“Carlito Rochel, Duke of Pazira.”
“You are a friend to Sashandra Lenayin,” Alfriedo observed as they shook hands. Carlito frowned, as though he thought the young lord was accusing him of something. “I was a friend to Sashandra's sister Alythia,” he explained. “She told me something of Sashandra's adventures with your father, Alexanda Rochel.”
“Ah,” said Carlito, with dawning realisation. “Alfriedo Renine. The boy lord of Rhodaan, of course. Please, we shall sit, my legs are killing me.” Alfriedo smiled and joined Carlito beneath the tree. “Please, gentlemen,” the duke addressed the other Rhodaanis, “sit on the grass, share some wine. We have good Pazira wine, none of that Petrodor horse piss that is all you Rhodaanis seem to drink.”
A skin was unstoppered as the Pazira men gave hospitality.
“So,” said Carlito. “Princess Alythia Lenayin. I heard what happened to her, very sad.”
“She was like a sister.”
“Very sad. Sashandra was very sad too. I know her a little, yes, from when she was with the Army of Lenayin, and before.”
“Some may argue that she is still with the Army of Lenayin,” Alfriedo said drily.
Carlito stared at him for a long moment, then looked about, to be certain of who else might overhear. “I know Lenayin a little,” Carlito said in a lower voice than before. “Pazira shares a border with Valhanan Province. My father dealt kindly with the Lenays there, that is how he befriended Kessligh, and Sashandra.”
“My condolences on his passing,” said Alfriedo. “I heard nothing but good of him.”
Carlito inclined his head. Whatever his languid manner, he seemed a serious and thoughtful man. “I thank you. He told me it was foolish to think that Lenayin could ever be a Verenthane kingdom. He said that it did not matter what the King of Lenayin thought—or what the Archbishop of Petrodor thought—Lenayin would always be pagan at its heart. It was crazy to invite them to this war, and expect them to fight for a Verenthane cause. This split they have made should only surprise men who have not paid attention.”
“I have been reading much of Lenayin lately,” Alfriedo admitted. “I even have some books in my saddlebags. Kessligh Cronenverdt challenged me to do so, and I have accepted. What you say may be true.”
Carlito sipped from his wineskin. “Sashandra, you know, she killed some Verenthane men even when she was on our side. I saw it. Friends of the Regent himself, big, noble men, they threatened her and called her a whore. She killed them.”
“She seems to do that quite a lot.”
Carlito shrugged, in that very expressive way of Torovans. “Some say she loves blood. But I met her before, when she came to Pazira with Kessligh to see my father. She did that twice.” He smiled a little. “Very strange girl. But kind of pretty. You know?” He glanced at Alfriedo, teasing. “No, you are too young, you do not know.”
“I know,” Alfriedo retorted. “I'm not that young.”
Carlito put a hand on his shoulder, apologising. “Anyway. She had a temper, but she was not…you know, a killer. I think maybe she kills because people keep attacking her.”
“There is a great warrior in a tale told by Tullamayne, Lenayin's greatest storyteller,” Alfriedo recalled. “Tullamayne writes that he was asked once, ‘Why have you killed so many men?’ And he replied, ‘Because so many men deserve to die.’”
Carlito smiled. “So Lenay, yes? I've read Tullamayne, my father forced me to. He said I could not understand Lenayin had I not.”
“This seems rather like a Tullamayne tale today, I think.”
“Indeed. Perhaps we are all living inside one of his great heroic tales, Lenay warrior brothers all fighting each other. Only he did not envisage a warrior sister.”
“A modern twist.”
“Of course.”
The camp seemed strangely peaceful, despite the ongoing noise of forty thousand men and horses at rest. Water bubbled and splashed over nearby rocks. Alfriedo thought of the prisoners tied in the water upstream.
“So why are you here?” Carlito asked. “Certainly you are very brave, but it does not seem reasonable that a boy should be expected to ride into battle for the Regent.”
“For two centuries Rhodaani nobility has been dreaming of reclaiming its noble rights,” said Alfriedo. “To do so we must swear allegiance to Regent Balthaar Arrosh. With my mother dead, I am the heir to Family Renine, and thus Lord of Rhodaan. I must be here to claim our place in the new world to come.”
