Haven: A Trial of Blood and Steel Book Four

by Shepherd, Joel

  “The Steel are sworn to obey the Remischtuul,” said the captain, frowning. “We were founded on that promise—that the strong men of war would never turn their swords on their own people. To betray that is to betray everything good that the serrin helped to make Ilduur.”

  “We don't ask you to turn your swords on the people,” Sasha told him. “From what you say, the Remischtuul have become a tyranny. What use is the freedom that the Steel have sworn to fight for if you will not fight for it here in Ilduur?”

  Captain Aster gnawed at a thumbnail and stared at the wall.

  “It may be a tyranny,” said Rulsten, “but it's a willing tyranny. If you could ask them, I'll warrant a fair majority of Ilduuri don't want this war either. The Steel are a minority. A very large minority, perhaps, but a minority nonetheless.”

  Kiel sighed in disbelief. “Your people are idiots. Ilduuri may not see themselves as a serrin civilisation, but the Regent does and so do his priests. They'll demand the Remischtuul disbanded, the Steel destroyed, to say nothing of the Nasi-Keth. They are so strong that even your mountains cannot protect you. Your civilisation is the antithesis of the world that the Regent wishes to build, do you understand that?”

  “It is not me who needs to understand,” Aster said sombrely. “But you speak of turning the Steel against the Remischtuul. We cannot fight our own people, however misguided they may be.”

  “Then Jahnd is finished,” said Rhillian. “And with it, the combined armies of the Rhodaani and Enoran Steel, the Army of Lenayin, and much of the talmaad. Saalshen will be next, for the Regent will not repeat Leyvaan's mistake of frantic haste. Saalshen is easy prey for a large, dedicated, and patient army, even more so now that the Regent has captured some of the Steel's weaponry, and will no doubt take the time to learn how best to employ it.”

  “As ever with Saalshen,” Kiel murmured, “we cut our own throats.”

  Rhillian shrugged. “And at some stage in these events,” she continued, “the Regent shall turn his attention to Ilduur. The Ilduuri Steel must decide whether it is more important to uphold a pleasant-sounding ideal, or to ensure the survival of their civilisation and their people.”

  “You ask the Steel to fight a tyranny by becoming one,” Aster said flatly.

  “Yes,” said Rhillian. “Only this tyranny shall not need to murder small children by the thousand to achieve its ends. The same cannot be said of the other.”

  Sasha had barely bedded down in the stables when Arendelle appeared at the fodder pen. At first she thought he'd come to talk to Rhillian, but instead he clambered over the bales and lay down beside her. Sasha turned to look at him, questioningly. Arendelle put a hand on her waist. She wore only her light shirt and pants, her jacket bundled for a pillow, feet bare as she dared to hope she would not need to get up and run in a hurry.

  Arendelle wore as little. His hand ran down to her hip as his golden eyes watched her with intent curiosity. There was no hostility to him, and Sasha felt unthreatened. But they had barely spoken on the ride so far, and always Sasha had sensed the tension.

  “Why?” she asked him.

  Arendelle shrugged. “Interest,” he said. It meant more than that in Saalsi, suggested resolutions to unresolved problems.

  “Is this a thing with serrin? To use sex to solve unresolved issues?”

  “I seek to solve nothing. Only to learn.” He leaned forward to kiss her. Sasha stopped him. It only took a gentle touch to his chest.

  “You've bedded human women before, surely?”

  “That is not the issue,” he said obliquely. He slid a hand up to the small of her back. She could have stopped that too, but somehow, that seemed wrong. As though admitting that it could make her succumb if it continued. She held her gaze steady and firm, to show Arendelle it wasn't working.

  “You dislike me,” she said flatly. “Yet I'm friends with your friends. Serrin have difficulty holding such contradictions in their heads. You poke at it, as you might poke at a scab.”

  “Your looks are nothing like a scab,” he said generously. “What matter my motivation? I can see you are aroused, and with serrin there are no human consequences.”

  “I'm aroused because I'm a hot-blooded Lenay warrior gone more than a week without my man,” Sasha retorted. She didn't like Arendelle's answer. He was telling her to shut up and enjoy it, far below the eloquence of most serrin in this circumstance. “Speaking of whom, I'll not betray Errollyn so easily.”

