Haven: A Trial of Blood and Steel Book Four

by Shepherd, Joel

  “It is about gaining the best commander for Lenayin at the most important time,” Ackryd insisted.

  “Don't you be dishonest with me,” Sasha accused him, stepping forward to stare up at him. So good she'd become at holding her temper, compared to the past. Amongst foreigners, temper was not always useful. But now she was amongst Lenays once more, and Lenays expected fire. “I'm not some foolish girl to be lied to.”

  “There is talk that you should be queen,” said Markan, blunt and unafraid as ever. “Men would prefer it.”

  Sasha swore, a string of very bad words even by Lenay standards. She strode back to the window and stared out, trying to calm herself. “Damon will be king, when Koenyg is defeated,” she said.

  “As he will be,” said Markan. “No one is speaking of replacing Koenyg now; the battle to come shall decide the rightness of any change of kings. But this is the question. Battle shall decide which Lenay side in this conflict shall inherit the Lenay throne, and that is good. But battle shall not decide the order of its claimants. On our enemies' side, Koenyg is first and undisputed over Myklas. But on this side, there is no such certainty.”

  “Damon is older and first in line,” Sasha snapped. “That is entirely certain.”

  “Lenays have always elevated the man not the rank, nor by order of birth.”

  “Markan,” Sasha said coldly, turning to face him fully so that he understood her seriousness. “You and I have fought battles together. We are fellow warriors, and I love you as a brother and comrade. But if you are intending to create some conflict, so that I and my blood brother are forced into deadly contest, then I will kill you well before I kill him, I promise you.”

  The brash girl of past times may have exaggerated. This was not that brash girl.

  Markan nodded, with calm acceptance. “I understand. Yet the men of Lenayin in battle shall not be denied. The question has been put, and men have spoken. You have achieved more in battle and in command than Damon, it is undisputed. By Lenay custom far older than royalty itself, the place is yours.”

  “And I decline, as is also my right,” Sasha said coldly. “It is an unwise allocation of resources. Ilduur will only fight under me, and I cannot believe that the honourable men of Lenayin would force me to break my oath to them. I am unavailable to command Lenayin, Markan. Damon is available, and talented, and natural heir besides. It is settled.”

  “It is not.” Markan's arms were folded, his slanted eyes deadly serious. “You love your brother. That is honourable. But this is far bigger than you. This is Lenayin. All of Lenayin.”

  “I promise you,” said Sasha, “I will never,” and she paused for emphasis, “be Queen of Lenayin. I do not want it, would not be good at it, and would be the immediate cause of civil wars present and future. Custom is nice, Markan, but custom can be stupid.”

  “You are wrong,” said Markan, turning to leave. “Custom is strength, and this custom selects the strong. That is you. Lenayin shall be led in battle by the strongest. It is the failure of nations to follow such customs that leads to their destruction.”

  Sasha wanted to go and see Damon immediately, yet no sooner had Markan and Ackryd left than a delegation of Jahndi officialdom descended upon her. This was headed by none other than Ju'verhen Mali, the first word being a local word for premier, the second being his family name. This was the leader of Jahnd himself then, Sasha realised after a moment's initial confusion. Tallam, her earlier guide, was just a councillor.

  Mali was tall and intelligent, and seemed very nice, but lords, he liked to talk. Sasha had to, once again, give a brief account of her adventures in Ilduur, all the while wondering why the number of servants in her previously empty quarters was steadily increasing, and the number of officials seemed to grow larger. Mali announced that there would be a banquet tonight to honour her and the Ilduuris, and she would be presented with the Guardian of Jahnd, a medal, and would that offend any of her religious beliefs or cause any protocol difficulties between her and her Lenay people, or the Ilduuris?

  Sasha thought it nice that they'd think to ask, but now her Ilduuri captains were striding in to find her, and she apologised to excuse herself and gather news of her army's campsite in the Dhemerhill Valley. It seemed that there were inadequacies with food—her men had expected good fresh food upon arrival at such a rich city, but now it seemed they'd be living on old rations for several more days at least.

