Sasha

by Joel Shepherd

  “Should a woman then not walk?” Sasha replied. “Not breathe? Not talk and think? You do all of these things, yet you are a man, so surely I cannot be a woman, because I do them too. I think, Master Jaryd, that the only state in which a woman can meet the Verenthane ideal and not mimic any of your manly deeds is in death.”

  Jaryd shook his head. “You truly are a strange girl. The serrin spread strange notions from Saalshen.”

  “Do they frighten you?”

  “Frighten? M'Lady, I assure you…I do not frighten easily.”

  “Yet you disapprove of me. Why? Why wish me to be something else, unless you feel threatened?”

  Jaryd did not reply immediately. Somewhere in the forest, an owl hooted. “I was raised to be a good Verenthane,” he said then. He sounded troubled. “Yesterday, at Perys, I saw you do things with a blade that…that I had not thought possible for a woman. Barely possible for most men, in fact. I admit, I am confused. I would like to think that had it been me in your place, I would have acquitted myself as well. I am one of the best swordsmen in Lenayin, I know this with all my heart…and yet the artistry with which those men died was…truly amazing.”

  Spirits help him, Sasha thought, he was trying. What he admitted was surely no easy thing. “The serrin know many ancient arts,” Sasha told him, somewhat more gently. “The svaalverd is not invulnerable by any means, but when taught by the very best to a capable pupil…well, I have options in a fight that my opponents do not.”

  “I said your ways do not frighten me, and I mean it,” Jaryd said determinedly. “I am a swordsman, I can only admire such talent, however unexpected. But I should warn you, M'Lady…I know others who feel differently.”

  “I know…” Sasha began, but Jaryd had not finished.

  “Noble men,” he said, “my relations amongst them. They have long resented Kessligh's influence with the king. And they speak ill of serrin and Nasi-Keth alike.”

  “Kessligh has little enough influence with the king these days,” said Sasha. “And noble Verenthanes have always resented or disliked me for one reason or another. But thank you for the warning. Is there some particular reason I should be worried?”

  Jaryd's silence did not help her nerves. Events were in motion, and clearly the lords saw an impending war as an opportunity for self-advancement. War against the serrin would sever all the king's remaining ties with Kessligh and the Nasi-Keth. If it was a chance to get rid of him, then it was surely a chance to get rid of her. She recalled Kessligh's grim warning at the Steltsyn Star, and suffered a shiver that had nothing to do with the chill night air.

  “A part of me looks forward to this war,” Jaryd said. “The holy war to reclaim the Saalshen Bacosh from the serrin. You would feel differently, I suppose?”

  “Saalshen took that land because they were attacked,” Sasha replied. “They never started the conflict, they only finished it. The Saalshen Bacosh is formidable because it is defended by armies of humans and serrin. Most humans seem happy there, and they fight ferociously to defend their lands from the so-called liberators. If Lenayin went, we'd be just another bloody invader. Is that what you want?”

  “Those lands are holy,” Jaryd countered, though he sounded less than certain. “I am Verenthane, and the places where the faith was born are occupied by those who do not belong. Any young man wishing for adventure would welcome the chance to ride on such a crusade. And many Goeren-yai I've spoken to said they would welcome a great war, Lenayin has always been a land of warriors, but the Liberation brought peace. Too much peace for many, I think.”

  “Serrin did not travel as much to western provinces like Isfayen,” said Sasha. “Goeren-yai to the west may have no trouble fighting serrin, but the story is different here.” She paused. “But you said only a part of you. What of the other part?”

  Jaryd sighed. “I've never been interested in the things that my father and uncles love. Wealth and power, more lands, more taxes. They complain endlessly that the nobility has little true power and that the king saves all the authority for himself, and they expect me to be equally outraged…”

  He shook his head, gazing into the dark. “And now my father is dying. He sent me to the Falcon Guards when he found out. He said I might learn something. I have the Great Lordship of Tyree waiting for me and…and I can't find it within myself to care.”

  Sasha stared at him in astonishment. She hadn't suspected that at all. “You and your father aren't on good terms?” she guessed.