  “Serrin barely understand the concept, in sex.”

  “Yes, but I do.”

  “I don't dislike you,” said Arendelle. He said the word with a vaguely serrin distaste. “It is too human a concept. It is because of these confusions that I seek to understand the nature of this thing between us. Between dislike and comradeship. Between hatred and love.”

  Sasha blinked. She couldn't quite believe he'd used that last word. Only the serrin had so many words to describe that, and one could not be confident, in tongues other than Saalsi, exactly which they meant. A man loved wine. A man loved his child. A man loved a woman. Each was a very different thing.

  Sasha sighed. “Look,” she said, “in another circumstance I'd join you in exploring this conundrum. I would like to be your friend, Arendelle. Can we agree that it need not take fucking to do it?”

  Arendelle considered. “Fucking is more fun.”

  Sasha stifled a giggle. “Well, yes. But in this circumstance, impractical.”

  “Arendelle,” Rhillian called from the other side of a hay bale. “When you've finished pestering Sasha, why don't you come over here?”

  Arendelle smiled, got up, and went to Rhillian.

  He really didn't like her, Sasha thought a while later, with little choice but to listen to the activity beyond the hay bale. She and Errollyn had rarely missed a day when they were together. In their first weeks, they'd sometimes rarely missed a moment alone. Listening to Rhillian's gasps of pleasure was a new kind of torture. And she laughed at herself, a better alternative than cursing.

  Arendelle finished, and left. Rhillian crept over, newly reclothed, and lay at Sasha's back and embraced her.

  “I thought you'd finished,” Sasha said jokingly, with no little envy.

  “I like to cuddle afterwards,” Rhillian said. “He's gone, you're all that's available.” Sasha laughed. “Errollyn wouldn't mind, you know. I'm sure of it.”

  “I would.”

  “Humans,” Rhillian sighed, and stroked Sasha's hair.

  “Our families are more important,” Sasha explained. “Serrin families are more open. You raise children collectively. You do everything collectively. Humans aren't made for that. Our families must be strong, so we pair-bond, and should not stray.”

  “Yet so often do.”

  “And are punished for it.”

  “Your explanations are so dry, Sasha. Humans think they're so romantic on sexual matters, but in truth you're all so blunt about it. In human stories, great sexual encounters are usually the precursor to some terrible tragedy.”

  “Yes, but it's the tragedy we find romantic.”

  Rhillian snorted. “Don't say those horrible human things, you'll spoil my afterglow.”

  The following morning, the air was cool and moist. The trail to Andal rose to a high ridge overlooking the deep cleft cut by the Ipshaal River. Guarding that ridge was a great wall, with towers and a fort, intended as a secondary defence to be occupied by Steel falling back from the perimeter. The party rode with an escort of Steel, and wore borrowed red and black uniform beneath their riding cloaks. Steel frequently gave escort to important travellers, and few passing Ilduuris spared them more than a glance.

  Soon they were climbing once more, but slowly this time. Rhillian followed Sasha's advice and stopped often, allowing the animals to graze or drink. Once, upon the crest of a ridge, they gained a perfect view of the mountains directly ahead, high peaks gleaming white in the snow of last night's storm. That was their path, and Sasha thought it much more
pleasant without the pursuit of a horde of murderous Kazeri.

  But the slow going cost them time, and they stopped for the evening in a little ridge-top village some distance short of where they had hoped to be. Their guides insisted the inn was safe, but the serrin took their meals in their rooms regardless, and did not wander out. Descending the stairs with empty plates, Sasha saw Rulsten and the innkeeper in a corner, talking in hushed tones. Word was there had been Stamentaast through this way just two days before, asking questions.

  That night, Sasha shared a room with Yasmyn. Before sleeping, they sat for a while on the balcony and looked up at the silver outlines of mountains bathed in moonlight.

  “If we are to die here,” said Yasmyn after a long while, “then it shall be a good place to die.”

  Sasha smiled.

  The next day was long. They passed through several more towns, a few of them showing signs of surprising wealth for such isolated settlements. In all Ilduur's history, Rulsten explained as they rode, this had been the most hostile border, and wars against one Enoran lord or another had been relatively common. The Enoran lords were now all dead, and their line decisively ended by angry Enoran peasants, but not all Ilduuri had made their peace with the naach ul tremich stoov, or “tyrants of the north,” as Enorans had once been known here.

