After breakfast, Sasha rode to the cottage her father's men had selected, further back along the valley. Ahead and to the rear rode the men of her vanguard who had protected her through both battles, and now sat astride with the hard-edged pride of those who had earned great honour and respect amongst their peers. Directly at Sasha's rear rode Jaryd, in the full colours and armour of Commander of the Falcon Guard, and Captain Akryd, likewise resplendent as Captain of the Red Swords.
It was midmorning and the sun was threatening to break clear of the ridges above, sunlight now falling golden upon most of the valley floor. Encamped across the valley floor and up either sloping side massed the king's army.
She gazed across the trees and fields along the terraced slopes as they rode, marvelling at the wide variety of crops, the ingenuity of downhill irrigation ditches and the profusion of trees that kept the soil stable. Here and there were talleryn posts, engraved with the curling script of Edu writings. Colourful flags flew like streamers above long terraces of grain…to keep the birds off, Sasha guessed. And they were beautiful, swirling in the valley breeze. Along fence posts there were windchimes, making gentle music of the breeze.
Soon the small column of riders came upon a cottage, with many horses tethered by a bend, guarded by soldiers. Flags flapped, the royal flag most prominently of all. The lead rider halted them short of the other horses, and they dismounted.
Jaryd and Akryd walked with her along the road toward the path that led up to the cottage, as the vanguardsmen remained behind.
A Verenthane Royal Guard lieutenant stopped the trio at the base of those steps, resplendent in full colours and gleaming helm. “M'Lady,” he said, with a very faint bow. “You must surrender your weapons to enter the king's presence.”
Sasha eyed the horses tethered further up the road. They were splendid indeed, and several were of various shades of white or grey, a colour favoured by breeders from the royal stables. “No Lenay commander yet has come to parley between armies without weapons,” she replied to the lieutenant.
“M'Lady, it is the king,” the lieutenant replied sternly. “You must disarm.”
Sasha repressed a snort of disgust, and gave a signal to her companions. Together, they turned about and began to walk back to their horses. “M'Lady!” From behind there were footsteps and mutterings of consternation. The three were halfway back to the horses when there came another call from behind. “M'Lady, we have reconsidered!”
Sasha stopped, turned about, and gave the gathering of soldiers a very displeased look. “Told you it would work,” she murmured from the side of her mouth at Jaryd, as they began their walk back.
“M'Lady is truly insightful,” Jaryd muttered. Sasha gave him a worried look. Probably it was not a good idea to have him here. But then, such talks required the presence of the most senior and, with Tyrun dead, that meant Jaryd. Lord or peasant, he was still Commander of the Falcon Guard.
Sasha allowed Jaryd to take the lead up the stairs. There were flowerpots at the cottage entrance, where several more Royal Guards stood at attention. Several long-stemmed flowers were bent. Sasha stepped across to them, with a disapproving cluck of the tongue at the guardsmen.
“We are guests in these houses, gentlemen,” she said sternly, straightening the flowers. “Kindly look after their property as you would your own. Or else the house spirits will become upset with the mess, and haunt your sleep.”
And with that, she walked inside, satisfied with the disquiet on several faces at that last remark. Even Verenthanes could become superstitious of Goeren-yai spirits, in the land of the Udalyn.
The house was plain and simple like the many others that dotted the valley. Men stood about a dining table and turned to observe the new entrants. Sasha saw her father, slim and dark in a black cloak against the morning's chill. He wore mail beneath, with leather shoulder guards and heavy boots. Sasha's gaze lingered. She could not recall the last time she'd seen her father in mail, with a sword at his side. A childhood parade, perhaps.
Koenyg, of course, was similarly attired. A king in waiting. Damon leaned against the far wall, a cup in hand. While the others looked grim, Damon's expression was sour. From his posture and expression, and his place at the back of the room, Sasha guessed that he did not feel himself to be in good company. She hoped he'd been making a pain of himself.
Of the others, well…here was Great Lord Kumaryn, stiff as a poker. Spirits knew why anyone thought him important enough to include in this gathering. And there was Great Lord Rydysh of Ranash no less. Also present was Lord Arastyn of Tyree…no, Sasha corrected herself, Great Lord Arastyn of Tyree. His handsome gaze, fixed on Jaryd, held a curious, expressionless intensity.
The last two great lords were Lord Faras of Isfayen and Lord Parabys of Neysh. The south, Sasha thought darkly. The other large piece of the Verenthane puzzle. The south had harboured Verenthanes long before they became popular in the rest of Lenayin.
