to leave until-”
“You’ll do as he says,” Sasha told the man, “or we’ll beat you bloody, throw you back in the cell and lock the door.”
The man glared at her, but did not appear prepared to argue with the blade in her hand. Torase grabbed his arm and thrust him on down the corridor. Sasha and Errollyn followed, Errollyn turning constantly to watch the way behind, as the shadows advanced in their wake.
It was only when both she and Errollyn were back in the tunnel, and Errollyn was replacing the stone above their heads, that Sasha began daring to think that the entire exercise might actually work. She moved at a fast crouch, Errollyn behind, before meeting a queue as prisoners ahead climbed from the wall opening. Finally it was her turn, a short jump from the hole to the floor, behind shifted barrels of wine. Alythia was waiting for her by one barrel as other prisoners were ushered across the basement, and more men began shifting barrels back into place.
“Sasha, what now?” her sister asked breathlessly.
“’Lyth, did they hurt you?”
“No no,” said Alythia impatiently, “I’m fine. What is the plan, do you have one?”
“Me? I’m just going along with your friends, ’Lyth. I was a bit rushed, I didn’t have a choice.”
“And their plan?” Alythia pressed.
“A boat, I think, for you and Lady Renine. To Larosa, or Elisse.”
“I would rather stay! Feudalists are the majority in Tracato, we have money and weapons…we can win, Sasha! Why do they think to run away?”
“’Lyth…what’s this ‘we’?” Alythia frowned at her, not understanding. “I’m not on your side, ’Lyth! Or rather, I am on your side, but only yours!” She spared a fast look around, but those not leaving the basement were unlikely to understand Lenay. “They want me here because they think they can split me off from the Nasi-Keth, but…”
“Sasha, if the Nasi-Keth are to support hooligans and lawless murderers in taking over Tracato, what good are they for?”
“That doesn’t make me a friend of feudalists, ’Lyth.”
“Aren’t you the one always telling me that sometimes, we have to take a side?” Alythia insisted.
Sasha rolled her eyes. Rhillian, again, had made a mess-she could oppress the feudalists for as long as the Steel were in Tracato, but the Steel were overdue for the western front. Leave the Nasi-Keth and Civid Sein in charge of the city?
“Sasha, Sasha,” Alythia said soothingly, taking her hands. “It’s all right, I understand. But I still don’t see why they want to run away-we could stay and…”
“You don’t want to be in a civil war in Tracato,” Sasha said firmly. “The feudalists underestimate the Civid Sein, they’re everywhere, they have sympathisers all across the countryside even amongst those who are not truly declared members. And they’re coming, after today, I promise you that. Safer that you leave.”
“We have to go,” Errollyn broke in. “That fighting could spread downslope fast.”
Sasha grabbed Alythia’s arm and hurried her up the stairs…then froze halfway up as yells and shouting broke out above, and the crash of windows breaking. Sasha swore, whipped out her blade and ran to the top of the stairs to peer about. The room was wide, well furnished, and under assault. Noblemen grabbed tables and held them to the windows, piling behind to form barricades, blocking those attempting to enter. Sasha saw the broad shields and ridged helmets of Steel footsoldiers, a thrusting mass of oncoming armour.
“Up the stairs!” Sasha shouted at Alythia, pointing across the room to the next, upward flight. Alythia ran without question, clutching her skirts, Sasha and Errollyn having enough time to spin about, watching all sides as ex-prisoners ran in panic, and noblemen yelled for assistance, waving swords and gathering furniture to make further obstacles.
There was pandemonium on the stairs, Alythia stumbled, but Errollyn grabbed her as Sasha tried to clear the way. People were leaning from the windows of the second floor, dropping heavy objects onto the street below. No archers, Sasha had time to notice as Errollyn dragged Alythia around the bend and up the next flight. And none of those leaning out the window were under fire from below, as might usually be expected. It seemed the Steel, having been tipped off, were after prisoners. Had the whole thing been a setup, to recapture all the ex-prisoners along with their rescuers?
Two more flights, and they emerged into an attic. Set into the sloping roof on two sides were small windows, before which a number of nobility were now clustering, the men jumping onto the adjoining roof across a short gap. Sasha joined one cluster, and was astonished that several noticed Alythia and immediately made way, pulling others aside as they did.
“Oh dear lords!” Alythia exclaimed as she looked down at the gap. There was light enough from these windows to see the opposing roof clear enough, and the gap itself…but no light from below. Only a seemingly endless drop.
“’Lyth, let me go first, I’ll guide you from the other side.”
An arrow hissed and buzzed, and Sasha’s heart nearly stopped. Errollyn pulled an arrow, nocked and drew impossibly fast, and scanned the direction it had come from with night-piercing eyes.
“We have crossbows in the windows of the adjoining property!” he announced for all to hear. “Time your jumps, and do not tarry!”
He released, a thump and twang like a heavy drumbeat, and quickly drew again, as Sasha began her slither down the tiles.
“Did you get him?” Alythia asked eagerly.
“Frightened, I think.”
“But Sasha says you never miss!”
“Yes, but I meant to frighten him,” said Errollyn, a touch sarcastically. “Not every target is clear.”
Sasha gathered herself and leaped. An easy jump, for her, and she held enough momentum to scramble up and grabe whichrame. Errollyn fired fractionally before a bolt whizzed past, barely an arm’s length from Sasha’s head.