  “Never,” Jaryd said darkly. “I try to feel sad for him, truly I do. But it's difficult.” From somewhere distant, there came the mournful howl of a wolf. Another answered. Some people disliked the sound. Sasha had always loved it. Such a cold and desolate beauty.

  “I know the feeling,” Sasha said quietly.

  Jaryd glanced at her. “The king seems…distant. Though it is said he became far more so, after Prince Krystoff died. He loved Prince Krystoff dearly, as did you.”

  “He loved his heir,” Sasha muttered. “All kings must love their heir, the same way a priest must love his robe, or a princess must love her father. It's an obligation, nothing more.”

  “He retreated into temple after Prince Krystoff's funeral and rarely comes out to this day,” Jaryd objected. “The first place my father would visit if I died would be the stable, to reclaim my horse.”

  “My father desires the faith of the gods above all else,” said Sasha. “It is said he loved my mother, but I don't know how anyone could prove it. He's a humourless, uncaring statue of a man, and for the life of me I couldn't describe to you his smile, for I've never seen it, before Krystoff died or after. He prays for Krystoff because he thought the gods had slapped him in the face by taking Krystoff from him. That upset him; Krystoff himself he barely knew.”

  “Do you see him often?” Jaryd asked. He sounded a little surprised…but only that she was telling him this at all, she reckoned.

  “A perfunctory meeting when I travel to Baen-Tar. Nothing more.”

  “Fathers,” Jaryd said distastefully.

  “Fathers,” Sasha agreed.

  They sat together in the cold for a while and listened to the vast silence. The wolves were quiet once more. Jaryd then seemed to smile in the dark. Then repressed a laugh. Sasha stared at him, wondering what could possibly be so funny.

  “It's just…you mentioned the serrin,” Jaryd said eventually, with restrained mirth, “and I always think of this when anyone mentions…”

  “What?” Sasha said impatiently.

  “My little brother Tarryn,” said Jaryd. “Such a cheerful little fellow. He liked to stride about everywhere with this big, wooden sword that tripped him when he marched or turned. One time when he was around four my sisters thought it would be grand for him to lead a ceremonial presentation for a visiting serrin scholar. So we're all sitting down in the grand hall, with banners on the wall and tables loaded with food…and in comes little Tarryn, all dressed in these…this little tailored collar and vest and golden buttons…all bold and beaming at everyone, just a wonderful, cheerful little boy…and he comes down these grand steps before the crowd, with everyone admiring, and he's loving the attention so much that he catches the heel of his shiny new boots on the last step and falls smack right on his face on the floor.”

  Jaryd nearly doubled over with laughter, trying desperately to keep from waking anyone. Sasha's first thought was that it was a very mean thing to find so amusing. Then she remembered a time when her favourite dog had gotten loose, jumped on Alythia and knocked her face first into a waiting row of pastries. And suddenly, she was doubled over in near hysterics.

  After a while of laughing through his nose, Jaryd straightened and tried again. “And…Tarryn started to cry, while me and my other brother Wyndal are falling out of our chairs laughing, and our…our sisters are glaring at us. And Father just…just sighs and puts his head in his hand.” He took a deep breath and tried to recover himself. “But the serrin scholar was nice, he got up and we
nt to Tarryn, picked him up, sat him on the edge of the table and suddenly it didn't matter any more. Serrin don't get ruffled very often, do they? I still remember that man, he was…he was nice.”

  Sasha rearranged her blanket and cloak, and wiped tears from her eyes. It was like this, sometimes, after a fight. The smallest thing set off the wildest emotional responses. But she greatly preferred this train of thought to those previous.

  “Where is Tarryn now?” she asked.

  “He's at Baen-Tar,” said Jaryd. “He's eleven now, Father sent him for a bit of sophisticated education. He has some cousins there…it's been nice, the past few months, being posted to Baen-Tar with the Falcon Guard. I could see him nearly every day.”

  “I put a lizard in Alythia's bed, once,” said Sasha, aware as she said it that it might not be proper to share such things with Jaryd…but her mouth was away now, and when that happened, her mind had a struggle to catch up.

  Jaryd blinked at her, his disbelief clear despite the blackness. “You…in Princess Alythia's bed?” Sasha nodded, biting her lip. “Why?”

