Haven: A Trial of Blood and Steel Book Four

by Shepherd, Joel

  He carried Jeddie back up the corridor, not as easy a task as the boy made out—she was slim but tall, and her dress entangled his legs.

  “I hear you were caught in the Mahl'rhen?” Alfriedo asked her as they walked. Jeddie nodded, drawn and pale. “Is it true that the Archbishop's men destroyed it?”

  “I helped some Nasi-Keth and others to save some things, books and the like. A few old serrin were still there. Lesthen, the ambassador. The Archbishop's men killed him when they came.” Her voice trembled. “They're beasts,” she added in a frightened, hateful whisper. “They smashed all the statues and artworks. They killed old serrin on sight. Beasts, the lot of them.”

  “I don't understand,” said Alfriedo with concern. “Did you not identify yourself to them as the daughter of Horseth?” Jeddie nodded. The party reached the steps, and began climbing. “Why did they then throw you in the dungeons?”

  “We were caught trying to save another load of books. Wonderful things, with the most amazing illustrations. Old histories of the Bacosh and its peoples, written by the serrin some seven centuries ago. They attacked us even though I told them who I was. There were too many of them. Some of us got away, but I was too slow.

  “The Lenay man, Jaryd Nyvar's friend Jandlys, he did not abandon me. He fought courageously.” Again her voice trembled. “He killed so many of them I cannot remember their number. Ten at least. They wounded him many times, and still he fought. Were it not for him I would be dead, he killed so many of the first attackers that they retreated, and came back with a senior man who recognised my rank and detained rather than killed me. But by then, Jandlys was dead.”

  “It's curious,” Alfriedo said. “I was told that all Bacosh men were civilised, and all around me nodded, yet I have seen that that is a lie. I was told that the Archbishops of Petrodor and Sherdaine were godly and moral people, and religious men about me nodded, yet I now see that was a great lie. And I was told that the men of Lenayin were brave and fearsome and honourable, and all about me laughed and scorned. Yet that seems most true of all.”

  They exited the dungeon stairs and came into the Justiciary hall. Beneath the high, grand roof, Elissian soldiers stood guard, as Elissians of higher rank stood upon the pavings and marvelled at the architecture. This place, they had not burned down. There was discussion as to what it should be converted into, now that its original purpose had been abandoned. Zulmaher didn't know what business any Elissians had to debate that—Alfriedo was Lord of Rhodaan, and such decisions were his alone.

  A troop of Black Order were striding across the floor, men in black robes and pointed hoods that covered their faces. A priest led them, a tall man with a tall staff, walking fast. Zulmaher placed Jeddie on the ground and supported her as she balanced on her one good foot.

  “General,” said the priest, stopping before them. “Who gave you leave to release this prisoner?”

  “The decision to detain or not to detain persons lies with my lord of Rhodaan, Alfriedo Renine, surely,” Zulmaher replied. “Do you say that it does not?”

  “This person is in league with the serrin!” the priest spat. “She was a member of the Queen Sofy's court!”

  “And have you arrested Queen Sofy also?” Zulmaher asked. “Has the Regent given his order that you should do such a thing?”

  “We have reports that she is dead.”

  “Best not by your hand, sir. To murder the Regent's wife would seem a somewhat significant thing.”

  The priest glared. “She was a pagan and she cast her lot with pagans!”

  “I have met with the young lady in question,” Alfriedo interjected, “and I am most assured that she is a Verenthane. Indeed, her knowledge of scripture was rather better than mine, and my education has been extensive. If you have killed her, Father, then I shall see that she receives a proper Verenthane burial. And as Lord of Rhodaan, I shall see that those responsible give a full explanation to her bereaved husband, the Regent of the United Bacosh.”

  The priest paled and seethed. “I also have reports that there are many wanted individuals now taking refuge within regions of Tracato under your control, Lord Alfriedo,” he said tightly. “I would ask, on the behalf of the Archbishop, that you hand over all such persons to us immediately.”

  “As Lord of Rhodaan,” Alfriedo said mildly, “I was not aware that there were any regions of Tracato outside of my control.”

