“I will tell you this one piece of wisdom, Rhillian, and listen closely, for it may save many serrin lives. Serrin are only good at understanding serrin. The vel'ennar binds us to each other, yet in doing so, it blinds us. Or at least, it blinds you. Humans cannot feel vel'ennar. I cannot. I could not describe it to you if you asked. And yet you presume to comprehend human feelings as though they were your own.”
“Errollyn,” said Rhillian, choosing her words carefully. “I'm sorry that you feel left out. I have always valued your insight, as I value the insight of many of my talmaad. We each have unique skills, and I would utilise them all. But I cannot be riven by such self-doubt, Errollyn. My judgment tells me our course is sure. I can do no better than listen to my better judgment. The eternity equipped me with nothing more.
“Now, you profess to understand human concepts better than I. It's possible, I admit. So understand this concept. I order you to stay at this post. Lacking perception of vel'ennar is no excuse for disobeying orders. Humans don't. Humans obey discipline. It is their greatest advantage over us. Now we must do the same.”
“Humans obey discipline in their various parts,” Errollyn agreed, unflinching. “But they have variety, Rhillian. They all fight each other. It's a tragedy, yes, but not a weakness. They have many views and many values. But now, you ask all serrin to follow just one. Yours.”
“Not mine,” said Rhillian, with temper. “I listen. My opinion is informed by others. We are collective, Errollyn. We stand together.”
“And are condemned by it. We need division, Rhillian. It may save us. I'm sorry.”
Rhillian's stare was unwavering. “If you leave now,” she said, “don't come back. You won't be welcome.”
“I've never been welcome.” Errollyn turned and strode for the stairs. Behind him, he heard Aisha's upset, disappointed exclamation…at Rhillian, it seemed. Footsteps followed him down the stairs.
“Errollyn, stop.” Aisha was fast, and caught his arm. “Errollyn, she doesn't mean it. Forgive her.”
“This isn't a question of forgiving. It is a question of symmetry. Rhillian's is not mine.”
“Errollyn, it's just…you baffle her sometimes.” Aisha's look pleaded understanding. “No serrin acts as you do.”
“And instead of tolerating my difference, she fears it. Aisha.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “You are half human. Do you find me so strange?”
“No.”
Errollyn smiled at her. “You're human enough to lie, but serrin enough to be awful at it.”
“Errollyn, she has a great responsibility. No serrin has carried such responsibility before. The threat we face is vast. The old ways of serrin will no longer serve. She seeks the new. I do not envy her in that, Errollyn. She needs our support, not our criticism.”
“Even if the only support I have to offer is a lie, and the only truth I see is criticism?” Aisha sighed and hung her head. “You think just like her. You think I do this just to be difficult. I don't. I do it because it's what I am.”
“What we are, Errollyn, is of the serrinim.” Aisha's voice was firm. As though her feet were finally steady upon the only solid ground she'd yet found in the whole argument. “I am half human, yet even I am drawn to it. That is what we were meant for. I believe that more strongly than I believe in anything.”
“I know you do,” Errollyn said softly. “And that is why there is no longer any place for me within the serrinim.” He kissed his friend gently on the forehead and continued down the stairs.
“Errollyn,” Aisha said plaintively from behind, “you are the serrinim! Whether you feel it or not, that's what you are!”
Errollyn did not stop his descent. Nor did he look back.
The night was alive with danger. Errollyn could smell it on the wind as he moved, a dark shadow through the alleys, paralleling the upper ridgeline as close as safety allowed. He paused often, and listened to the distant crackle of flames and the ringing of bells. Carts clattered up cobbled roads-wealthy folk on the move, protected by many guards, eyeing the shadows with weapons at the ready.
Once, he heard an approaching whisper of footsteps, and whistled warning in the darkness. The answering whistle revealed Nasi-Keth, three of them, well-armed and moving in the opposite direction. The passing was friendly, but neither party revealed their destination. When they were gone, Errollyn wondered which of the three Nasi-Keth factions they belonged to-conservative Alaine, serrin-friendly Gerrold, or progressive Kessligh.