  The question of night lodging provoked some debate. Rulsten knew of a village, but Rhillian did not like to risk the Stamentaast's spies. They settled for camping by the trail, in a shallow valley with a small, cold stream. However nice a genuine bed might be, Sasha was glad for the chance to practise taka-dans away from the prying eyes of townsfolk, and to wash away from common stalls.

  This night, Arendelle propositioned Yasmyn rather than Sasha. Yasmyn accepted. Afterward, Sasha made a bed at Yasmyn's side, rugged up against the welcome night chill.

  “Good?” she asked Yasmyn.

  “Interesting,” Yasmyn replied. She looked thoughtful. “My first since the rape.” Sasha nodded. She'd thought as much. “I wanted to know that I still can.”

  “And?”

  “Yes,” she said, with neither excitement or relief. “That is no surprise. I am Isfayen.”

  “I heard a tale once from women in Baerlyn,” said Sasha, “of another woman who had been raped, and had never been able to enjoy lying with a man again.”

  “It was bad,” Yasmyn admitted. “But I've seen men die by the sword. I've dealt men wounds that had them screaming as they tried to stuff their guts back into their bodies. I've severed heads, and seen the severed heads of friends. This injury was not the worst I expected to take. Besides which, his head was one of those I severed.”

  “I feel sorry for that woman in the tales I heard,” said Sasha. “If I could not take revenge with my blade, I would probably never be able to lie with a man again either.”

  “The fate of women is terrible,” Yasmyn agreed. “I think that Rhillian is right, that all human action comes from the need for power. But she thinks it a bad thing. Like you, I think it is the only reason I am sane. Had I not had my revenge, I would be shrivelled and dead inside.”

  “We are different people, human and serrin,” Sasha murmured. “The rare ones like Rhillian and Kiel seek power, but do not need it, as humans need it. I'm quite certain Rhillian could find many purposes in life if she could no longer fight, and be happy with that. Probably I could too, but I'd be miserable.”

  Yasmyn frowned. “But serrin do not have the expectation of fighting that humans do. It is a rare thing for them—they do not fight each other, only us. So there is no need for power, when none amongst them seeks it over others.”

  “It should sound wonderful, shouldn't it,” said Sasha. “To live in a world free from violence and pain should be the ideal of all. But I am a Lenay warrior and I honestly think I'd die of boredom.”

  Yasmyn grinned. Sasha gave a snort of reluctant laughter and gazed up at the stars.

  “The gods and spirits make us who we need to be,” Yasmyn said with certainty. “We are both born to war, so we need to be warriors. Serrin are born to peace, so they need to be peaceful. Neither should feel ashamed of what we are, any more than a wolf should feel shame at killing deer. Wolves are wild, like Lenays.”

  “And is that why humans resist serrin attempts to civilise them?” Sasha wondered. “Because we are all wild animals, and cannot accept serrin domestication?”

  “Perhaps,” said Yasmyn. “But wild animals live as the spirits intended. I think it is the serrin who are the odd ones. Perhaps they need to change to be more like us.”

  “And what if they can't?”

  “Then they will die,” Yasmyn said sombrely. “They cannot fight war with peace, any more than they can hunt bear with sticks.”

  They lay in silence for a moment. Sasha glanced around her and found Rhillian lying close by, propped on an elbow, watching them. She'd heard every word, and her eyes in the night were bright and hard. Sasha smiled sadly, and rolled to reach for Rhillian's hand. Rhillian grasped it and looked at those fingers, as though considering something of great import. Then she sighed and lay down to sleep.

  The next morning, returning from her toilet stop, Sasha sensed movement and spun to find a large, black-striped mountain cat not ten paces from her. It was impossibly beautiful, with big golden eyes and wide whiskers, big paws, and a long tail for balance on the steeper slopes. It stared, even more surprised than she, but not especially alarmed. Sasha stared back, wanting to call others to come and look, but unable to do so lest she scare her visitor away.

  Eventually the cat left and Sasha returned to camp and told the others what she'd seen.

  Rulsten was astonished. “Black stripes, you say? They're very rare, they steer well clear of people usually. It wasn't frightened?”