  “The regions of Reninesenn and its surrounds,” said the priest, through gritted teeth. “Those regions most historically associated with your family's esteemed prescence in this city, my lord.”

  “Father, I can assure you that there is no one within Reninesenn and its surrounds today who does not belong there.” He said it with such utter, wide-eyed innocence that Zulmaher nearly laughed.

  “If my lord says it, then I'm sure that it must be so,” said the priest, with more than a hint of threat. “But my lord should bear in mind that there are no higher authorities in the new Bacosh than the ancient gods. My Archbishop represents those gods, and they have decreed that all things pagan must be cleansed from these lands, for the good of all souls. No lord can dispute the word of the gods. Not even a Regent.”

  He turned and strode away, taking his pointy-headed army with him.

  “Well said, my lord,” said Zulmaher, watching them go.

  “I am getting tired of being told what to do in my own land,” Alfriedo said crossly. “But it is hard to argue with a priest about the word of the gods, to say nothing of an Archbishop.”

  “Ordinary men cannot do so,” Zulmaher agreed. “But another priest?”

  They took horses to arrive at Reninesenn in good time. There were a great number of armed men in the streets, many with armour and weapons that were centuries old, family heirlooms not needed for warfare since the creation of the Steel, kept in storage as reminders of old family honour. Men saluted Lord Alfriedo and General Zulmaher as they passed. Zulmaher wondered just how useful they would be in a fight. Some of them had experience in the Steel, but not many.

  Jeddie departed with a guard to head for the Ushal Fortress, and noble quarters. The others dismounted before the temple. Already there was a small crowd atop the steps, some now taking a knee as Alfriedo climbed the stairs, a gesture that may have had them in trouble with the city's red-coats just weeks earlier. But no one had seen a red-coat in recent times.

  A few people raised cheers for Alfriedo Renine, the new Lord of Rhodaan. Many in Rhodaan had been waiting two centuries for this, the restoration of rightful powers to the nobility, and Family Renine as the undisputed rightful heirs to that gods-given power. Yet Alfriedo only looked angry.

  “Please,” he said loudly at the temple doors, “I will hear no cheering. We are Tracatans and our city is occupied, ravaged and humiliated. I see nothing to cheer about.”

  The temple was only small, but quite lovely with its high arches and wall columns. Family Renine had long held all its important functions here, away from the Council-controlled establishments of the high city, and their lickspittle priests. Now, some of those lickspittle priests were assembled here before the altar: thirty-two in total, the heads of each major temple within Tracato. All looked anxious.

  “Thank you for coming,” said Zulmaher. “Firstly, the Lord Alfriedo would hear of your concerns. The past days have been trying on us all. If he is to assume lordship of all Rhodaan, he shall start with Tracato, and if he assumes lordship of Tracato, he shall start with its temples.”

  The priests talked, tentatively at first, then with increasing forthrightness. They were not happy. Their parishioners were sometimes scattered, and in a few cases slain. Many tried to organise assistance, and to provide shelter to those who required it. The Black Order did not treat the local priests with respect. High town temples, frequented by Council supporters and Nasi-Keth, were shunned entirely. The only priests invited to an audience with the Archbishop were the more traditional men from Reninesenn, and others favored by supporters of Alfriedo Renin
e. But those were also displeased.

  “He does not listen,” said one old man. “He lectures. He told us that our sins are deep and that such sins can only be cleansed by blood. I presume he means ours.”

  “My friends,” Zulmaher said, “we are all alike dismayed, I am sure. Our Lord Alfriedo may have won back his rightful seat in the command of Rhodaan, yet that shall count for nothing if we cannot win back authority over our own land, and our own city. I am but a man, as is my Lord Alfriedo, and we cannot challenge the Archbishop's authority. But you are priests. You carry the authority of the gods. The first step in reclaiming Rhodaan from these invaders shall therefore lie with you.”

  Alfriedo was frowning up at him, wondering what he was thinking. The priests looked no different.

  “We cannot stand up to the Archbishop,” one exclaimed. “He is an archbishop, we are just common priests!”