As he moved between crumbling walls, scanning the ground for tripwires, he considered the situation. It appeared that Steiner had sent carts to Halmady Mansion to transport prisoners. Normally, the route between Steiner Mansion and Halmady Mansion was simple-a short distance along the Sawback Road with mostly grand mansions on either side. But on nights like tonight there came a complication-Family Ganaron. Family Ganaron was a Maerler ally, surrounded by a cluster of Steiner-friendly mansions on Sawback Road, midway between the Steiner and Halmady residences. Most northern families were Steiner, and most southern families were Maerler, but not all. To have a position so near to the enemy's heart was valuable. Steiner would not risk transporting valuable prisoners past Ganaron Mansion. So which route would they take?
Errollyn took a downhill path, descending a steep, winding stairway then dashing across a narrow road and advancing up one side, pressing close to the walls. He ducked into another lane until he reached one of the giant fig trees that loved the sandstone incline. He climbed up its gnarled, twisting trunk until he could see the uphill stretch of the Slipway, one of north Petrodor's two best roads, winding up to the ridge from the docks far below.
He could see the looming rooftop of Halmady Mansion on the distant ridge. There were no flames, unlike those on Halmady's allies downslope. Those houses were disposable, he supposed. Halmady Mansion was too grand to burn.
He waited a long time, but saw no traffic. He heard the clatter of horse and cart here and there, but no one dared the Slipway. The waiting did not bother him. He'd waited for long periods before, hunting in the wilds of the Telesil foothills in Saalshen.
A clatter of hooves and wheels broke the stillness. Finally, horses came into view, and a cart driver, pulling hard on the reins to slow the animals where the Slipway turned steep and treacherous. It was an open cart, Errollyn saw, filled with armed soldiers. In the light of the half moon, he saw blue and white-Family Steiner. The next cart was also open and full of armed men. Then passed three covered carts. Then two more guard carts. He waited a moment longer, knowing it would be slow going around the switchback elbow where a hundred years of wagonloads to and from the docks had smoothed the cobbles slippery. Horses hated it.
If Princess Alythia was alive, she could be in one of those carts…but which? Or perhaps there would be a second convoy. A decoy, in case of ambush. But which would be the decoy? Was it possible that…
A dark shape on the road caught his eye. Small and fleet, hugging the shadows in the wake of the carts. On four legs, not two. A dog, maybe… but it was a strange looking dog, for certain. Errollyn strained his eyes. The dog paused against a wall, ducking this way and that. Errollyn had seen such behaviour many times before. It was scared, yet felt compelled to press on. It sniffed the air, seeking a familiar scent. Clearly it was following the carts. And this was no dog. It was a wolf.
Errollyn nearly smiled. A wolf, in Petrodor? Following some carts? Well, the merchant trade loved exotic animals and the families were known to keep exotic pets. There were plenty of wolves in nearby Lenayin. So Halmady had a Lenay princess, and a Lenay wolf…could it be that simple? No, surely not…Sasha had told him all about her sister Alythia. She ran squealing from bats. But this was just too, too odd. Odd things often required odd explanations. Perhaps he and the wolf were seeking the same thing.
He was climbing from the tree when he heard men yelling, and the clash of weapons. He leapt, bow in hand, and darted along the alley. Horses shrieked, and there came the crash of a cart overt
urning. An ambush. The ambushers would have blocked the downslope-upslope was the place to be. At the next junction, Errollyn turned left, taking some uneven steps three at a time.
Finally he came clear onto a stretch of the Slipway, perhaps sixty paces upslope of the elbow corner. The corner was in chaos, carts banked up, several turned half-around, but the Slipway was not quite wide enough for such a manoeuvre, and now they were stuck. Men fought, and random fires lit the scene, casting crazy shadows on neighbouring walls. Steiner soldiers appeared to have formed a perimeter about the last of the covered carts and were fighting hard to maintain it, while prisoners were unloaded.
Directly before Errollyn's position, crouched low against the flanking walls, were a pair of Nasi-Keth archers. Neither was firing. Probably they feared hitting prisoners, or their own men. Uphill, with a walled street before them, they had the Steiners trapped…unless heavily armed Steiner soldiers managed to fight their way free, of course. At such close quarters, shoulder to shoulder, it was certainly possible.