  “Well, that's no good,” she exclaimed to the captain who brought her the news. “Kick some heads if you have to, I want them fed properly. How is the campsite?”

  That seemed no better. Sasha resolved to ride out immediately and see for herself. But now there was the head servant of these high-class quarters, asking her if she'd like to inspect her personal staff. Staff?

  She went downstairs and did so, a line of well-dressed maids and menservants, and said yes, they'd do fine, and fended off further questions about the timing of her evening bath, her morning bath, breakfast in her chambers, perhaps musical entertainment arranged at short notice for guests?

  “I'll tell you when I know what's going on,” she said harriedly, and was stopped immediately by a Steel lieutenant, stating that Generals Geralin and Rochan of the Rhodaani and Enoran Steel required to meet with her at the earliest.

  “I'll send Captain Arken instead,” she said, heading back upstairs to inquire after Damon's whereabouts.

  “The generals were quite insistent that it should be you,” said the pursuing lieutenant.

  “I'll tell Captain Arken to talk in a high-pitched voice,” she retorted, climbing stairs. “I will attend to the generals as soon as I'm able.”

  In her chambers she found several men in robes, attended by her servants, who told her that it was customary that a service should be held for newly arrived guests, and that the Ilduuris should be received in Jahnd with offerings to the gods, and blessings from the monks. Those were the holy men of the Taanist faith in eastern Ilduur, the native faith to many of the Ilduuri Steel; in addition to the Verenthanes, Sasha hadn't realised that faith was well established here in Jahnd.

  She delegated to Captain Arken, and asked a servant to send a messenger to inform him to arrange it all. She would have to attend personally, of course. Sasha gritted her teeth and smiled.

  Far too much time had elapsed when she finally left to meet Damon. Yasmyn now walked with her, having come to inform her that Lenayin's leaders had arrived to hold a rathynal in nearby gardens. She walked downstairs from her chambers and across a courtyard, all of which seemed very regal for city like Jahnd. She'd have thought that a people fleeing the persecution of feudalists would not style themselves as nobles in their new land.

  These grand buildings clustered upon the peak of what the locals called Mount Jahndi, and were thronged with Steel officers, other uniformed soldiers Sasha took for local city guard, talmaad, and well-dressed officials and servants, all scurrying back and forth between various meetings and functions. Sasha walked with two Ilduuri guards, two local messengers in case of the need for rapid communications, Yasmyn, and, now running in pursuit across the courtyard, Daish.

  “Compliments of Kessligh,” he said, recovering his breath. “He wants us to have a liaison. That's me.”

  “Excellent,” said Sasha, and meant it. Kessligh would need good communication with each of his commanders, and that communication would best be conveyed by messengers who understood what was being said. Daish had strong knowledge of battlefield tactics, and personal friendships with both her and Kessligh. Words lost in translation, in the height of battle, could cost everything. “How's your injury?”

  “Good,” said Daish. “There are excellent hills here for running. Care to join me?”

  “I'd love to, but I'm beginning to realise why Kessligh said being Lenayin's Commander of Armies reminded him more of a prison than a profession.” She had gotten off her horse and run every day on the trip from Ilduur, joined by Daish and some others, always uphill. The infantry had loved
to see it. “Where's Aisha?”

  “With Rhillian, meeting local talmaad. Explaining what happened to Kiel and Arendelle, no doubt.”

  “Interesting meeting,” Yasmyn said drily. “The gardens are just up these steps and beyond.”

  They climbed stairs between buildings, then emerged onto lovely green gardens. A narrow path took them through cultivated lawns divided by banks of flowers and ornamental trees, and over a little footbridge across a rocky stream and a pool filled with fish. Ahead were shade trees, where Sasha could see many people gathered, most with long hair in Lenay-style leathers.

  “Nice place for a meeting, at least,” she said, relieved to be outside. To the right, there was a tremendous view across the valleys, with a faint glimpse of the Ipshaal River in the distance. All Lenays would agree this a far superior place for a rathynal than some chamber.

