“Ah,” said Sasha. “A stupid serrin question. Go ahead, I’m bracing myself.”
“Do you think…I mean, Kessligh is like a father to you. But it’s all very well to say that, it’s another thing when a man hasn’t had a partner in a long time, and after all, you’re not his daughter…”
Sasha frowned. “You know, for a serrin wordsmith, that’s an appallingly opaque question. Spit it out.”
“Do you think he’s ever fancied you?”
Sasha stared at him in horror. “No!” And remembered to keep her voice down. “How can you ask me something like that?”
Errollyn shrugged helplessly. “Stupid serrin question, remember?”
“We were…dammit, Errollyn, we’ve been together since I was eight! He still thinks I’m a little girl, or…or…” Only now, he called her “woman.” She broke off in frustration.
Errollyn put a hand on her arm. “Don’t be angry. I was just curious.”
Somehow, Sasha found that she wasn’t angry. If anyone else had suggested such an appalling thing, she’d have most likely hurt them. But serrin were so innocent, in some things. Not innocent like children, far from it. But they weren’t offended by the notions that most humans found so terrible.
He reached, and put a hand on her hip. “Do you still want to go downstairs and fuck?”
“Gods, never again.” In the dim wash of lamplight, Sasha thought she saw Errollyn’s face fall. As if she’d actually managed to offend him. She grasped his hand and held it tightly. “I’m joking! Errollyn, I’m kidding.” He looked a little relieved. “Just…maybe tomorrow. You’re fine in the dark, but I’ll whack my foot and break something.”
“Tomorrow we may die,” Errollyn said reasonably. “I’ll make certain you don’t break anything.”
Sasha gave him a hard look. She hated it when he did that—said exactly the right thing to talk her into something she’d already decided she shouldn’t do. “All right,” she sighed. “It’s not late yet. We’ll get a lantern and go down the front way.”
Sasha was up at dawn, and found their pursuers gone. What was more, the wind had fallen to a cool breeze and the seas were calming. She exercised on the deck, watching the sky change from dark to pale blue, then yellow, red and gold. To starboard, Windsprite gently rocked, her sails full as she cut through azure seas.
To port, Radiance lagged a little, and seemed to have damaged a foresail. At the captain’s wheel, the night helmsman cast dark looks in Radiance’s direction. When the captain rose to relieve him, some unimpressed gestures were aimed in the other ship’s direction.
Errollyn joined her soon enough, and was delighted to find their pursuit had vanished. He pulled off his shirt, and Sasha chided him in Saalsi for his vanity. She’d have been prepared to fall for a man less pretty than this one, so long as he’d been the right man. This, however, was serendipity. And what she’d done with him in the cargo hold last night had been considerably more than that. She couldn’t believe no one else on the ship had heard her. She’d tried to muffle it, but there’d been a few shrieks that surely could have been heard above a raging thunderstorm.
She and Errollyn sparred as the sailors watched them. Most Rhodaani men might have seen serrin women spar, but few would have seen human women at her standard. The svaalverd, at the level practised by Sasha and Errollyn, was blindingly fast. Neither of them missed a stroke, a shifting, circling dance of sliding feet and flashing wooden blades, the sharp cracking of wood-on-wood breaking the morning calm.
Errollyn suggested variations, and Sasha complied with flashing attacks, complete sequences but for the killing blow. She found herself actually enjoying the shifting deck beneath their feet. All svaalverd fighters were obsessed with balance, and anything that challenged it was an intrigue to be explored at length.
“Keep bossing her about, lad,” said one bald, pot-bellied sailor in passing. “You can still teach her a thing or two, I’ll wager.”
Errollyn grinned, windmilling an arm, sweat dripping down his flexing chest and hard stomach. Sasha realised the sailor had mistaken Errollyn’s suggestions for commands. “She’s teaching me how not to die,” Errollyn corrected the man. “If she came at me with something I was not prepared for, I’d last two strokes.”