  “It is the convention within the Bacosh, is it not, that each province shall have an archbishop of its own?” Zulmaher asked. “It was the serrin who ended the practice two hundred years ago. They thought to break the power of the Rhodaani priesthood by depriving them—all of you—of a leader.”

  And to look upon you all today, he thought sourly, it worked.

  “You will appoint an Archbishop of Rhodaan?” All the robed men stared at each other. Some fearful, some frowning, and others with dawning calculation.

  “A lord cannot appoint an archbishop,” said another. “Not even the Lord of Rhodaan.”

  “Then you shall choose,” Zulmaher told them. “Surely you have not forgotten the procedures?”

  The robed men regarded each other in silence. An old man cleared his throat. “I have studied the process well,” he said. “In old books.” And added with irony, “In a library the serrin built.”

  “Very well,” said Zulmaher. “We shall leave you to it. This temple is yours until you have selected your archbishop. Please begin.”

  He retreated and took Alfriedo with him. The priests did not look convinced, and many would have pressed with further questions, but Zulmaher did not wish it to sound like a request. Priests had obeyed lords in Rhodaan for the last two centuries, as they sometimes did not in the west. He should be wary, however, of what would be created by this act.

  “An Archbishop of Rhodaan will still not have the authority to challenge the Archbishop of Sherdaine!” Alfriedo exclaimed in a frustrated whisper as they walked to the temple's entrance.

  “An Archbishop of Rhodaan,” said Zulmaher, “with his boots upon home soil, will have as much power as his people grant him. All Rhodaanis have lost their old leaders, their Council, their Justices. They are looking for someone to stand up on their behalf, yet are afraid to challenge an archbishop for fear of their souls. This appointment will take that fear from them.”

  “I am not comfortable with this,” Alfriedo declared. “Kessligh Cronenverdt warned me of precisely this. He said that the rule of nations cannot be left to men, it must be left to laws. Yet here we appoint men, and pathetic men like our soft and pampered priests, to make decisions on behalf of all.”

  “Decisions that we shall control,” Zulmaher assured him.

  “So you say,” Alfriedo said sharply. “Can you promise it, in truth?” Zulmaher thought about what to say. “My mother promised that she could control events also. Look where that brought her.”

  “This time it shall be different.”

  “I don't believe you,” Alfriedo said darkly. He turned for the door. “I don't believe anyone anymore.”

  The party sat in the common hall of the guardhouse on the Ilduuri side of the Shalaam Canyon. Sasha sat in borrowed clothes and ate well. Outside the stone walls, rain continued to fall and thunder rumbled a distant displeasure. Daish was in bed, resting, and needed to remain so for several more days at least. Perhaps he might follow them to Andal later.

  “He would have killed you all,” Rulsten explained. He was the soldier who had let them in the gate, and sent the Ilduuri Nasi-Keth to his death. His helm now removed, he looked an older man, with wavy grey hair. “Last week, we had word that two Enoran messengers who passed through this way never made it to Andal.”

  “You're saying someone ordered them killed?” Rhillian asked, frowning over her meal. Her white hair, newly short, was neat and brushed after her wash.

  “Not someone,” said Captain Aster. “The Remischtuul. It's policy.”

  All three lands of the Saalshen Bacosh had replaced the rule of kings and lords with something else. In Rhodaan and Enora, it had been Councils of supposedly ordinary folk. In Ilduur, it was a single grand Council, known in the local tongue as the Remischtuul, meaning “large house.” One institution within which all the important factions of Ilduur would be represented—from artisans to farmers, builders to priests—every guild, every class of society, had a seat within the Remischtuul. Or so it went in theory.

  “Policy to kill every foreigner?” Sasha asked.

  “Every foreigner bearing bad news,” said the captain. “They do not want to become involved in this war. There are many in Ilduur who disagree, but lately it has become dangerous to disagree. Those who speak out in favour of supporting our Rhodaani and Enoran brothers are called warmongers and agents of foreign powers. Some have been charged with treason, and jailed awaiting execution. Others have disappeared. The Stamentaast are everywhere.”

  “Stamentaast?”

  “They serve the Remischtuul. They move through our cities and promote social order.” There was bitter laughter from the soldiers. “They watch for unpatriotic attitudes, and recruit agents of their own. Some they recruit with fear, others with genuine belief. Lately it has become intolerable, they report on everyone, and you can smell the fear when you talk to people about them.”