  Men stood aside as they approached, forming a wide circle with a space now for Sasha on one side. On the other was Damon. He looked well, dressed closer to battlefield garb than most lowlanders would, as were they all, save for the absence of mail. Surrounding him, Sasha recognised a number of his lordly friends—mostly young men, amongst the few nobility who had not remained with Koenyg. Most of those now had family on the other side. Sasha admired their bravery, and their loyalty to Damon, yet did not think that their circumstance made them reliable.

  She stopped at her place in the circle and exchanged the formal greeting for such a gathering, with a fist raised to all in salute. The others returned it. Across the circle, Damon did too, somewhat warily.

  She broke the circle and strode to him for an embrace. Damon returned it. There was a murmuring of men about the circle, whether in consternation or approval, or something else, she could not tell. And did not particularly care.

  “I'll never be Queen of Lenayin,” she murmured against his shoulder, low enough that others could not hear. “I told Markan that if he tries to make a conflict between us, I'll kill him first.”

  Damon squeezed her harder. When she pulled back to look at him, he wore a smile of wan relief. Sasha grinned crookedly and gave him a light whack on the cheek, for reprimand that he could ever have doubted her.

  Then she looked about at the circle of faces. “I heard some of you want me to be queen,” she announced to them. Many faces registered shock. There was protocol to be observed, formality in such gatherings. One did not simply dive in head-first. “Who amongst you?”

  She gazed about, demanding an answer. All eyes turned to Markan. His arms were folded, his eyes calculating. Back on Sasha's side of the circle, his sister Yasmyn watched on intently.

  “These are the oldest Lenay ways,” said Markan. “This is the brohyl, the primacy of might. The throne of Lenayin is open to claim for the first time in its history. Noble tradition states that the heir to the throne shall be determined in descending order of birth amongst sons. But as you can see, there are very few nobles here.”

  Sasha's eyes narrowed and she folded her arms in reply, walking slowly to the centre of the circle. Markan and Ackryd were the only great lords of Lenay provinces to have joined the defection, and both were respected. Ackryd was a former commander of the Red Swords, a formation of Lenayin's small standing army. But he could not take Markan in a fight, and everyone knew it.

  Respect naturally shifted to Markan as the most senior Lenay on this side of the fight, beneath Damon and Sasha. And Markan, being Isfayen, had brought all of the Isfayen's old misgivings of royalty with him. When Sasha's great-grandfather Soros Lenayin had liberated the nation from the Cherrovan, it had been the Isfayen alone who remained unconvinced of his right to rule. They'd had to have the respect beaten into them by an admittedly much larger force before they'd consented to royal rule from Baen-Tar.

  Now Markan found himself kingmaker, quite literally. Sasha only recognised about half of the faces of the other men surrounding her—these were not lords, as most of those remained with Koenyg. These were respected warriors, elevated from their status as leaders of towns and villages, with honour earned in recent battle. Sasha's eyes widened a little as she realised what had been happening.

  “These men,” she said, turning a slow circle to face all about her. “They are now…what? Honorary great lords of their provinces?”

  “For now we call them lord yuans,” Markan confirmed.

  “And how were they selected for this honour?”

  “Each province held a rathynal of its most senior leaders. There was debate, and the most honoured were nominated. Some provinces held a vote. Others conducted a tymorain.”

  A ritual combat, that was, with stanches instead of swords. Sasha thought it a stupid way to select leaders in battle—the ability to club someone with a stanch said nothing for their ability to lead large formations in war. But now was not the time for that argument.

  “So you believe that this same concept should be applied to determining the true heir between royals?”

  Markan nodded. “We do. We have voted.” There was a murmur of assent from those surrounding.

  “To what purpose?”

  “To determine the true leader of Lenayin,” said Markan.

  Sasha nearly laughed. “An Isfayen says so? You who made war upon my great-grandpa because you didn't think Lenayin should have any single leader at all?”

  “Isfayen has changed,” said Markan, impassively. “The royal family has been good for Lenayin. The royal family is impartial and favours no province above others. The Isfayen believe in the honour of a fair contest, and we would see this honour continue in Lenayin.”