A few listeners laughed, as if thinking him joking. Or chivalrous, complimenting the girl. Watchers could not see what both Sasha and Errollyn could feel, in every flashing combination, in every clash of wood-on-wood. She was better. Not faster, and certainly not stronger. She simply translated thoughts and forms into actions faster and with greater cunning than he did. In fact, the ease with which she was coming to handle Errollyn in sparring sometimes bothered her. Errollyn was formidably good, by any standard. Perhaps, she sometimes thought, she was simply coming to know him too well. Perhaps she was not truly as superior as her results suggested. Perhaps she was only getting better at beating him. On mornings like this one, however, she doubted it. She could feel herself improving, and it was addictive. She wanted more. She wanted to know where the boundaries lay. And she wanted to know for certain that, the next time she met her enemies in battle, as many of them as drew steel against her would die for it, no matter what their numbers and standard.
Tracato announced its proximity approching with an increasing number of ships converging on the sea. At first one sail appeared on the afternoon horizon, then a couple more. All resolved into traders of one sort or another. Then came another pair, larger, twin-masted with huge, billowing sails. They came close, cutting the water with greater speed than Sasha had ever seen. Sailors lined their sides, and up in the rigging, most with bows. Amidships was a pair of ballista—huge things that no doubt fired flammable oils over a range many times further than a longbow.
Serrin warships. They flew no flag, for serrin had never yet agreed on the necessity of a single banner to represent their diversity. Neither was the hull painted, nor figures mounted on the bow, nor gold trim about the captain’s quarters. Simple, they were, and beautiful in their sleek lines. Only the sails bore decoration, a dark embroidery on canvas white, a swirling pattern that might have made the outlines of a square or a rectangle.
“Saalsi script,” said Errollyn, leaning at her side to watch them pass. Sasha took a closer look, and suddenly she could see it. Saalsi letters, overlaid and stylised.
“What do they say?”
Errollyn smiled, and shook his head. “Oh, a thousand things.” Sometimes, even Errollyn failed the translation.
Toward evening, they came upon another warship, towing a second, half-size vessel in its wake. The captive’s sails were blackened, some furled, others missing. Half the usual, tangled rigging seemed gone, and the masts were burned in places. As the Maiden heaved alongside the slower tandem, Sasha saw folk huddled on the deck in tight groups. Some appeared injured, others sooty. Yet others with swords stood over them, guarding, and even from this range Sasha could see that those were serrin. She could tell from the way they stood, and grasped the blades in their hands. And some appeared to be women.
This time, it was Kessligh at her side as she watched. “Elissian refugees,” he said grimly. “Nobility, by the look of them.”
Sasha nodded. Only nobility would have the money to pay such a passage. Trying to cross the Elissian Sea, only to be intercepted and captured. “Heading for Algrasse or Larosa,” she agreed. “They must have been scared. Perhaps they recall what happened in Enora.”
“I’m sure they do.”
The Maiden reached Tracato shortly before midnight. The place did not look like much from out to sea, not after the gleaming slopes of Petrodor. Two dancing lights burned brighter than the others, reflecting double off the dark water. Some smaller lights above burned, and the flickering glow of many boats bobbed on the water like firebugs upon a Lenayin lake. To either side fanned the tall, dark cliffs of the Rhodaani coast.
Only when the port city drew closer did the scale of those two fires become apparent. Each was a great bonfire,
burning atop a huge, square-sided tower of stone. Sasha stood amidships as the Maiden passed beneath the port tower, and stared up at its walls in amazement. Never in her life had she seen a structure so large. The twin fires lit the harbour mouth to near-daytime glare, and cast unearthly shadows across the rigging. Protruding from each tower’s lower wall, Sasha could see the links of an impossibly huge steel chain. Within each tower would be winches, she knew, having heard tell of this particular defence. If under attack, the chain would be pulled tight, to keep invading ships out. To gain entrance to Tracato harbour, the towers would need to be captured first. From the sea, that didn’t seem likely.
Within the harbour mouth sheer cliff walls loomed above a wide circle of sheltered water. Here, as sailors scrambled to fill out the sails in the dying breeze, Sasha could see the city lights—the lanterns on the docks, the midslope lights from the occasional house window, and the dancing line of torches above the great wall of Ushal Fortress. Tracato was barely a quarter the size of Petrodor but, many said, considerably more beautiful. Houses climbed the hill from Dockside toward the fortress that loomed over all—save the spires of the Heleshon Temple, lower and to the right—from this harbour view. But the dark robbed her of the sight of flying banners and colourful commotion on the docks.