“My Lords,” Sasha said by way of greeting. She did not, she was surprised to realise, feel particularly anxious. There were nearly seven thousand men under her command. Her forces could be destroyed if attacked, but the catastrophe would not be hers alone. Hers was a position of power. However her father and Koenyg might desire it, she would not grovel or plead. “We are all known to each other, I'm sure. Shall we sit?”
King Torvaal gazed at her for a long moment. Everyone awaited his command. Koenyg, Sasha noted, seemed to be grinding his teeth. As Commander of Armies, and protector of the realm, surely it grated to be outranked in such a setting. Even by his king. The tension in the air felt different than she'd expected. Men held their tongues and their tempers. They stood with a faintly awkward manner, as if uncertain of their standing. King Torvaal had not needed to ride forth from Baen-Tar and deal with a military matter for quite some time. Since the Great War, in fact, when he'd been barely more than a lad. No doubt the lords wondered if the king was truly up to the task.
Well. Sasha wondered herself.
“Sofy is with you?” Torvaal asked.
“Concerned, were you?” Sasha nearly remarked, but refrained. “She is,” she said instead.
“Did she discover the wedding plans?” Sombrely.
Sasha stared at him for a long moment. “You don't sound surprised.”
“It was necessary,” said Torvaal, closing his eyes briefly. “It remains necessary.” The eyes opened and fixed on her directly, with more than their usual impassivity. Brooding. “The marriage remains as arranged. It shall proceed because Lenayin requires it. On this point I shall brook no argument.”
“Sofy tells me she no longer objects,” Sasha replied. “You make no decisions for her. She goes of her own free will.” At the back of the room, Damon stared at his boots. Great Lord Rydysh of Ranash looked severely agitated.
Torvaal indicated to the table. There were only two chairs set, one on either side. Sasha nodded and stepped to her seat, waiting first for the king to sit. Then sat, directly opposite her father. It occurred to her, looking at him now, that they had never sat together like this before. Krystoff, Koenyg or Damon might have chanced a moment with their father, but the girls did not warrant such attention.
The old anger resurfaced, cold and hard. Tempered now, by the circumstances, but real enough. He'd ignored her before, all her views, values and opinions. Now, finally, she would not be ignored.
There was a pitcher of water and two cups on the table. Torvaal took the pitcher himself, and poured into both cups. Raised his cup to his lips, inviting her with his eyes to do likewise. “Don't drink it, M'Lady,” said Jaryd from behind. “There's poisons that can be put on the cup, not in the water.”
Torvaal stared up at the young man with genuine anger. “Master Jaryd,” he said coldly, “I would never poison my own daughter.”
“Then you'd be the only man amongst you who could say that for truth, Highness,” Jaryd said darkly.
“You have no standing here, Jaryd,” Lord Arastyn told him, very coolly. “You are a traitor to Tyree. Family Nyvar is no more, all its properties and titles are barren. I have no idea why Sashandra brought you, you are less than a landless peasant.”
Sasha hoped Captain Akryd would restrain Jaryd before he tried anything stupid. But she made certain that her chair remained a suitable distance from the table, her feet braced upon the floor, rehearsing in her mind a fast grab for her blade.
“I am Commander of the Falcon Guard,” Jaryd replied. There was no apparent tension in his voice, which only made it all the more ominous.
“And I just told you that you are not,” Arastyn replied.
“The men of the Falcon Guard tell me I am,” said Jaryd. “There are men of the Tyree White Talons who say so as well, and will tell any others of the commonfolk in Tyree who care to listen. How long will the noble families of Tyree survive should both their vaunted companies and most of the commonfolk, Verenthane and Goeren-yai, decide that you have outlived your usefulness?”
“Your Highness,” Lord Rydysh broke in angrily, in heavily accented Lenay, “this is madness! You bargain with traitors! Look, this whelp threatens insurrection even now!”
“Any enemy of the Tyree nobility is an enemy of the Valhanan nobility too,” Lord Kumaryn added, ominously, looking hard at Jaryd. “Should our noble friends in Tyree be threatened, all of Valhanan shall ride to their aid.”
“All of Valhanan wouldn't ride to your funeral, Kumaryn,” Jaryd retorted. “You don't speak for all of Valhanan any more than I speak for all of Saalshen.”
“Silence!” Torvaal shouted. From either side of the table, the lords glared at Jaryd and Akryd. Behind them, Damon took another sip from his cup, apparently disgusted. “I shall not have arrogant fools destroy these talks before they have even begun.”