“I too,” said Carlito, with a heavy voice. “My father did not wish to join this war, yet there was no choice. Patachi Steiner of Petrodor declared himself King of Torovan in the War of the King, and now we independent dukes of the provinces must declare our allegiance or be overthrown. I am here for Pazira, and for my family. It is my responsibility, as Duke of Pazira, and so I come.”
“A serrin philosopher named Rihala once argued that a person has three great responsibilities. One responsibility is to himself, and one is to his neighbour, and the last is to the truth. It's complicated, with serrin it's always complicated, but he argued that of these three responsibilities, the last is the only one that matters, and all other responsibilities flow from that.”
Carlito frowned. “How is that?”
“Because if you do not look for truth as your main responsibility, then neither you nor your neighbour shall ever be free. Serrin have an idea of freedom, it's not like humans think of it. Freedom for serrin is truth. Lies are slavery.”
“Serrin,” Carlito sighed. “I don't understand.”
Alfriedo smiled. “As I said, it's complicated.”
“Yes,” Carlito said drily, “well, if we win here, in this glorious campaign, I shall never understand because they'll all be dead. Eventually.”
“The Regent may stop at the Ipshaal after all,” Alfriedo said quietly.
Carlito took a long swig of his wine. “You are not such a boy that you believe this thing.” Alfriedo said nothing.
Tent flaps parted and King Koenyg emerged with some other men. He farewelled them, then walked to where Carlito and Alfriedo waited. All present climbed to their feet.
“Duke Carlito,” said Koenyg. Carlito was taller, yet Koenyg was powerful. His square face and chiselled jaw were, at this range, impressive. “Lord Alfriedo. Good of you to come.”
“As instructed,” said Carlito, drily. “What matter concerns you?”
“Serrin,” said Koenyg. “It has been brought to my attention that your Pazira men have come into the possession of some serrin prisoners. I understand that they may have information that could prove valuable. I require you to hand them over for interrogation.”
“No,” said Carlito, quite calmly.
Koenyg frowned. “Then my interrogators will come to your camp and conduct the interrogation there.”
Carlito thought about it for a moment, quite unhurried. Then he shook his head. “No,” he repeated.
Koenyg's face hardened. “Explain yourself.”
“I have seen your tent, up here.” Carlito indicated the tent upriver, holding the prisoners. “We do not do that in Pazira. It is not our way.”
“Duke Carlito, we are at war.”
“And war is the place for honourable things. This is not our honour.”
“The Regent Arrosh has placed me in command of this formation. I command you to hand the prisoners over.”
Carlito scratched his scruffy hair. “My father taught me that if I did such a thing, I would go to the hells. Perhaps you do not fear the hells because you are already there.”
Koenyg did not look impressed, but neither did he lose his temper. He did not seem particularly surprised, as though he had been warned to expect such behaviour from this lanky Torovan. “I understand that you did not see much action today.”
“Your Highness did not see fit to bestow upon us such an honour,” Carlito agreed.
“And you will see little tomorrow. This men's business of warfare is clearly beyond you.”
/> “Real men kill men who fight back,” said Carlito. “My father taught me that, too. He said it was a popular notion, amongst the common men of Lenayin.”
Koenyg dismissed him with disgust. Carlito bowed, summoned his men, and left. Koenyg looked at Alfriedo.
“Torovans,” said Alfriedo, as though that explained everything.
Koenyg smiled. “Indeed. In fact, that is what I wished to speak with you about.”
“Oh yes?”
Koenyg put a hand on the boy's shoulder and steered him toward the tent. “As you are aware, Lenayin has access to only one great sea port.”
“Petrodor,” said Alfriedo with a nod.
“Exactly. And that is some journey from Lenayin. Petrodor, you will no doubt note, is full of Torovans.”
“Quite.”
“Now, not all Torovans are as troublesome as our Pazira friends, yet there is a new king in Petrodor, and we do not know yet what relations shall bring. I should like to know a lot more of Tracato, as I've heard that its trade is nearly the rival of Petrodor's, yet it has so little trade from Lenayin. In the future, I would think that it would be of great benefit to both our peoples should this absence be addressed, don't you agree?”
Sasha galloped from the eastern wall and into the dark valley. Her party rejoined the road, lit by a solitary scout ahead, while she trailed behind. The road passed fields and farmhouses, and clusters of trees as yet undamaged by war. Beyond Koenyg's initial advance down the valley, there had been little further fighting.