  “She's my sister, I don't need a reason why,” Sasha retorted. “She was being a pain. Besides, it was Krystoff's idea.”

  “What happened?”

  “We hid around a corner near her chambers…we had to shoo a guard away, he just shook his head and smiled, we were always pulling pranks. Then we heard a loud scream and Alythia came running out in her night gown. She knew who did it, she's a pain but she's not stupid.

  “But she killed the lizard. She threw it at us, all dead and limp. I was upset, I yelled at Krystoff and went off to cry in my room. Krystoff came up and made silly jokes until I forgave him.”

  “Over a lizard?” asked Jaryd.

  “I've always loved animals. Horses, dogs, lizards, birds, bats. Some of my best friends have been animals. They're always honest and they never betray you.”

  “True,” Jaryd agreed. “The first thing my horse master told me—it's never the horse's fault. If he makes a mistake, it's the rider's fault for not communicating properly.”

  “I agree. I've often thought that if more rulers went about their rule as they're taught to go about their riding, most lands would be far better places.”

  There was another silence, longer than the last. “Well, M'Lady,” Jaryd said eventually, “I must admit, you're nothing like the person that I'd thought you were. It seems that I've been told lies about you.”

  Sasha gave a silent laugh. “And you're not so bad yourself, for a self-important, preening Verenthane noble,” she replied.

  “I'll admit to preening,” Jaryd suggested, “if you'll admit to a sharp tongue.”

  “Admit? How could I deny it?”

  Jaryd smiled. “It must be near time for your watch to end. Say…it's a cold night. Two bodies are warmer than one, and there's plenty of room in my bedroll…”

  “Oh no,” Sasha laughed, “you'll not find me quite that easy a mark, Master Jaryd. I've admitted that I no longer wish to break your skull with a blunt stick, but the distance from there to where you're suggesting is a long one indeed.”

  “A pity,” Jaryd sighed, utterly unperturbed. “The short hair is an acquired taste, but I think I was beginning to acquire it…”

  “Truly.” She was amused, in spite of her better judgment.

  “It does rather draw attention to your lovely eyes, I feel.”

  “It's dark. I can barely see you, how can you possibly notice my lovely eyes?”

  “How could I not? And truly, you must be built like a rock to produce the swordwork you showed in Perys with such speed and balance…”

  Ah, so that was it. “I'm sorry, Jaryd,” Sasha told him, smiling, “if you wish to indulge that particular curiosity, I'm sure you could ask a visiting serrin lady very nicely and she'd be happy to indulge, as serrin often will. I'm sure she'll show you all of her muscles in all the most interesting places.”

  Spirits help her, she thought later as she lay snuggled in her own bedroll, she was almost tempted. Unlike Verenthane ladies, Goeren-yai had little worry about using the serrin's white powder, so pregnancy was no issue. She always carried a little on such rides, not in the expectation of an amorous encounter, but as a final guard against the unpleasant prospect of being taken prisoner. She had no illusions about the superior morality or sexual virtue of women—Verenthanes might believe that, and Goeren-yai to a lesser extent, but the serrin placed the concept somewhere between amusing and ridiculous, and in this, Sasha took her teachings firmly from the Nasi-Keth.

  But it was a pricklish thing, for her. Serrin might leap from bed to bed with carefree abandon, but she could not. She was human, after all, and lust alone (for her at least) was not quite enough. Besides which, there were enough unpleasant rumours about her dubious morality already in circulation throughout Lenayin—she had no wish to add to the lies with facts. If she was going to risk such a thing, then the man would have to be damned impressive to make it worth her while. Jaryd might well be a decent man, and was certainly a handsome one, but that was still somewhere short of her requirements.

  The following morning, the farmhouses upon the trail were all deserted, livestock let out to graze on the thickest pasture in the hopes that the troubles would pass them over. The trail descended along a broken, jagged cleft in the hills, toward a lake below. It shone vast and silver beneath the overcast sky, like flashes of precious metal through the pines. Beyond the far, northern shore rose genuine mountains, whose highest peaks bore white caps of snow.