“Talks!” Lord Rydysh snorted. “She's your daughter! Bring her to heel like a true Verenthane lord, show her her place with the back of your hand!”
“You watch your mouth with the king!” Koenyg snarled, turning on the northern great lord.
“Bah!” Lord Rydysh waved a dismissive hand. “Southerners have no balls. Your Highness, I tell you again—let me raise my forces and we'll ride through these traitors like a scythe through wheat!”
“She has seven thousand to command,” Lord Parabys of Neysh came to his king's defence. “Don't be a damn fool, man.”
“Seven thousand and the Udalyn,” Sasha told them. “They've barely any cavalry, but taken all together it's a good ten thousand warriors. One move against me and all Hadryn's remaining force shall be destroyed between us. We'll give them as much mercy as they gave the Udalyn. That'll be most of Hadryn's standing soldiery gone. And almost all of their lords, I believe.”
“You unutterable fool!” exclaimed Lord Kumaryn, horrified. “You are not merely a traitor, but an enemy of Lenayin! The Hadryn are the shield of the north! You would destroy the very protection that saves Lenayin from Cherrovan domination!”
“I'm not playing dice for a few coppers here!” Sasha retorted, allowing her voice to rise in volume. “I know exactly what I'm up against.” With a hard stare at Lord Rydysh. “You have all lost the Goeren-yai. Not all of them, but an awful lot. That's neither my fault, nor my doing—I was recruited, plucked from my dungeon without any foreknowledge of what had been planned. This uprising was their choice, not mine.
“You've made a mess, my Lords. You've ignored the wishes of the very people whose welfare is supposed to be utmost in your hearts, and now you pay the price. They will not just lie down and let you ride over the top of them. If you fight them, they will fight back, and you know by now that there's an awful lot of them. It's your choice, my Lords. I'm perfectly happy for it all to stop right here. But the terms must be favourable. Unfavourable terms have already roused them to fight once. Assuredly they could do so again.”
“No terms!” snarled Lord Rydysh, utterly unimpressed. “No terms with pagan traitors! Not on northern soil! We would rather die!”
“Perhaps that's just as well,” Sasha said coldly. “We've already killed two of the three northern great lords this ride. Why don't we make it a clean sweep?”
Lord Rydysh glared at her, his narrow, dark eyes blazing fury. No one had realised that Great Lord Cyan of Banneryd had been amongst the defenders of Ymoth. He'd partaken in the cavalry defence and died within a few strides of Captain Tyrun before the Ymoth walls. Word had reached Sasha just ahead of King Torvaal's arrival, when someone from the Ymoth burial detail had realised just who the corpse had been.
Sasha gave Lord Rydysh a nasty little smile. “It hasn't been a wonderful month for northern great lords, has it? Three in thirty days. Your gods must love you dearly, to be claiming you all so fast.”
“You speak of the deaths of Lenayin's finest as though it gave you pleasure!” Kumaryn exclaimed.
“Lenayin's finest picked their fight with me and with the Goeren-yai long ago,” Sasha replied, unimpressed. “Their fight, their consequences, their problem. Not mine.”
“You speak as though all the Goeren-yai worship you,” said Great Lord Faras of Isfayen, contemptuously. “The Goeren-yai of Isfayen have barely heard your name. It is the same in most of the west and the south. The north despises you, and there are few Goeren-yai of consequence in Baen-Tar.
“In truth, all that follow you can be drawn from Valhanan, Tyree and Taneryn. You may stand now with seven thousand beneath you, but should the other great lords call their forces down upon you, seven thousand would seem as a sapling before the forest. The Goeren-yai of Isfayen shall not weep for you.”
Sasha knew that he spoke the truth. The Goeren-yai of the western provinces of Yethulyn, Fyden and Isfayen practised ancient beliefs tending toward a mysticism that very few easterners pretended to understand. All had been traditionally hostile toward foreigners, and so had had little contact with either serrin or fellow Lenays over the centuries, except through conquest and bloody battles. They had participated in the Great War sparingly, preferring to let the easterners and northerners bleed against the invading Cherrovan army. Kessligh was no legend worth the speaking in the west, and the Nasi-Keth just another bunch of odd foreigners. Company soldiers had ridden with her, those having been in Baen-Tar, and having seen and heard of injustice firsthand, and company soldiers tended to be more well travelled than most. But for the most part, she would find no love in the west, and probably not in the south, either. Neither would the serrin.
