“Lord Krayliss,” Koenyg announced coldly, his voice loud enough that all could hear. “You were brought to Baen-Tar by Prince Damon on the understanding that you were placing yourself within the protection of the king's law! Your violations of the king's law are profound for all to see. You do not deny that you slew Great Lord Rashyd Telgar of Hadryn. The king deems it fit for you to be judged before a council of lords this Rathynal, as the king wishes the people of Lenayin to observe the justice of all Lenayin, and not merely the justice of its king. Do you wish to object to the king's law, and would you also reject its protections from the rightful revenge of the new Great Lord Usyn?”
“Object?” Lord Krayliss bellowed. “I agreed to be judged by your Verenthane law on the condition of the presence of Sashandra Lenayin! And now you wish to conduct this justice without her presence?”
At Koenyg's back, King Torvaal sat upon his throne and watched, his eyes impassive.
“The Lady Sashandra has acted against the express wishes of the king,” Koenyg replied, “and has consorted with troublemakers. She forfeits her right to be present at the first day of Rathynal as the Nasi-Keth's representative.”
“Oh aye, how convenient!” Krayliss turned to confront the crowd, with an expansive, theatrical gesture. “This is what we get to replace the good Prince Krystoff! Never was there a law or an honourable agreement that this man could not find a way to sneak around like a filthy, cheating coward!”
A roar of outrage followed and swords about the circle of lords were half drawn. Men yelled for the Lord of Taneryn's head on the spot. Behind the Taneryn flag that hung above Krayliss's chair, ten of Krayliss's senior men placed hands near their swords, a wild-haired, disreputable corner of an otherwise impeccably groomed gathering. Koenyg raised both hands, unmoved. The circle's fury, and that of the seated gathering behind, subsided.
Krayliss's eyes gleamed with triumph. He thought he'd won, Damon reckoned. Submit Sashandra to the trial, and risk revealing the truth of her Goeren-yai sympathies…or withhold her, thus breaking her agreement. That was the dilemma he had presented to the king and Koenyg. Now, he was the aggrieved lord, having suffered a great injustice at the hands of the Verenthane king. His stage was set.
“Look at you all!” Krayliss snarled at the furious men standing about the circle. “Verenthane pets! Do any of you know the wishes of the Goeren-yai of your provinces, the ones as whose lords you pompously style yourselves? Do any of you care to guess what shall happen to you when they hear of this outrage?” He strutted forward, bristling with self-righteous rage. “So brave you look, surrounded by your Verenthane cronies, and your inbred, sister-buggering uncles and cousins…”
Lord Kumaryn of Valhanan gave a roar of rage and drew his sword clear with a ring that echoed the clear length of the hall.
“HOLD!” Koenyg yelled, pulling his own sword clear.
Red-faced, Lord Kumaryn glared at his prince, gulping air like a stranded fish. “Highness!” he protested. “A man can only take so much!”
“A man can take all of this and more if his prince commands it!” Koenyg retorted. “And he shall!”
“How long will your bravery last, Lord Kumaryn?” Lord Krayliss roared at him. “You think your honour in tatters now? What of the honour you have stolen from your people? Will you be so defiant when all those neglected thousands arrive on the doorstep of your great Cryliss mansion, weapons raised in anger, and demand restitution for all the honour of which you have deprived them?”
“The Goeren-yai do not follow you!” Kumaryn yelled, trembling with rage. “All through the villages of Valhanan, they call you a fool, and a troublemaker!”
“And you think they will follow you?” Krayliss retorted. “All the way to Larosa to murder serrin children while they sleep? And what's this?” With feigned disbelief, staring about the circle of lords. “I count only ten flags! Even a pagan Goeren-yai has enough education to know that there are eleven provinces in Lenayin!”
He put a hand to his chest, in mock disbelief. “Where are the Hadryn? Where indeed, I wonder! I'll tell you where! They're off murdering the Udalyn in their valley! Just last night I received two small Udalyn children into my refuge! They had come from Ymoth, where the Hadryn had pillaged and burned! And how is it that the Hadryn feel so emboldened, we all wonder, when the Verenthane kings of Lenayin have always forbidden them in the past?