  “I don't understand,” said Arendelle. Of the four serrin present, he was the least accustomed to human ways. “Why must the Remischtuul have foreigners killed?”

  The captain sighed. “We Ilduuri have never been agreeable neighbours. We have our mountains, they have been our defence. Before the serrin came, we feared them, and called them devils as others of the Bacosh do. We defended our mountain kingdom with fervour, and rarely did a non-Ilduuri even visit Andal.

  “But then came King Leyvaan. In his great rise to power he cajoled and threatened, and gathered a force so large even the Ilduuri agreed we should join with it, if only because he promised to rid us of the terrible serrin. But that force, of course, met with disaster in Saalshen, and left us undefended from the serrin's retribution.

  “When the serrin did come, they did not murder us and eat our souls, but remade our society. We flourished, as they did. But perhaps the serrin trusted us too well and thought us reborn in those two hundred years. We never did lose our distrust of foreigners, always it hid beneath the surface. We built grand new institutions like the Remischtuul, and the Nasi-Keth grew strong, and serrin teachings spread in Ilduur. But always it was selective teachings, the men of power learned the words that suited them best and ignored others. From what I know of serrin lore, I do not think serrin intended it to be that way.”

  “Nasi-Keth,” Sasha said in disbelief. “I've seen Nasi-Keth in Rhodaan doing stupid things, but even after that I find it hard to believe anyone in any Nasi-Keth group could argue for letting Saalshen's enemies win. I mean, if the serrin fall, the Nasi-Keth are finished.”

  “They don't see it that way,” said Rulsten. “They're pacifists, or so they say. Serrin teachings are of peace—”

  “They are not,” Kiel interrupted. “Only a fool would interpret the uthal'es so simply.”

  “Well, you said it,” Rulsten said wryly. “It's like the captain said, they learn what they want from the serrin and discard the rest. They think the Ilduuri should be pure, shouldn't mix with foreigners. That means not getting involved in foreign wars, so pacifism suits them.”

  “Yes, while murdering their enemies with violence,” said another soldier, sourly.

  “Na
si-Keth elsewhere are interested in creating bonds between serrin and human,” said Captain Aster. “Here, they're interested only in using serrin knowledge to benefit Ilduur. Nothing else. Some may claim otherwise, but that's the gist of it whatever they say.”

  “But the Ilduuri Steel think differently?” Rhillian pressed.

  “Not all,” Aster admitted, “but most. It goes back to the Tournean War. Only fifteen years after Ilduur came under serrin control, Tournea decided to attack. They reasoned that if they captured Ilduur at its weakest moment, they would gain a fortress from which to attack Saalshen and Enora. The Ilduuri Steel were new and untested. Rhodaan and Enora came in force to our defence, and together we won a great victory that we would surely have lost had we faced the threat alone.

  “Other Ilduuris forget, but the Steel never did. We've shared officers ever since; we send cadets to learn at each others’ officer schools; we make good friends in foreign lands and assist those friends in their wars. We would have liked to do more, but the Remischtuul protests, and says we must remain to defend the homeland. Over time, the city folk who hold most power in the Remischtuul stopped sending their sons to join the Steel. The Steel are mostly country folk now, who have less of a voice in the Remischtuul. Most of us here are from the lands of Saadi Maal in the east, none of us have friends or relatives in Andal. It seems almost a foreign land to us, for all we suffer to defend it.”

  “We must get to Andal quickly,” said Rhillian. “We need to convince the Remischtuul to send help to Jahnd, our forces retreat there.”

  “Jahnd?” asked one of the soldiers.

  “Haven,” another told him, in Saalsi.

  “You cannot just confront the Remischtuul,” said Captain Aster. “They'll have you locked up and executed.”

  “Then I must meet with other captains of the Ilduuri Steel,” said Rhillian. “Either way, they must march to Jahnd. If they do not, Ilduuri freedom as you know it is finished, perhaps not today or tomorrow, but soon.”

  “Little enough Ilduuri freedom today,” someone muttered.