Ahead she could see the massed fires of the enemy camp, with several great bonfires forming a perimeter. Guards lit those fires partly in fear of a stealthy serrin approach, and partly in the hope of disrupting sensitive serrin night vision. It was a sensible move, and effective…if serrin wished to try anything so obvious.
The scout stopped short of some horsemen in the middle of the road. Errollyn reined up at Sasha's side, and stood in his stirrups to scan the fields and trees ahead.
“Nothing,” he said. “But I'll watch that low wall to the left, that's the only possible location.”
Sasha pressed her new horse to a walk and Damon moved up on her right. Behind them, four more riders, two of them talmaad. The scout with the torch peeled off as they approached, confident as Errollyn was that no ambush awaited.
On horseback opposite them sat Koenyg and Myklas, before a number of senior northern Lenay lords. Amongst them, Sasha recognised Great Lord Heryd of Hadryn, a longtime foe. There were no flags of truce raised. In Lenayin they were often disdained—a man's word was supposed to be enough.
“You're losing,” said Koenyg, without preamble. “Give up.”
“My Ilduuris scored at better than ten for every loss today,” said Sasha. “The Army of Lenayin did perhaps even better, and with far worse positioning, while you sat here for most of the day and drank tea. You have an interesting notion of ‘losing.’”
“Your Ilduuris,” Koenyg said flatly. He hadn't heard, Sasha realised.
“My Ilduuris. The Ilduuri Steel, the one you thought would not come. They hold the ridges above the valley mouth, and slaughter the Regent's men who try to displace them.”
“They do not hold it any longer. We have eyes.” The far side of the valley was high, and would afford them a view. Koenyg may not be in direct communication with the Regent, but he could see what happened up at the valley's western end. “The Rhodaani Steel charged the Regent's artillery. Their losses looked severe. Now the Army of Lenayin and the Ilduuri Steel are all that stand between Jahnd and overwhelming force on that side. Your position is hopeless. And believe it or not, I would rather not kill either of you.”
“Feeling's not mutual,” said Damon. “I challenge. This dawn, with blades.”
Koenyg smirked. “Nice. Offer a challenge you know I cannot accept for tactical reasons, to make me look cowardly when I refuse. You're desperate. No one here cares for your silly plots. And no one here believes you could beat me even were there five of you. I lose no face because I have nothing to prove to you, little brother. Nothing.”
“Nothing save honour,” said Damon.
Koenyg stared. Damon stared back. Hold firm, Sasha willed Damon. Damon had truly stood up to Koenyg just once, in all his life, when he had led what remained of the Army of Lenayin away from the northerners and nobles remaining loyal to Koenyg. But Koenyg had won that contest of swords also, and Damon had only survived by Koenyg's mercy.
“Be careful what you wish for, little brother,” Koenyg murmured.
“Tymorain is a stupid tradition anyhow,” Damon replied. “Swords at dawn is no way to select a leader of nations. The men I lead required me to challenge, for formality's sake. But when deciding the leader of nations, outcomes of leadership matter more.”
“You're leading your army to its death. The cream of pagan Lenayin shall die with it. Verenthane Lenayin shall emerge victorious, and our strength in Lenayin shall be doubled when we return with our Verenthane allies.”
“You'd lead a new Verenthane invasion of Lenayin?” Sasha asked in disbelief. “Hold the Goeren-yai at swordpoint? Convert or die?”
“I didn't want to do it this way, Sasha, but this is what you have forced me to. The faith is the future of humanity in Rhodia, and your pagan ways shall fade, as pagan ways always do, Lenayin's and the serrin's.”
“I'm going to fucking kill you,” said Sasha, and meant it. “I may not enjoy it, but I'm going to do it.”
Koenyg snorted. “You and what army?” His nobles laughed.
“Don't you wave your cock at me,” Sasha said coldly. “There may be only a handful in Lenayin you can't best with a blade, but I'm one of them. You inherited your army. I won mine. You show respect or I will fucking kill you right now, and there's not a damn thing any of you can do to stop me.”
At her side, Errollyn flexed his bowstring. There was no arrow against it yet, but that could change in the blink of an eye. Behind them were more talmaad.