“They struck a deal with the king, didn't they?” He levelled a hard finger at Torvaal's throne. “I see you hiding back there, little king! You cannot hide behind your heir forever! You needed the north's support for your lowlands war and so now they have free rein to slaughter whomever they want, don't they? Lady Sashandra brought a child to you this morning to beg for the lives of the Udalyn, didn't she? And you were so offended that anyone should dare to care enough for the lives of a bunch of shaggy-headed pagans that you barred her in her room, and thought to spring this trial upon the last remaining pagan lord in her absence!”
“If you wish to make complaint against the king's rule,” Torvaal said heavily from his throne, “then there are formal ways and means of doing so.”
“No longer!” Krayliss thundered, with a thrust of his finger. “The time of rule by Verenthane kings is over! No more do we play by your corrupted and honourless rules! I declare Taneryn is no longer within the Kingdom of Lenayin! The last, free corner of Lenayin is free from the Verenthane yoke once and for all! I reject this Rathynal, I reject this city, and I reject you, Master Torvaal! Men of Taneryn, arise, we are leaving! And let it be known that any Goeren-yai from any province who wishes to ride in haste and save our brother Udalyn from annihilation, we shall welcome you with open arms!”
And with that, Lord Krayliss of Taneryn and his contingent of nobles and warriors strode for the hall's central aisle, and made for the great doors at the end.
“Let them leave!” Koenyg called, standing still upon the centre of the vast eight-pointed star splayed in tile across the hall's floor. Above soared the great palace dome, its ceiling alive with a mural—King Soros upon a white steed, leading his army of holy warriors to victory over the Cherrovan. Pagan Cherrovan fleeing his holy light, while pagan Lenays fall to one knee, in awe and gratitude. “They are but a crazed few from a dying breed. Let them leave.”
Damon stared at his brother's cloaked back in disbelief. “I don't believe you just said that,” he muttered, so that none but Myklas could overhear.
Myklas frowned. “It's true, isn't it?”
“A lot of men are about to die needlessly,” Damon said quietly. He unclenched his fist from the armrest of the chair with difficulty, watching the last of the Taneryn contingent file out, with contemptuous glares at the watching Verenthanes on all sides. “Sasha was right, brother. Damn her for a pain in the neck, but she was right all along.”
Sasha performed taka-dans with a naked blade until the light had crawled across Sofy's bed and fell now upon her own. With that and other exercises had she occupied herself all the morning, locked into Sofy's chambers. She heard the door being unlatched and then Sofy's maid Anyse appeared, a meal tray in her hands. Anyse paused, startled, to see the concluding strokes of Sasha's taka-dan. Sasha sheathed the blade in one smooth motion and the maid smiled nervously, then hurried to place the tray upon Sofy's writing desk by the windows.
Turning back to Sasha, she made a hurried curtsy, apparently wishing permission to speak. Sasha nodded. Anyse's freckled face was earnest. “M'Lady,” she said in a low voice so that the guards beyond the door could not hear, “Princess Sofy sends her greetings.”
Sasha frowned. “Is she having fun with her Larosan friends?”
“She is concerned for you, M'Lady. She sends word that she is seeking to know where the young boy is being held.”
Anyse glanced furtively toward the doorway. “I was sent to give you a message. Lord Krayliss has caused a commotion at Rathynal. He accused the king of betraying the Udalyn, and all but issued a call to arms. He stormed out of th
e hall before he could be removed and has returned to his encampment upon the fields.”
Sasha took a deep breath and stared toward the windows. She was not particularly surprised. Events were set in motion. Opportunists would seek to capitalise. Now, it had truly begun. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “I am glad to know.”
Anyse turned as if to go, hesitating even as she did. Sasha saw the indecision and gestured for the maid to speak. “M'Lady…what of the Udalyn?” Anyse whispered, with great apprehension.
Sasha frowned. “Would you follow Lord Krayliss?”
“No…no, M'Lady.” A vehement shake of the head. “Not by choice. But…the Udalyn, M'Lady…”
“I know,” Sasha said darkly. “Something shall be done, you can count on it. But Lord Krayliss is not the man to do it.”