Tracato was known to be windy, yet so sheltered was the harbour that barely a breeze pushed at the Maiden’s sails as she drifted slowly to an available mooring at the end of a long pier. There were many tall ships, lashed close together along the piers, frequently two abreast on either side. It made for a unique sight, so many masts and forests of tangling rope dimly lit from below by the nightwatch lights on deck. There seemed to be quite a few guards, Sasha noted, seeing the armed figures standing on the decks, or down on the piers.
The sailors worked fast, lashing sails and securing ropes. Sasha went below decks to fetch her small bag, and by the time she reemerged, a wide planking had been raised to the Maiden’s side. The captain was already on the pier, talking to a man in a wide black hat and a long red coat flanked by a pair of equally important-looking guards, who Sasha took for the Tracato Blackboots. They wore blue coats over mail, and their boots were indeed tall and black. A separate militia, to keep order in the city. She’d never seen their like before either.
Kessligh disembarked first, walking staff-in-hand, his saddlebag of luggage over his shoulder. Then went the three Rhodaani soldiers, and Councilman Dhael with his retainers. Sasha looked about to find Alythia standing close, wearing a flowing green gown with a laced back.
“Where’s all your luggage?” Sasha asked. Alythia’s hair fell in rich, black folds down her back and shoulders, her lips painted red, her nails long and sharp. Who she thought she would be making such a grand entrance for at this hour, Sasha had no idea.
“Councilman Dhael has arranged for his servants to collect it for me,” she said mildly. Alythia, of course, had not come travelling with just a saddlebag. How she’d managed to accumulate so many possessions, after everything she’d brought from Lenayin had been lost in the fall of House Halmady was also a mystery.
Sasha disembarked after Errollyn, with Alythia behind. Soldiers and gathering dockworkers on the pier stopped whatever they were doing and stared. And not at her, Sasha noted.
The man in the red coat finished his business with the captain, who turned and made his way back up the plank to his ship. Sasha expected Councilman Dhael to announce himself first, but he stepped aside for the three Rhodaani soldiers. They thanked Dhael, conversed briefly with the red-coat, showed him a tattoo each had on their upper arm, and passed. The Steel were respected in Tracato, if even a councilman should step aside for them.
Dhael then introduced himself. The red-coat barely glanced at his face, made a mark on the parchment he carried flat on a writing board, and waved him and his retainers on. Dhael spoke with the senior-most of his retainers, striding down the pier without a glance behind. Sasha could just smell Alythia’s annoyance.
“Ur nahrom?” the red-coat asked Kessligh. “Your name?” Sasha reckoned that was. She’d learned a little Larosan over the last six months in Petrodor.
“Kessligh Cronenverdt,” he said, and continued in Torovan: “This is my uma, Sashandra Lenayin, her sister Alythia Lenayin and our companion Errollyn Y’saldi.” Sasha winced inwardly. Errollyn never used the second name. It meant things that most humans did not understand. Here, it was formality.
“I shall ask them their names in turn,” said the red-coat dismissively, also in Torovan. He peered at Kessligh, apparently unimpressed. There was little politeness about him. “Prove that you are Kessligh.”
“Prove that I am not.”
The man’s nostrils flared. “Here in the great city of Tracato, all are answerable to the Council of Rhodaan and the High Table. Their appointed officers wear red coats, like mine. You shall answer my questions, or you shall not be allowed entry. Prove that you are Kessligh Cronenverdt.”
“He could chop your fucking head off,” Sasha snorted in Lenay. “That’d prove it.”
“He could indeed,” responded the red-coat in flawless Lenay. Sasha blinked. She’d not expected any in this part of Rhodia to understand her. “But it would not gain him entry to this city.”
“Dear Lords, Sasha,” Alythia exclaimed in exasperation, also in Lenay. “You’re such a mindless unsophisticate, I can’t believe you’re my sister.”
“Me neither,” said Sasha, in Saalsi. Alythia frowned, uncomprehending.