“This is a truce,” Koenyg said flatly. “You are not so dishonourable as to kill blood relatives with cowardly arrows beneath a truce.”
“I command respect, by the ancient codes that you and your poorly bred ilk have forgotten,” Sasha snarled. “I am Synnich-ahn, and you are not my equal.” She rode a little closer, daring him with her eyes. “Or do you dispute it? Do you think you can take me?”
Koenyg said nothing, watching her coldly.
“This is a field of truce, not a field of challenge!” a lord said angrily. “Cease this posturing!”
“What does a man with no honour know of truce?” Sasha spat. “What does a man who sides with the murderers of small children have to say of honour? What do you do with serrin prisoners even now, brother? Treat them kindly? Treat them with honour?” Koenyg stared past her, stonily. “You offer us a safe surrender, but that's a farce too, isn't it? Tell me, if I surrendered to you, would you stick the knife in yourself? And would you stick your cock in first? I bet you would, you're just that kind of man, aren't you?”
Koenyg nearly went for his blade.
“Come on!” Sasha yelled at him. “Come on, you coward, let's do it! Right here, right now, let's make a circle where I can fucking end your miserable life!”
“Sasha, no!” came a desperate cry from behind. “Stop this now! I'll not let you pick a fight!”
“He's picked every fight he could since he was a boy,” Sasha retorted. “I've only refrained from challenge for politics and manners, and both are now used up.”
But Koenyg was ignoring her, staring past her shoulder to the voice behind. “Sofy?” he asked.
Sofy edged forward. She threw back her hood, and torchlight caught her face. “Brothers,” she said.
“Good gods!” Myklas exclaimed with youthful enthusiasm. “Where have you been? We've had reports that Elissians and the Archbishop of Sherdaine plotted to kill you, and other reports that you plotted against the Regent….”
“It was Archbishop Turen and the Elis
sians,” said Sofy. “I wanted to preserve the riches of Tracato for the Regent's rule. The Archbishop wished to cleanse Tracato of all serrin influence. I voiced my disapproval, and he tried to have me killed.”
“And when did this happen?” Koenyg asked drily. “Perhaps directly after Sasha and Damon turned traitor and betrayed all semblance of honour?”
Sofy nodded. “It was directly after the defection of their followers from your command, yes.”
“This is your fault!” Koenyg declared, pointing a finger at Sasha. “An army like that which the Regent maintains is a mass of competing interests, yet you unbalanced the entire formation! You set those of the Regent's allies who never wished to see this union with Lenayin directly at Sofy's throat, and look what fortune that she is still alive! Sofy, I had no idea, I was worried. Please allow me to return you to your husband.”
“No,” Sofy said calmly. “I stand with Damon and Sasha.”
“No!” Myklas shouted, in sudden anger. “No, I won't allow it! Sofy, we're your brothers….”
“As is Damon.”
“And he's a traitor! He betrayed you!”
Sofy looked at him sadly. “Dear Myklas. I love you dearly, my sweet brother, but you are a child. You have bonded with the men you fight alongside, as young men will in battle. Do you not think that the Cherrovan who invaded Lenayin felt the same for their comrades? Such bonds do not make men right, and they do not improve the cause for which they fight.
“Koenyg believes that the Verenthane civilisation for which my husband fights will make Lenayin strong. I believe that he may be right. But I can now see that it will only do so by killing every good and noble thing in Rhodia that will not conform to its strictest rule. I saw those things burn in Tracato. I've seen them die in the villages across Enora and Rhodaan. I now see you, dear brothers, trying to destroy them here in Jahnd, and doubtless beyond into Saalshen after that.”
“But we're not going to…” Myklas began.
“Ask him,” said Sofy, pointing at Koenyg, and then pointing again at Great Lord Heryd. “Ask him as well. The strength of their faith is its unity. Its solidity of purpose. Serrin will destroy that solidity, as is their nature, by asking too many questions. The serrin perhaps have not realised this—they are innocent and do not mean to destroy anything. They do not realise how dangerous the asking of inconvenient questions can be for men whose belief will accept no disagreement. But the only serrin who does not ask questions is a dead serrin. The Archbishops know this, and, dear Myklas, the men you ride with know it too.”
Haven: A Trial of Blood and Steel Book Four Page 53