“Aye,” Anyse replied, fear battling with relief and uncertainty in her eyes. “Aye, M'Lady.” Another pause before she left. “Please be safe,” she offered, and fled. Sasha took a deep breath. Surely Koenyg knew Sofy had Goeren-yai on her staff. Anyse amongst them. Surely he knew better than to try to persuade Sofy to have them replaced. And better still than to try and command it. Sofy was not an enemy a wise man would wish to make. But Sasha was equally sure that Koenyg knew who the Goeren-yai staff were and would have them watched. Any move she made now, after that visit, would surely be fraught with risk. Yet was there any choice?
She sat down to eat her meal, for her stomach was rumbling at the smell. Below through the windows, there were children running in the courtyard with squeals and cries as they played, leaping and rolling upon the grass. Rysha, she thought as she ate the soup and tore off a piece of bread. Daryd's last word, and last concern, as the soldiers had led him away. Rysha was at Krayliss's camp. She could not stay there—Krayliss's camp had just become the least safe location in Baen-Tar. Sasha had promised Daryd his sister would be cared for. And, besides, she needed to talk to Krayliss before any new calamity occurred.
Completing her meal, she stripped her bed of its sheets and began knotting them together. The problem with Baen-Tar Verenthanes, she thought as she worked, was that they were all so unimaginative. A man or woman born into such a world had duties to perform, and formalities to follow. They would think and reason as they did.
And so, even now that she was a trained Nasi-Keth warrior with a sword at her back, the good Verenthanes of Baen-Tar would assume that any princess ordered by her father to remain in chambers would stay there. She was little seen in Baen-Tar these days after all, and the guards only knew tales of her wildness from her childhood. There were two such guards at the door, with no view of the window, and she knew there would be no one in the courtyard below. She'd checked the moment she'd been quartered in Sofy's chambers.
She ran much of the way to the stables, darting through back roads and lanes wherever possible, slowing to a walk when there were people about, for fear of attracting attention. But the line of sheets trailing from the window of Sofy's chambers had doubtless been seen by now. She could only hope that the speed with which a message would reach Koenyg would not be as fast as she was.
The confusion of activity on the first day of Rathynal about the stables was a blessing and she passed unnoticed in her long cloak amidst the stablehands, junior nobles and soldiers. Peg seemed pleased to see her and offered no complaint as she saddled him in haste. She rode at civilised speed up the road toward the gates, passing yet more inbound traffic.
She announced herself to the guards at the main gate, hood thrown back, and received only frowning looks and a gesture to proceed.
Low cloud scudded above the hills as she rode toward the Baen-Tar cliff, grey and ominous, the farther, steeper hills shrouded in mist. Descending the cut, she saw a gathering of horse and men upon the eastern slope. They were barely dots on the paddocks, but there seemed a predominance of black to their uniform—a colour favoured by the northern provinces in battle.
“Damn,” she muttered to herself, as a chill seized her heart. She had moved as fast as she could, but Koenyg had been faster.
She urged Peg into a fast trot down the rock-paved incline. Then they were at the bottom, and she kicked with her heels, pulling Peg off the road and onto the grass, where he accelerated into a joyful gallop.
She headed for a road which cut between walled paddocks toward the nearest tents. Peg saw her intention, and she let him choose his own angle of approach, hurdling a drainage ditch and then thundering onto the earth road between paddocks. She took the bends between low stone walls at speed, cold wind stinging her eyes as she tried to peer ahead and guess the best route between walls and encampments of tents, men, horses and carts. Upslope and around, she reckoned, going the long way about.
She leapt a fence as the road turned, racing across a paddock, sheep scattering in a bounding, woolly sea as she turned downhill, headed for the camp's outer edges. Leaping several walls, she then jumped a gate to rejoin another road. Peg wove through several more bends, cutting corners that flashed by with a speed that few horses could have hoped to match. And then they were coming onto the lower slopes, where the paddocks fell away more sharply toward the forest below.