  Part way down the slope toward the lake, the column encountered the senior scout Jurellyn, scanning the clear view of the lakeside below.

  “Vassyl,” he said as Sasha, Kessligh, Damon, Captain Tyrun and Jaryd gathered about. Jurellyn's finger indicated the near side of the lake, mostly obscured by trees. “They're under attack, almost certainly. One of my lads is down closer, he heard trumpets and massed horse. The town's not afire though, so the defenders may yet hold the day.”

  “This trail is guarded?” Damon asked, frowning as he considered the scene. Sasha doubted he was admiring the beauty of the alpine lake, nor the majesty of the mountains beyond.

  “Aye,” said Jurellyn. He was chewing on a grass stem, Sasha saw. His manner, as roughened and weathered as his face and hair, was as informal as she'd ever seen a common man dare with royalty. Lenayin was full of such men—foresters, hunters, wild men, as they were commonly known. Some were recruited to arms, as scouts. The basic notions of civilisation, like manners, were often strange to them. Wise commanders tolerated the indifference, and reaped the benefits. “No knowing by who. I'd guess perhaps the locals, knowing this terrain better.” He removed the grass stem, and spat. “I'll tell you this—there's not much room for massed cavalry down there on the lakeside. It's not a walled town, but they've got archers. It might not matter.”

  Kessligh pursed his lips as he considered. “You're right, old friend,” he said. “That's a narrow lakeside bank, just a few fields and farm walls. Vassyl blocks the way around the lake entirely for cavalry. Attacking Hadryn might try to sneak some infantry around along the high slope, but that'll leave them isolated against Taneryn cavalry between Vassyl and the pass yonder.”

  His finger drew across to the right, where Sasha's eyes followed the lake's distant shore beneath the mountains. There was the back route to Halleryn. It ended beneath the tallest peak opposite—Mount Halleryn. Directly below, she could clearly make out the dark cluster that was Halleryn town. And if she was not imagining things, she thought she could make out a dark smudge within that open, green valley. Those would be soldiers. An army, encamped before Halleryn's walls.

  “The Hadryn have no business even being in Taneryn,” Sasha muttered. “It's an invasion.”

  “Usyn Telgar may claim good cause,” said Damon. Sasha stared at him. “His father was murdered. He may claim justice.”

  “This,” Sasha retorted, “is not justice.”

  “We don't know what this
is, just yet,” Damon replied, his expression dark. There was greater force and certainty in his manner than Sasha had expected. “We shall go down and find out. We shall enforce a truce and interrogate the commanders.”

  “We are but eighty men, Highness,” Captain Tyrun reminded him.

  “Not once the other companies arrive.”

  “They may be days.” Tyrun's manner was calm, merely reminding his prince of the facts, not advocating or arguing.

  “Then we shan't tell them that,” Damon said simply. “Shall we?”

  He looked around, seeking disagreement, and appeared mildly surprised when he did not find any.

  The descent through the forested lower slopes was guarded, for the column heard many strange calls echoing off the hills as they descended. But with the banners prominently displayed, there came no attack. Finally the trail emerged from the thick trees above the town of Vassyl. The surrounding grassy fields were thick with the last of the summer flowers and the town's shingled roofs and decorative trimmings looked pretty indeed before the vast, flat span of the lake.

  Spoiling the tranquil scene were the dark, motionless forms lying on the fields closer to the town. Here at the treeline, Sasha knew, they were already within range of high if inaccurate longbow fire.

  Guardsmen were pointing westward along the lakeshore, just beyond arrowshot from the town. A cluster of soldiers and horses was visible there, encamped within the narrow space of open land between the lake and the steep rise of the forested slope. One rider was now galloping forth, bearing a banner on which there flapped a white flag.

  “I advise we come closer before he arrives, my Prince,” Kessligh called to Damon. “I should like a look at the town.”

  Damon nodded and they continued forward, the rear sections of the column galloping to draw up the flanks as they cleared the treeline. Sasha saw an arrow protruding from the ground nearby, half-buried at a steep angle. Then, from the town, there came a second rider, also bearing a pole with a white flag. He jumped the low surrounding wall and spurred toward them.