“You may speak the truth,” said Captain Akryd at her back, long-haired and grim, his thumbs tucked into his swordbelt. “It matters not. She has Taneryn, she has Valhanan and she has much of Tyree. I speak for Taneryn in Lord Krayliss's absence. Not many of us cared for that pompous goat. But we care for the Udalyn, and we reject the rule of Verenthane lords.”
His eyes fixed hard on his king. “You are not King Soros, Your Highness,” he continued. “You have not come to liberate us from anything, and we don't owe you any more than a fistful of horseshit. Should you find a leader amongst the Taneryn to elevate to a lordship, we'll kill him. Should you send priests to convert our poor pagan souls, we'll kill them. Should you send a Verenthane lord from the outside to rule over us, we'll kill him. Should you send armies to enforce any of these rules, we'll fight them until there's not a Taneryn man left alive.”
“That is acceptable!” Lord Rydysh spat. “Your Highness, please accept this pagan's challenge.”
“We are not here to bargain for the fate of Taneryn,” Koenyg told Captain Akryd, unable to hold his tongue any longer. “We discuss the fate of the Udalyn, and the fate of the Hadryn army, and that's all!”
“It's the same thing!” Sasha retorted in exasperation. “You don't understand a thing, Koenyg. You never did.” Her eldest brother glared at her. “The Goeren-yai of Taneryn, Valhanan and Tyree are angry as all hells. Angry enough to defy a king they've otherwise always respected. And they do still respect you, Father.” Meeting Torvaal's impassive stare across the table. “Don't they, Captain?”
“Aye, M'Lady,” Akryd echoed. “Never had no quarrel with the king. The king brings peace and trade. It's the lords we've had a full stomach of.”
“We're here to discuss terms for a peace,” Sasha said firmly. “Terms acceptable enough to allow angry men who've ridden against the king's wishes to go back home and care for their families. If you don't understand why they're so angry, then you'll never be able to offer those terms. They only ask you to listen, Father. Listen to them, as you've been listening to the lords. The lords would have you believe that they are the only voice in the land. These men tell you differently. Only if you listen to all the voices of Lenayin can there be peace.
“Lords’ rule might work well in the lowlands, but Lenayin is different. Lowlands peasants live their whole lives doing what their lords tell them. It doesn't work here, and it's time all you lowland-lovers learned it! Lenays have never liked being told what to do! They'd rather fight. Even the poorest Lenay farmer is a formidable warrior. You've been kicking the hornets’ nest for far too long, my Lords, and finally the hornets are swarming. I only tell you what you need to know to let them go back to their nests and leave you alone. But if you refuse to listen, there will be nothing in Lenayin's future but blood and tears. Even in Isfayen,” she added, with a glare toward Lord Faras, “where the Goeren-yai may not give a holy damnation about me. You try and put them under the feudal yoke, there'll be enough blood on the hills of Isfayen to make the rivers of Raani run red for a month.”
“Name your terms,” Torvaal said suddenly. Sasha stared at him, completely off guard. Blinked, trying to gather her thoughts. Behind their king, the lords were seething, but they dared not interrupt once the king had made his request. She had to get this right.
“Safe passage for all these men,” she said finally. “Reinstatement of all those who may have lost title, rank or pay—with no punishments.” Torvaal simply listened, his black-gloved fingers interlaced on the tabletop. “The Udalyn shall be granted royal protection. Royal soldiers shall hold open the Udalyn pass into Valhanan. The Udalyn shall be allowed to trade, to move back and forth, and to become a part of broader Lenayin. Royal soldiers shall ensure the safety of any moving along the pass.”
“Impossible!” Lord Rydysh snapped. “The Hadryn shall never agree! Royal soldiers on Hadryn soil is a violation of the sanctity of lords’ rights, an insult to Hadryn pride, and is against the letter of the king's law as written by King Soros!”
“King Soros is dead,” Sasha replied, looking only at her father. “King Torvaal rules now.” Perhaps there was a flicker of response in her father's dark eyes. Or maybe she imagined it. It was unclear why the Hadryn had not sent a representative to these talks. Perhaps, with Usyn dead, they had not reached agreement on who led them. Or they found the prospect of talks with their female vanquisher too shameful to bear. Even so, Sasha suspected something more was at play. Where matters of power were in question between lords, it was always safest to assume intrigue.
“Continue,” her father said simply.