“You speak Saalsi too?” the red-coat asked Sasha, also in Saalsi.
“Better than you, I’m certain,” Sasha replied in the same.
“I quite doubt that, young lady—all the red-coats of Tracato are schooled in the language of our serrin friends since childhood.” Sasha stood sullenly. His Saalsi did seem rather good. “You certainly do have the reputed appearance of Sashandra Lenayin…but these things are known to many, and could be imitated.”
“Our languages too?” Sasha asked incredulously. “My tattoo? I’ll show you that too if you like!”
“Sasha…” Kessligh began, with weary impatience.
“This is ridiculous!” Sasha exclaimed. “Who the hells else would we be? What kind of honourless people go about asking others to prove who they are?”
Errollyn put an arm about Sasha’s shoulders to restrain her, and leaned forward. “Excuse me?” he asked, back in Torovan. “I’m rather tired and I’d like to lie down. If this is going to take a while, could I just go on and leave them?”
The red-coat looked amused. “Of course, serrin sir. Whenever you please.”
“Oh that’s great!” said Sasha. “Serrin get to enter whenever they please, and the rest of us must…” Errollyn muzzled her with a strong hand.
“I couldn’t take her with me?” he asked the red-coat. “She’s quite sweet with me, she only barks and growls at strangers.” Sasha struggled to remove his hand, but it wasn’t easy—Errollyn’s right-handed grip came more from bows than swords, and had ferocious power.
“Master Errollyn,” said the red-coat, “I do believe I recall you from Council sessions. How many years has it been?”
“Nearly three,” said Errollyn.
Sasha finally freed herself, though it took both of her hands to do so.
“And you can vouch for these others?”
“For Kessligh, Sashandra and Alythia, yes. I’m quite sure I haven’t been deceived as to their identities, by this one least of all. She’s far too annoying to be anyone else.” Alythia laughed like that was the funniest thing she’d heard in weeks.
The red-coat smiled grimly. “Very well. I shall require your marks on this paper, and you must report to a council officer before sundown tomorrow. Failure to do so shall be taken as admission that your stated identities are false, and the Blackboots shall be alerted.”
“Thank you, Errollyn,” Alythia said graciously as they walked down the pier. “If we’d left it to Sasha, I’m sure we’d have all spent the nigh
t in a Tracato dungeon, at best.”
Sasha let them talk, stalking angrily ahead. The decking felt as though it were still heaving beneath her, and it was a curious sensation indeed to take long strides and be certain that the boards were, in fact, not moving. The pier was wide: two horse-and-carts could easily have passed, making it possible to unload two large vessels simultaneously.
Fronting the docks were mostly warehouses, grim and silent, and guarded by militia men who Sasha guessed might be hired swords. There was little of the life and bustle of the Petrodor Dockside, and the water smelt foul as it lapped against the retaining wall. A sheltered harbour, Sasha realised, with no ocean currents to disperse the city’s wastes.
Tracato Dockside was far more orderly than Petrodor’s. The stone facades of taverns and dwellings presented a friendly face to the sea, alive with the light of lanterns.
Ahead, Councilman Dhael had walked to the forecourt of a tavern, where men waited with horses tethered to carriages to take folk up the incline. Sasha was in half a mood to walk, to stretch her legs and to see Tracato up close. But Alythia would assuredly dislike the notion, to say nothing of Kessligh’s leg, so Sasha headed toward the carriages.
There were four of them, their drivers standing around a forecourt fountain, sharing drinks and laughing. And now, stepping about the carriages, were men in wide hats, matching dark tunic and pants, and tall black boots. Those men were looking at her. And now, they were coming toward her, swords swinging at their hips.
Sasha kept walking, counting ten Blackboots in all. They were spreading out now, across her path. Heart thumping in anticipation of trouble, Sasha found herself paying more attention to the dockfront windows behind the men than the men themselves. A Petrodor reflex that was, searching for archers—always her greatest concern. Swordsmen she could handle. Perhaps not ten, but maybe.
“Sashandra Lenayin!” announced the leader.
“Aye,” said Sasha, with as much unconcern as she could muster. “Who blocks my way?”
Tracato: A Trial of Blood and Steel Book Three Page 3