Errollyn whistled at the archers…both spun with alarm. He approached in a crouch against a wall, and the men relaxed to see that he was serrin. “We must move now,” he observed grimly. “If their perimeter holds, they'll break into neighbouring houses, from there it's a maze through the city, and they may escape.”
“There's no clear shot,” the nearest archer disagreed, tersely. “What's a serrin doing here?”
“Helping. Just hit what you can, don't take any risks.” With that he stood up, nocked an arrow, and loosed.
A Steiner soldier struggling with the horses fell, shot through the side. Errollyn walked forward as he reloaded, eyeing the cover of a doorway just ahead. His next shot killed a man guarding the rear, and pandemonium spread through the rear contingent, men yelling alarm, fingers pointing uphill. Errollyn reloaded, and saw several crossbows being brought to bear from the back of the rear cart. He pressed himself into the covering doorway, bolts whizzed past, and one cracked off the wall. He drew left-handed this time, to keep his right shoulder pressed to the doorway, and put an arrow through a crossbowman's throat.
One of the Nasi-Keth archers behind him loosed an arrow at a flanking target, and missed, but the most exposed men were now scattering, or pressing themselves low, or hiding behind carts or trapped, thrashing horses. Several were pounding on adjoining doorways with the hilts of their swords, desperate for escape. Unluckily for them, doors in Petrodor were secured against the night with very heavy locks.
Something dark and burning at one end fell from an overlooking rooftop onto the last guard cart and burst into flame. Men ran and rolled aside, one burning. The cart's horses went crazy, smashed into a wall at an angle, and wedged themselves as the burning cart half tipped, one wheel climbing a wall. Errollyn had more targets, yet refrained. He'd killed enough these past weeks. Beyond the flames, dark shapes leapt, swords flashing orange in the firelight.
Suddenly there was a woman running free, her skirts smouldering, arms bound awkwardly at the back. A big Steiner man pursued, sword in hand. Errollyn drew fast, but the running woman blocked his sight-she was not a good runner either, slipper-shod feet sliding on the cobbles, she could fall straight into his line of fire at any moment. He stepped clear of the doorway, risking crossbow fire for a better angle…and blinked as a dark shape rushed past his legs and tore downhill at tremendous speed, trailing a leash.
The wolf shot past the running woman and leapt at her pursuer, who fended with a yell, losing his balance. His sword swing was wild, the wolf dancing clear then leaping at him again. An arrow fizzed past Errollyn's ear and struck the soldier in the shoulder. He fell, as the woman also fell, slipping and exhausted, to the cobbles.
Errollyn ran to her, an arrow ready, searching the firelit confusion behind…but the Nasi-Keth were breaking through now and the last Steiner soldiers were either surrendering or dying. He arrived at the woman's side as she struggled to sit. Her pursuer screamed and yelled, having lost his weapon in his fall, a shaft protruding from his shoulder while he tried vainly to beat off the leaping, snarling wolf that savaged his legs and arms.
Errollyn took a knife to the woman's bonds and her arms came free. She had long, dark hair that had once been lustrous, and large, beautiful dark eyes. Now, the hair hung in matted tangles, and her lovely face was swollen about the left cheek and eye. Lips that had once been full and unblemished now bore a cut, and dried blood streaked from one nostril. Despite her exhaustion, she did not seem especially horrified. Instead, she stared at the screaming man barely five paces away and watched the wolf grabbing his leg, shaking him like a toy. She seemed mesmerised.
“Is that your wolf?” Errollyn asked.
“She's her own wolf,” said the once-beautiful woman in a hoarse, emotionless voice. “But she's my friend.”
“Don't you think you'd better call her off?”
The woman gazed up at him. Screams filled the air, loud and panicked, but the lovely dark eyes registered no alarm. “Why?” she asked.
Sasha stood in the middle of her cell and closed her eyes. Outside the slit window was a pale blue dawn. She could hear the distant swell of the ocean, rising and rushing against the rocks at the base of the promontory cliff. A gull muttered and cawed. She raised her arms and began a slow taka-dan with an invisible sword.