  “Not frightened at all. I think she knew I wouldn't hurt her.”

  “The wild and dangerous spirit attracts the wild and dangerous animals,” Yasmyn said knowingly, “and each knows the other for a friend.”

  Rhillian and Kiel looked at each other, expressions unreadable, and said nothing.

  By afternoon they found themselves beneath an enormous, towering spire of a mountain.

  “Aaldenmoot,” Rulsten named it. “Dragon's Tooth. Thirty people have been known to try to climb it over the centuries. None have succeeded. Half of them died.”

  “Why climb it at all?” Kiel wondered. “There's nothing there save a higher view.”

  “Ilduuri climb,” said Rulsten with a shrug. “For lookouts, for signals, for manoeuvres by our soldiers to outflank our enemies. Climbing is an art, and any art must be practised.”

  Kiel looked unconvinced.

  From the valley's end, the trail rose sharply. Soon the party had dismounted to lead the horses, as some stretches of trail became almost as steep as stairs, and the horses progressed reluctantly indeed.

  Ahead, the high passes were covered with golden snow. A descent in the evening across a high, barren snowfield brought them to a mountain lake, wide, glassy-still, and impossibly blue. By its bank stood a cabin with a stable, large enough for a party twice their size.

  It was empty, placed here for travellers crossing the pass, Rulsten explained. They made themselves at home, and found it warm enough once the fire was crackling with logs from the large supply of firewood that must have been brought up by cart.

  No sooner had they eaten, than they heard hooves crunching the snow outside, then a knock at the door. All inside looked at each other and drew weapons. Rulsten gestured them to calm, went to the door, and opened it.

  There in the fading twilight stood a man with a flaming torch, cloaked against the oncoming chill of evening. He exchanged Ilduuri greetings with Rulsten, extinguished his torch, and stomped his boots free from snow on the step before entering.

  Once inside, he threw off his cloak to reveal the black robes and golden Verenthane medallion of a priest.

  “Thank the gods I spotted you fools before you plunged head first into And
al,” he told them in Torovan, with a thick Ilduuri accent. “A party of serrin and foreigners, traipsing through the land in hope that no one will identify you? Are you mad?”

  Rhillian sheathed her blade. “Who are you?”

  “I, dear lady, am Father Belgride. I have been following you for two days since a concerned parishioner passed word to me of your presence in my mountains. I can guide you safely into Andal, and give you secure lodging there. Otherwise the Remischtuul will kill you all, as plain as the nose on my face.”

  Errollyn held his impatience at bay for as long as he could stand. Then, approaching the crest of a hill, he gave in and galloped. Kessligh followed, soon drawing level on the road with an eager smile that Errollyn had never seen him wear before. Damon pursued, and General Rochan, and then the whole command vanguard, galloping away from the main formation like children testing new ponies in a race.

  They descended the last hill through forest, catching the odd glimpse of wide waters ahead. That was the Ipshaal, the easternmost border of Enoran lands. Upon the far side was Saalshen. It had been many years since Errollyn had seen Saalshen, yet that was not why he galloped. Scouts ahead had brought word, several days earlier, of something remarkable upon the Ipshaal. Even Kessligh, when he'd been told, had been disbelieving. Now they were close, and all wanted desperately to see for themselves.

  They rode through a town to the river edge. There were piers, to which small boats were tied, village folk hauling in nets and tending sails. Beyond lay the vast Ipshaal, perhaps five hundred strides across, deep waters glistening beneath an overcast sky. Upon those waters lay something impossible.

  It was a bridge. A new bridge, to be sure, for there had never been a bridge across the Ipshaal in all Errollyn's knowledge of history. So new, in fact, that it was not yet finished. Even as he watched, it grew.

  Made of wood, it ended now barely fifty strides from the Enoran bank ahead. Upon that uncompleted end, great machines of timber, gears, pulleys and winches were in motion, swarming with men. They wound great wheels, which lifted large weights above the end of pylons. At a maximum height, those stone weights would release and fall with an almighty thump onto the end of the pylon, driving it deeper into the riverbed. Upon the completed bridge behind them, horses drew carts bearing new pylons, cross-beams, and decking. In all, Errollyn thought he could count at least five hundred men on the bridge, plus seven carts and fourteen horses.