“No additional powers shall be granted to the great lords, nor to the nobility in general—no new taxes, no new rules of justice, no more authority over the priesthood, nothing.” There were, predictably, cries of outrage. Sasha ignored them. So, for the moment, did the king.
“Continue,” said Torvaal, once the outbursts had faded. Could it be that there was a faintly different expression now upon his face? It seemed to Sasha that there was…perhaps a wry acknowledgement of a common exasperation between them—the lords. And, just maybe, a hint of…no, not pride. Respect. An acknowledgement that perhaps father and daughter, as little as they knew each other, were alike in one respect—in stubbornness, and determination, and an utter disdain for the disapproval of others.
“The Taneryn shall be free to choose their own succession to Lord Krayliss,” Sasha continued. “I understand from Captain Akryd that Krayliss's eldest son now claims the title of great lord, but under the ancient ways, such claims can be challenged. I understand that none of Krayliss's sons are particularly respected in Taneryn, and a challenge may be forthcoming. Whatever the result, the Verenthane great lords, and the king, should respect the result.”
“The ancient ways have never truly recognised great lords, however Krayliss styled himself,” Torvaal stated, with grim curiosity. “How can the laws of the ancient ways determine the outcome of a modern, and some would claim Verenthane, invention?”
Sasha blinked at him. It was the question of a knowledgeable man. She was astonished. And, just as quickly, she doubted herself. How well did she know her father truly? And how often had Kessligh insisted, against her own disbelief, that all through Krystoff's life, King Torvaal had been a fair and just man with the Goeren-yai? Things had only changed when Krystoff had died, he'd told her. When the sheer weight of protest from Lenayin's Verenthane leaders had shifted the path of the future, and convinced the king that his previous vision for the kingdom had been ungodly after all. Her father's knowledge of the ancient ways was not dead, it seemed. Merely dormant.
“The ancient ways are flexible,” Captain Akryd spoke up. “Taneryn has its own Rathynals, where chiefs and village seniors gather to discuss matters of the province. We shall arrange another. The old ways accept much that is new, Your Highness, even if Lord Krayliss did not. Not all in Taneryn are like him.”
“Might you stand for the Great Lordship of Taneryn yourself, Captain Akryd?” the king asked shrewdly. “Lord Krayliss spoke often of saving the Udalyn, but it is you who stand here today.”
Sasha resisted the urge to turn around and look. Behind, she heard a creak of mail and leather as Akryd shrugged. “Perhaps,” he answered.
Torvaal considered him with narrowed eyes. Pressed his lips thin and gazed out of the cottage windows across the sunlit expanse of valley. “It is beautiful here,” he conceded. “The Udalyn have cared for their valley for many centuries. It seems that the gods have plans for this to continue.”
“Your Highness!” Lord Rydysh exclaimed angrily. “The gods put men in the world to do their bidding and fight their battles! One does not simply give up the battle as lost because of setbacks! At least we must demand that the Udalyn convert! This is Verenthane land, surrounded by Verenthane peoples! To ask the two to continue to coexist would be folly!”
“They do everywhere else in Lenayin,” the king said mildly. “Why not here?”
“This is the north!” Lord Rydysh seethed. “We value our independence. These lands are ours. We do things our way, Your Highness. King Soros decreed that it would be so.”
“King Soros is dead,” said the king. “I rule now.” Lord Rydysh glared at him, grinding his teeth. Koenyg looked uncomfortable and uncertain. For twelve years, the powerful men of Lenayin had taken the king's lack of involvement in such matters for granted.
Watching him, Sasha felt her heart thumping with a new, hopeful urgency. Dared she hope? Dared anyone hope that the old king had finally returned?
“The Hadryn have been defeated on their home soil, Lord Rydysh,” Torvaal said. “The gods have chosen. The victor is clear.”
King Torvaal turned to Sasha. “Your terms are acceptable.” There was a deathly stillness. Sasha could see the lords thinking furiously. She wondered how long any decree, even the king's, could survive against all the forces pushing the other way.
“I, however,” Torvaal continued, “have terms of my own.”
Sasha nodded. “Name them.”
“All men who rode on this adventure shall once again declare their fealty to the throne, upon their honour. Only then shall they receive their pardon.”
“Of course,” Sasha agreed. “They never left your service, Father. They fight unjust lords and bigotry, not the king.”
“It gives me little comfort to preside as a neutral over a Lenay civil war,” Torvaal said somewhat testily. “Sofy shall return to me, and quickly.”