  “Yet now you challenge the method by which that royal family determines its heirs.”

  “Your brother Wylfred,” said Markan. “Would you have him lead Lenayin ahead of your brother Damon because he is older?” Sasha frowned. Wylfred barely knew one end of a sword from another. His best chance in battle would be to lecture his enemy to death. “Of course you would not. Of those two, Prince Damon is by far the most worthy.”

  “Well, thanks so much,” Damon murmured. Sasha nearly grinned.

  “Yet here, Lenayin has two contenders to be heir,” Markan continued. “Of the two, Sashandra Lenayin has shown herself the greater with a blade, and the greater in command. This is no dishonour to Prince Damon—few in Lenayin, if any, could claim otherwise. The brohyl in Lenayin is built upon the selection of who is best, not who is next. So should it always be.”

  There were growls of strong approval about the circle.

  “You're an idiot,” Sasha told him. “You're all idiots. Courageous and honourable idiots, but idiots you remain. This is no time to declare war on the nobility. What you're doing is changing the way Lenayin works. Now that's a nice idea, but not here. This is not that fight. This fight is for Jahnd and for Saalshen, in the belief that their survival will make Lenayin stronger and more prosperous than were they to be destroyed.

  “The purpose of a royal family in Lenayin is to make stability. What you seek to do is to make that family unstable. If an heir can be challenged, then nothing is certain. The challenger will also be challenged. And hells, why stop there? There are countless men across Lenayin who could probably rule better than Damon, or I, or Koenyg, or anyone here. What you presume to introduce is a custom by which any of them may feel entitled, by virtue of simply being a good warrior, or having a very large head, to prove himself worthy. How could a king rule, if half the people question aloud whether he is truly the most worthy, and the other half are challenging him in person?”

  “This is nonsense,” said someone else. “We speak only of a contest between family members, not outsiders.”

  “So you would set brother against brother?” Sasha asked, rounding on that man incredulously. “Or against sister? My family is strained and crazy enough without the prospect of someday having to break each others' skulls with sticks.

  “Furthermore, customs change. The serrin insist linguistic and historical proof exists that the Isfayen people are descended fro
m the Kazeri. Today, they are vastly different from the Kazeri. Even in towns across Lenayin, old men tell of days when customs were different. What you seek to introduce here is not a custom, but an ideal, and over time the rules of custom always bend before the power of ideals. The ideal is equality, which is a nice ideal, and I admit I find it attractive. But a royal family's purpose is not equality, it is stability. I promise you that if you make this precedent of discarding the certainty of a fixed line of succession, you shall indeed introduce a new era of equality to Lenayin—we shall most of us be equally dead, the survivors equally regretful, and our neighbours and enemies equally delighted.”

  There were grumblings about the circle, men looking dissatisfied. Sasha glanced at Damon, who nodded, quite impressed.

  “You are not queen yet,” said Markan, unmoved. “These matters are not for you to decide, and for us to obey. Lenayin is about to embark on its greatest ever trial of blood and steel. The men of Lenayin who shall write this history, shall also write these laws.”

  “You don't own me, Markan,” Sasha said with a deadly stare. “I will not merely go where you direct me.”

  “If you presume to be our leader, you will. No leader can rule Lenayin without consent of the ruled.”

  “I don't want to be queen. It is you who presume to make me your leader, without my consent. So desperate are you to be ruled, free spirit of Isfayen?”

  That finally got a reaction, a fire in the big man's eyes. “All men are ruled, higher powers than men have chosen so, and it is beyond the will of men to oppose them. I do have a choice in who shall rule. And I shall use it.”

  Across the Dhemerhill Valley, a wall was rising. Sasha rode before it, observing the rows of sharpened stakes that sprouted from the ground like some evil forest, and the deep trench beyond them. The wall itself was now taller than her as she sat on her horse, but even short ladders would scale it. Her initial optimism to see Jahnd's excellent defensive terrain began to fade.