Sasha turned right along a narrow trail, wondering if any of the encamped soldiers would take note of the big black horse, and alert others…but she could not see any men about the nearest tents. Peg cantered as fast as the winding trail would allow, past a rickety farmer's shack and a pair of work-worn men tending plowed rows of vegetables…and there, against the wood-walled town houses ahead, was the Taneryn encampment, isolated in its field. A line of riders in black emerged from the town's streets ahead. Banners whipped on the wind, too distant yet for her to see, but it was obvious her time was short.
The trail straightened enough for her to get a good run at the next wall. Peg sailed over, and then it was a mad gallop across the paddocks, clearing several more walls and scattering livestock, before jumping a final wall and landing on the road she and Jaryd had ridden the other night. It forked where she recalled and then it lay before her, the Taneryn tents on the slope, the Taneryn banner flying atop a tent pole, cart horses grazing and tethered near their carts. Upslope, a dark line had formed. Mounted soldiers and banners—a red sword upon a black background. Ranash, Hadryn's northern neighbour. An opposing line was moving to confront them, a ragged assembly of Taneryn men and horses.
The gate leading onto the paddock's lower slope was open, and Sasha swerved Peg through it, racing uphill toward a large vertyn tree below the encampment. She hauled Peg to a halt, dismounted and threw his reins over a broken branch stump—there was no time for a full tether, but also little chance that Peg would wander anywhere except to find her. She removed her cloak, stuffed it into one saddlebag and ran for the nearest tents.
A Taneryn man came running across to intercept her—a guard facing the lower slope, watching for an ambush from behind. It was unlikely, Sasha knew—all cavalry sought the heights and it was the Taneryn, held fast to defend their encampment, who conceded those. The man's eyes widened as he saw who it was and his blade dropped.
Sasha ran to him. “The little Udalyn girl!” she demanded. “Where is she?”
“I…M'Lord Krayliss's tent, I would think…”
And Sasha was off, running between tents, trying to recall the way from the other night, though it had been very dark then and now it all looked different. She dodged guide ropes and steel pegs, with abandoned saddles and saddlebags suggesting a surprised, hasty departure. She found the central fireplace with cooking utensils lying about…There! The big tent beyond, its centre pole somewhat taller than the others.
She ran to the main flaps and pulled them aside. Within were familiar rugs upon the grassy floor, but no little Rysha. Sasha backed out, staring about in frustration. Where would they have taken her? She dared not call out, for the Ranash troops would be close enough to hear. To be placed in Krayliss's camp, at such a time, would be most unfortunate.
She ran to the nearest tent a
nd looked within, but found nothing. Then the next, working her way upslope. She paused within one tent, lay flat on the ground and lifted the canvas. A line of Taneryn men confronted a larger, mounted force upslope.
To the front of the Ranash lines sat a man astride a big, grey charger. The bearer at his back carried the royal banner of purple and green, and six Royal Guardsmen held position at his flanks. Koenyg, Sasha realised, with little surprise. He wore battle leathers over a chain vest, as did the rest, a blade at his hip. And he was speaking, loudly, although his words were dimmed from this angle by the tailwind. Sasha strained her ears.
“…by Royal decree!” her eldest brother was shouting. “The order has been passed! Royal sovereignty has been challenged and a retraction is demanded! Should the Lord Krayliss, Great Lord of Taneryn, fail to retract, then he shall be considered in open rebellion against the crown!”
Sasha ran her eyes along the mounted Ranash line. Red and black, their horses large, their shoulders broad beneath chainmail of northern forging. Grim-faced men, some with trimmed beards beneath their helms, but mostly clean shaven. Perhaps half bore shields, unlike the Midlands–Lenay custom. The northern heavy cavalry, renowned through all Lenayin and beyond. The shield of Lenayin, and the bane of Cherrovan.
Sasha felt her skin crawl, to see her brother, the heir to the throne of Lenayin, seated astride before such a formation. Doubtless he did not trust a mixed Verenthane and Goeren-yai formation to perform such a task. And so the king-in-waiting would lead a puritan Verenthane force to crush the last of the Goeren-yai lords, in full view of the other provincial contingents. Her heart was pounding. She had to find Rysha, yet somehow, she could not tear herself from the scene before her.
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