“Aye,” said Sasha. “She will when she's ready.” Her father's stare darkened at that. “Father, this is her first breath of freedom in eighteen years! Give the girl a little time.”
“Two days,” Torvaal said firmly. “She keeps the company of rough men and soldiers. People will talk. It will not do.”
“She tends our wounded,” Sasha corrected, dryly. “She assists those in need.”
“Two days,” Torvaal repeated.
Sasha sighed. “Aye, Your Highness.”
“Master Jaryd shall present himself to his Tyree lords for judgment.”
“Not a bloody chance,” Sasha said grimly.
“Sashandra,” said her father, with the beginnings of temper, “the powers of a king in Lenayin are limited. The lords rule within their provinces, up to the point where those rights come into conflict with the king's law. A king has no say in a fight between provincial lords. This is an internal matter for Tyree. It must be settled.”
“What's to settle?” Sasha retorted, glaring at Lord Arastyn standing over by a window. “Family Nyvar is no more. You are Great Lord of Tyree now, Arastyn. Why do you need Jaryd?”
“Tyree law is Tyree law,” Arastyn said stonily. “It is immutable.”
“Aye, well we're not in Tyree!” Sasha snapped. “I have seven thousand under my command, and I make the rules for men beneath my command. You want him, you come and get him.”
“Your Highness,” Arastyn said to Torvaal, “she is unreasonable.” Torvaal gave him a look that suggested him a fool to have expected anything else.
“Who'll you get to come and take me?” Jaryd said from Sasha's back. His tone was flat, edged with darkness. “The Falcon Guard? They stand with me. You are powerless, Arastyn. A powerless coward. All the power and wealth of the Tyree nobility, and you're afraid of one man who does not respect your laws.
“Well, damn right I don't respect your laws. I challenge those laws. I challenge you, Arastyn. I challenge you to a duel. If you want me dead, you'll have to kill me yourself.”
“Master Jaryd,” Arastyn said, with dry contempt, “even a fool like you should know our laws better than to think a landless nothing like you can challenge his superior to a duel.”
“Verenthane law, aye,” said Jaryd. “But not Goeren-yai.”
Arastyn stared at him, uncomprehendingly. “Goeren-yai? Master Jaryd, you are a Verenthane.”
“Aye,” said Jaryd, reaching beneath his collar, “well, not anymore.” He pulled free his Verenthane star, snapped the silver chain about his neck with a sharp tug, and threw it at Arastyn's feet. “I reject your gods. I reject your law. From this moment, I follow the ancient ways. And I challenge you to mortal combat, Lord Arastyn, for the Great Lordship of Tyree, and the death of my brother and father.”
About the room, men stared in disbelief. “You…” Arastyn began, and floundered, speechless.
“You can't do that!” exclaimed Lord Parabys, horrified.
“Good gods, man!” said Lord Kumaryn. “What of your soul?”
“Arastyn took that when he killed my brother,” Jaryd snarled. “If the gods shall not allow me my revenge, then I rest my claim with the ancient spirits instead.”
Koenyg snorted in profound frustration, and flicked a gloved hand through his hair. “Where's a priest when we need one?” he muttered.
King Torvaal frowned hard at Jaryd. Evidently thinking. When was the last time a Verenthane noble had converted, Sasha wondered past her astonishment? If it had ever happened, she couldn't recall it. Plenty of senior Goeren-yai had converted the other way to please King Soros…but this? She couldn't recall it happening even amongst poor, common Verenthanes.
Lord Arastyn fingered his own neckchain uncomfortably. He seemed a naturally calm and sensible man. A trustworthy man, with an inoffensive, handsome face. Exactly the kind of person, Kessligh insisted in his more cynical moments, from whom one should expect the worst treachery. “Even if such a thing were possible,” Arastyn said defensively, “you are still a man of Tyree. You are subject to our laws and punishments.”
“And as Goeren-yai,” Sasha added, “he is entitled to redeem a slight upon his honour, no matter how high the rank of the man he challenges.”
“After his trial,” Arastyn said stubbornly.
“Before,” Sasha insisted, shaking her head. Nice try, slippery worm. “He can't challenge after you've cut his head off.”
“Actually,” said Captain Akryd, conversationally, “this is the kind of thing a Goeren-yai man's immediate headman or chieftain should decide. Duels must be conducted according to the proper protocol.”
“Pagan madness!” Lord Rydysh snarled, and strode from the cottage with a disgusted wave of his arm. He exited with a slam of the rear door.