Balance. Symmetry. Serrin thoughts, both. Serrin obsessed about them, and humans wondered why. With feet in primary stance, the arms were limited in range of motion. Change the feet, and the arms changed, motion with motion, stance with stance, balance with balance. Power flowed in lines through the body. The power of balance, the power of symmetry. Universal powers. One did not impose them upon the universe. The universe imposed them upon her. If she flowed with them, she would harness their power. And no mere weight of muscle, nor strength of arm, nor thickness of armour, could stop her.
It seemed so clear, this morning. Perhaps this was what isolation did. Kessligh insisted so. This was what he sought when he meditated. Stillness. Her bruises ached, and she had not slept well, but somehow, the tiredness seemed to help for she could not think straight at all. Thoughts cluttered the head. The best svaalverd, Kessligh always said, was reflex. The conscious mind could be your enemy. Train it. Do not be a slave to it. Make it serve you.
The patterns of svaalverd were so beautiful, sometimes they took her breath away. Like one of Aldano's sculptures, but in constant, shifting motion. Sofy had asked her once what she saw in such a sweaty, macho activity. Sofy, who loved her arts above all other pleasures…and who, reluctantly, had begun to see the error of her ways.
A hard cross met an upward-slashing counter-a shift of the left foot back would create room for a downcut, the left foot to the side would lead to a low-quarter slash, the left foot forward would bring her inside the attacker's reverse and kill him. Little motions of the foot, barely half a paving stone between all three, and the possibilities altered radically. Each possibility branched out into many extra possibilities, and all of those had many branches too. Be careful which way you go. Know your centre. Never abandon it, or you'll get lost.
Angles intersected, and the better angle won. Shapes and patterns. All the universe was shapes and patterns, making forces and counterforces. Even people. Krystoff pressed hard, and died. Force and counterforce. Sofy did not press hard enough, and so others shaped her future. Insufficient force, a weak stance. Sasha needed to find a middle. Kessligh tried, and pleased no one-a step too far back, poor range, poor contact with the opponent's blade.
Find your centre. Stand on it. Make them come to you. Step into the swing. Use their power against them. Let them dash themselves against the rocks, explosions of white spray against the cliff.
Sasha blinked, realising that she'd abruptly found a connection between two unassociated moves. Her hands replayed the thought, her body shifting in time. Threads slipped into place, a beautiful sensation that made her smile, whatever her recent pains. Symmetry, the likeness between things one
had previously assumed unconnected. The footwork was dissimilar, but the transition, and the philosophy of attack, were identical. That move would now kill, whereas before, it had merely defended. And so she grew a little wiser this still morning. A little deadlier. If only she were free.
The day passed slowly. Sasha ate bread and soup, paced her cell, stretched and performed taka-dans. She had always been bad at doing nothing, and soon enough, she was climbing the walls-literally. First she manoeuvred her bed once more to look out the window, and discovered that no matter how she angled herself, she saw nothing but sea and cloudless blue sky. The cell became hot, which was fine for her legs, but the dress sleeves and shoulders clung tight to her arms. Surely Petrodor seamstresses made few dresses for girls built like her.
She entertained herself for a while by tearing the sleeves off with her bare hands, after stripping bare to her waist. The sound of ripping cloth brought looks from the guards outside her door, who pulled the plate aside to see…and closed it just as fast, when confronted by the sight of a topless woman. But the door remained closed. Sasha wondered where the temple drew its guards from. Holy-minded Petrodor youth who for some reason could not become priests? Or just random, hired thugs? More likely the former, she decided. Surely the latter might have at least favoured her with a lewd remark or two by now. Or worse.
Her back hurt where she'd been kicked, and her bruised jaw made eating difficult. Her left ear seemed to ring a little, like a perfect bell that had been struck hard some time ago. She hoped that would not be permanent. By early afternoon, she was down to reciting a Tullamayne verse out loud, straining her memory to recall the blood-rousing third and fourth acts. With that accomplished to the best of her ability, she began translating it into Saalsi. Which proved actually quite interesting, and very challenging. “And by his fiery eye he did see, a vision beheld in glory gold…”
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