“That one I hit,” Errollyn announced, drawing again. “Though his helmet saved him.”
“I’m beginning to think Sasha may have exaggerated,” Alythia remarked. Not finding a target, Errollyn put away the arrow, and drew his sword instead.
“Hold still,” he commanded, and drew the razor-edged blade quickly about Alythia’s skirts, cutting effortlessly. He sheathed the blade, and knelt before her. “I’ve always wanted to do this to a princess,” he remarked, and yanked at her skirts. With a great tear, they came away, revealing shapely legs in hose.
“Well, Master Errollyn, I never!” Alythia began positioning herself awkwardly to slither backward, Errollyn clutching her hand.
“Just slide,” he told her, “I’ve got you.” Another crossbow shot, and someone further along the gap was hit, on the verge of jumping, and toppled into the darkness. A thud from below.
“Let your foot reach the rim!” Sasha called. “A little lower!” She could hear crashes, armoured clattering and yells from lower windows as the Steel forced their way up the stairs. Alythia’s foot strained, toes searching; Errollyn bore most of her weight one-armed, his bicep straining. Alythia’s toes touched, and she wriggled around to a sitting position, most ridiculous with her bare legs hunched up, looking desperately across the gap.
Sasha was about to call more instruction when another crossbow shot whizzed by. In sudden panic Alythia stood and leaped, gracelessly, and crashed onto the sloping tiles before Sasha’s secure window ledge. Sasha leaped forward, one hand clutching the window rail, one grasping Alythia’s arm…the leap had dislodged tiles, which clattered down the slope and over the edge. Sasha’s grip slipped, and Alythia slid, and screamed.
Errollyn slid straight down the opposite roof, planted feet on the edge and leaped, landing directly beside Alythia while hurling his bow through the window, and grasping the window ledge. His other hand grabbed Alythia, and pulled. With Sasha he bundled her through the window and followed her in.
He recovered his bow and led them across the attic room to another window, from where they could see a flat roof-a sungarden. This jump was shorter, and Alythia went last, with Errollyn and Sasha to catch her without falling.
They ran across the pavings, the half-moon giving enough light to see. Others also ran across the rooftop, or along adjoining roofs, and Errollyn paused to peer over an edge.
“I see no one,” he said, rejoining the women as they ran.
“Doesn’t mean they aren’t there,” said Sasha. “The Steel will follow, let’s see how far we can get.”
It was quite far, as it turned out. The adjoining floor was occupied by cityfolk who offered to hide them, but as Sasha told them, all of these buildings would surely be stormed and searched in short order. Another flight of stairs got them into the attic, out those small windows and up the side of the sloping roof. They balanced along the peak, Errollyn spotting the next sungarden and easiest jump well ahead. Alythia sinned her knee on that jump, and they were all now breathing hard and sweating profusely in the sultry night air.
There the easy routes ended. Sasha risked a trapdoor and stairs, which took them down through a common hall, and then more stairs. At the bottom of the stairs, Errollyn peered out into a small courtyard, an arrow to his string. Past her hard breathing, Sasha could hear distant yells, but no more.
“I wonder if Lady Renine got out?” Alythia wondered, a low whisper past laboured breathing.
“I’m sure she did,” Sasha replied, calm and low. “She had a lot of people to help her, and she was ahead of us.”
“And what of Alfriedo?”
“He’s in the Mahl’rhen. It’s too hard to rescue him there, the lords just wanted Lady Renine.”
“With me,” Errollyn whispered. “Alythia first, stay close to the wall, move in my footsteps.”
He slid out the doorway and along the courtyard wall, Alythia following, Sasha next.
“Hold there!” came a yell, and Sasha and Errollyn spun. Several figures emerged from small doorways, bows drawn and aimed. Sasha looked up, and saw more archers appearing on the rooftops. Errollyn cursed.
“Nasi-Keth,” said Sasha, with almost relief. “Nasi-Keth!” she said more loudly. “I’m Nasi-Keth, and he’s talmaad, as you can see!”
“And who’s that?” More figures were emerging, these with swords.
“That’s my sister!” Sasha replied, on a flash of inspiration. “The Princess Alythia Lenayin! I’m reclaiming her for the Tol’rhen, she will increase Kessligh’s bargaining power. We intercepted her during the escape just now!”
One figure came ahead of the others. Errollyn swore again, barely audible. Sasha could only guess that he knew the approaching figure in the gloom.
“We were watching your progress across the rooftops, Sashandra Lenayin!” the man said, and his voice was familiar. He came closer, and Sasha recognised the man-Timoth Salo, Reynold Hein’s young ex-nobleman friend, and convert to the Civid Sein. “You have partaken in treason with feudalist wretches, and you shall be given directly to the justice of the Revolutionary Council.”
“Revolutionary Council? What fucking nonsense are you talking now?”
“The Revolutionary Council, led by Mistress Rhillian, convened of revolutionary Rhodaani patriots and without those scum-sucking traitors whom you have come to call your friends!”
“Too many archers,” said Errollyn in a low voice, looking about. “We’ll be hit for sure.”
“It is true then,” Alythia said loudly, peering down her nose at their new captors. “Tracato and the Nasi-Keth are all going straight down the sewer.”