“Who would be Master Jaryd's immediate superior?” asked the king, as if Lord Rydysh had never spoken, nor stormed out in rage. “Given his…circumstance?”
“Your Highness!” Lord Parabys exclaimed. “You're not seriously considering allowing this…this…”
“I'm not a priest, but I don't see how a man can be instructed by others on what he does or does not believe,” said the king, looking at Akryd. “How about your poor bloody daughter?” Sasha nearly asked, but didn't. “Captain Akryd, humour my curiosity.”
“Well, Your Highness,” said Akryd, “I believe since Master Jaryd is not born into a Goeren-yai community, and has no village headman to speak for him, his senior commander in military matters should suffice for a judgment.”
“As the senior military Goeren-yai,” Torvaal observed, “that would be you.”
“Aye, Highness,” said Akryd, somewhat smugly. “It seems a quandary, does it not? One law for Verenthanes, another for Goeren-yai.”
“One of the great quandaries of Lenayin,” the king agreed. “Especially considering the Goeren-yai have no written law, and will not accept one. There is only tradition.”
“One reason, perhaps, why Goeren-yai and Verenthane do not frequently live together,” said Akryd. “These squabbles can be confusing.”
“And one reason why certain Verenthanes would like nothing better than to see the Goeren-yai destroyed completely,” Sasha said darkly, with a stare at the lords.
“There is no solution,” said Akryd with a shrug. “Lord Arastyn need not comply with Master Jaryd's demand, yet the opposite is also true. It is the sort of matter on which a king could intervene as judge, Your Highness, but as you have already stated, kings cannot intervene on provincial matters.”
“Hmm,” said Torvaal. Another man, Sasha knew, might have raved at “pagan madness” just as Lord Rydysh had. But her father was actually considering the problem, no matter how it bothered his Verenthane soul. This was why Kessligh had served the man so unswervingly for nearly twenty years. King Torvaal, cold as stone and about as impassive, was one of the fairest men in Lenayin.
“Your Highness,” Lord Arastyn said stonily, “Master Jaryd must face Tyree justice. This is imperative. We have enough great lords present for an appeal to be lodged, should you not allow Tyree's rightful justice.”
“Any more out of you,” Sasha told him, with darkening temper, “and I'll challenge you myself. I am Verenthane and such is my right, since you've made no finding of law or any other of your pointless horseshit against me. Unless you fancy yourself more than an equal to the departed Farys Varan with a blade, I'd suggest you shut your mouth.”
“You would require fair cause to challenge the Great Lord of Tyree,” Arastyn bit out, with barely restrained frustration and anger. “Your father would have to decide if your challenge was valid, and there is no fair cause that you could offer that would…”
“Fair cause!” Sasha said loudly, placing both hands flat to the table as if preparing to rise. “I am the uma of Kessligh Cronenverdt, the daughter of King Torvaal Lenayin, the saviour of the Udalyn people, and you're making me angry!”
Arastyn swallowed. There were great lords who would have accepted her challenge, not because they were fools, but because they were brave, and honourable, and Lenay. Lord Arastyn, Sasha was sourly noting, seemed to have dubious claims to all three.
“A personal insult seems a very fair cause,” Damon offered from the back of the room. He was considering his cup, offhandedly. “You're trying to kill a friend of hers, Lord Arastyn. And a friend of mine. I think you'd best quit while you've still a head on your shoulders.”
Arastyn gave a bow. “I must discuss with my fellow Tyree lords,” he said. “If I can be excused…” He left without waiting for confirmation, following the path that Lord Rydysh had taken out the back door.
Sasha ran her gaze along the remaining lords. “We're losing them fast this morning,” she remarked. “I wonder who shall be next?”
“I have one more term to state,” said the king.
“Only one? Name it.”
“You yourself shall be banished from Lenayin for the rest of your life.”
Sasha gazed at him. Her father's expression held no remorse, and no pity. From Koenyg, she saw cold satisfaction, as if there were at least one good thing to have come from these events. She was not surprised. She knew the trouble that her continued presence in Lenayin would cause the lords, and therefore her father. But it hurt all the same.
“Absolutely not!” Captain Akryd exclaimed. “There can be no question. The men shall not accept.”
“The lords call for your head,” Torvaal said, looking only at Sasha. “By the king's law, I can pardon the soldiers of a rebellion. But the law demands death for its leader. I offer you mercy.”
“No deal!” said Akryd, angrily. “You assume too much, Your Highness! We are the victors in this fight, not you!”
“For how long?” Koenyg retorted, standing grim-faced near his father's side, thick arms folded across his mailed chest. “Every Lenay region or province to rise up against the Cherrovan always won its initial encounters. But once the Cherrovan brought their full weight of force to bear, the uprising was crushed. The throne has not even begun to bring its full weight of force to bear. We had hoped such drastic measures would not prove necessary.”
“Oh aye, your mercy and forbearance are well known throughout Lenayin, Prince Koenyg!” Akryd retorted sarcastically. Sasha held up her hand to silence him.
“It's all right, Akryd,” she said quietly. “I knew that this would happen. My father has no choice. Maintaining a balance of power in Lenayin is difficult at the best of times. My presence here, having led this rebellion, now threatens that balance.”
“That's the point!” Akryd exclaimed, striding to the side of the table so he could look down on her. “M'Lady, you rode for the Goeren-yai!”
“I rode for Lenayin,” Sasha corrected solemnly, looking up at him.
The long-haired, plain-faced Taneryn man shook his head in frustration. “What's the difference? We had to choose a leader, and it was between you and Krayliss! We chose you and now you would abandon us?”
Sasha sighed, tiredly. “Please, Akryd, just…just think. This isn't about us and them. It's about Lenayin. Far more than I stand for the Goeren-yai, I stand for Lenayin. The nobles view a united Goeren-yai as a threat to everything they've worked for. They will attack us. They will attack me, more precisely. I will need protection. All the Goeren-yai flock to my defence, and the next thing you know, that's a civil war. The king has no power without the support of the lords. He must support them, or there is no king in Lenayin. No king in Lenayin, and we're back to where we were beneath the Cherrovan heel, a bloody rabble, and a united kingdom no longer.”
“You're…you're saying a united Goeren-yai would be bad for Lenayin?” Akryd looked disbelieving. “What were we riding for, if not for that?”
“The Goeren-yai are not united,” Sasha said firmly. “Lord Faras is right in that. The west and the south are mostly not with us. They are strangers to us. It's not the right time, Akryd. Now is not the moment to make such a stand.”
“When then?” Akryd showed no sign of retreat. His eyes were angry, and he showed no qualm in displaying such disunity before the watching eyes of the Verenthane lords. One of Lord Krayliss's men, Sasha reminded herself. A passionate man, willing to fight, whatever the cost. Reckon that into any future Lenayin, should he or a man like him become the new Great Lord of Taneryn. “When would be the right time, if not now?”
Sasha returned her gaze to her father. “Lenayin marches to war,” she said. “War in a foreign land, far from home. Our leaders feel we have allies there. They feel we shall be amongst friends, fighting for the Larosa, and the other, Verenthane Bacosh. I feel otherwise. I believe that our leaders are fools to believe appeals to Verenthane brotherhood, as if a common faith can patch over the profound differences that exist between peoples from far away lands. I believe our Bacosh friends will stab Lenayin in the back at the first opportunity, and leave us to bleed and die. Kingdoms are built in such ventures. Men from all over Lenayin will march and serve side-by-side, as they have never done before in all their long history. I wonder if the leaders of Lenayin shall emerge from such a campaign with the same sense of where Lenayin's future lies as they hold today. Many things can change on the road to war.”
The many faces opposing her were wary. Even Koenyg's gaze showed a new, dawning respect, to accompany the anger. She'd been thinking on it, on and off, all the ride north. They could send her away from Lenayin. But they could not stop what she had started.
“I'll not fight our serrin friends in any lowlands war!” Akryd declared. “Should the call come, I'll refuse!”
“No you won't,” Sasha said firmly. “You won't because I tell you you won't. Lenayin must stand together, Akryd. Goeren-yai and Verenthane, and all the provinces as one. You will march with the rest, when the call comes. Someone has to keep an eye on our brave and wise leaders. Someone has to make certain they don't sell Lenayin down the river for a handful of coppers and a holy blessing. That someone shall be you.”
Understanding dawned on Akryd's face. He stared at her. Then gazed at the lords. And drew himself up, slowly, with a disdainful stare. “Aye, M'Lady,” he said coldly. “I understand. We'll watch them. Perhaps it's time, after all, for the Goeren-yai of the south, east and west to all get to know each other better. Perhaps we can come to an understanding.”
“You mangy bitch,” Koenyg fumed beneath his breath.
Sasha gave him a slow smile. “You worry about your own hide, brother. You can throw me out of Lenayin, but I was heading that way anyhow. In fact, I think we all are.”