Sofy shook her head earnestly. “Lenayin has had so many wars, yet out of those wars we have built common understandings that have not perhaps made a peaceful land, but a more civilised one than existed before. Maldereld did not allow the bloodshed of the past to prevent her from building something wonderful in her present. Our peoples are now at war, yet that does not mean that what must follow shall be tragic for all. We can find a common path, I am certain of it!”
Lesthen walked slowly through a gap in the balustrade and out onto the circular floor, amongst the sculptures that measured the movements of heaven. “For so long in Tracato we serrin have fought the nature of things,” he said sadly. “We forged peace for a time. We did not build armies of our own, because the successes of the Rhodaani, Enoran and Ilduuri Steel gave us an excuse not to. If the nature of the lashka'won is war, then we have ignored it, as one who lives in the sea might neglect to learn how to swim. We thought that here, we had an island of peace, yet an island is nothing before the greatest of waves. We presumed to have solved the world. We lived in pretence.”
He turned to look at her, leaning against a man-sized tower that Sofy now recognised as a giant sundial. Its shadow upon the ground touched markings on the tiles, denoting the hour. “I look at you now, young princess, and I see myself until only quite recently. You carry the weight of the world, two halves of the world in fact, and you try to make them fit neatly together by sheer force of will. I wish you luck in your endeavours, but I do not know that my own example can lend you much confidence.”
“What would you have me do?” Sofy asked him, eyes wide in faint desperation. “What would you suggest, as the best for your people and mine?”
Lesthen smiled sadly. “If the first group of the lashka'won are correct, then there is no best solution for your people and mine, only for one or the other. To fight the natural way of the world is the path to endless turmoil, yet not to fight it is to give in to the ways of brutality and war. It is for you to choose. This is my philosophy, at the end of my days. It is the philosophy of sadness. And I ask you to forgive me, for pressing it upon you now.”
To Jaryd's surprise, Zulmaher led him to a small temple, nestled amidst a crowd of dockside tenements. Zulmaher led Jaryd up the tight, spiral steps of a belltower, until they emerged in one of the temple's twin spires. On all four sides were arched windows, presenting an excellent view of the harbour. Against the dock were perhaps fifteen tall ships, barely a fraction of the number the berths could take. Jaryd thought it sad that he'd walked what felt like halfway across Rhodia, yet was unable to see Tracato at its finest. All the ships were gone, fearing the consequences of the Rhodaani Steel's defeat.
Seated by one window, with a large book in his lap, was a boy of perhaps fourteen years. He wore lordly clothes, and a short sword rested against the chair in its scabbard. With fine, pale features, large eyes, and longish brown hair, Jaryd thought he nearly passed for a girl. In Lenayin, such a boy would have a miserable childhood.
“Lord Alfriedo,” said Jaryd, with a short bow. Evidently the meeting was here because neither Zulmaher nor Alfriedo thought it wise to invite the likes of Jaryd so publicly to the Ushal Fortress.
“Master Nyvar,” said Alfriedo, and his voice was high like a girl's too. He closed the book, and lifted it with effort onto the side table, atop two other tomes. “Is that the proper form of address? Or is it yuan?”
“In Torovan, master will do fine.” Jaryd leaned against a wall, so he could see the street. He felt more comfortable that way.
“I have been reading of Lenayin,” said Alfriedo. He spoke in the manner of a very intelligent boy who was accustomed to each interlocutor hanging upon his every word. “It does seem a very fascinating land. A very savage land filled with savage people, and yet you have codes of civility that raise you far above the barbarian.”
“In my experience,” said Jaryd, “the only barbarians in Lenayin are the nobles. The common folk are far more civil.”
“They say you were once a noble. The heir to Tyree. Only your family's rivals murdered your brother and dissolved your family.”
Jaryd nodded. “My brother was perhaps five years younger than yourself. He was killed in cold blood. I demanded revenge on those responsible, but the king's law would not allow it of a Verenthane. I renounced the faith and became Goeren-yai instead.”
A black-robed priest chose that moment to emerge from the stairway, carrying a tray with tea and cups. He placed it on a small table, with bread, dip, and olive oil, and departed with a smile.
“And did you win your revenge as a Goeren-yai?” Zulmaher asked, pouring tea for them all.
“No,” said Jaryd. “I discovered there were things I cared for even more.”
“Young men believe that what they will or won't do can change the world,” said Zulmaher, handing him a cup. “Older men learn differently.”
“I should like to travel to Lenayin one day,” said Alfriedo, grasping his own cup. “I grow tired of only learning about the world in books. I did greatly enjoy my conversation with your Princess Sofy, though. I have met three sisters of the Lenay royal family, and found them each formidable in different ways.”
“We generals were hoping the girls had inherited all the wits and character,” Zulmaher added wryly. “It seems we hoped in vain.”
Jaryd nodded. “King Koenyg is a warrior, plain and simple. Myklas too, to everyone's surprise.”
“And Prince Damon?”
“The most intelligent of the three,” said Jaryd with certainty. Knowing that Sofy agreed made him even more certain. “Perhaps the most capable, but lacking conviction.”
Alfriedo looked sad, and gazed out at the harbour. Jaryd frowned. And then realised. “You were very close with the Princess Alythia?” he asked the boy.
Alfriedo nodded. “She was with us only a short time. But she became like an older sister. I never had an older sister before. She was…”
He did not complete the sentence. The boy had lost his mother too, in the same disturbance that killed Alythia. Jaryd was struck by how great a burden had fallen upon such slim shoulders.
“I only met her briefly, once or twice when we were all younger,” said Jaryd. “Courtly circles in Baen-Tar. I recall we danced once.”
“She told me much about Lenayin,” Alfriedo said quietly. “Were it not for her, I do not believe I would hold your land in such affection.” He sipped at his tea. “And then there was Kessligh Cronenverdt, I know he is a Torovan by birth but he considers himself a Lenay. I met him three times. He is a very wise man, yet I do not know that I agree with him in even half of what he says. He did give me many ideas for things to read about, however. I have been reading a lot of Rhodaani history, and a lot of serrin books. These books are serrin.”
He indicated the books on the table beside him.
“Lord Alfriedo is wondering how committed you are to your princess's safety,” Zulmaher cut in, as though concerned that his young lord was giving away too much too early. Jaryd looked from one to the other, warily.
“Utterly,” he said.
“Well, I'm very glad to hear that,” said Alfriedo, somewhat drily. “When a Lenay warrior says such things, I can at least be certain I believe him.”
Zulmaher grimaced. “It has been a frustration,” he admitted. “The enemies of Rhodaan's nobility have all deserted the city or gone to ground. It has been as though all dreams were realised…save that of course my Rhodaani Steel has been defeated, a terrible cost for even the hardest of hard-line feudalists to swallow.”
“Not all,” Alfriedo corrected scornfully. He looked angry.
“No, not all.” Zulmaher looked angry too, but hid it better. “Understand, Master Jaryd, that it is a dilemma of the most challenging kind. We nobles did wish for greater restoration of noble rights, but we are patriots too.”
“Not all!” Alfriedo repeated, more angrily still. Zulmaher gave him a reprimanding look, as though from an uncle to an unruly nephew.
> “Most of us are patriots,” Zulmaher resumed. “We wanted more rights, but not at the expense of Rhodaani freedom. Now our army is defeated, and some nobility regard this a terrible defeat, while others rejoice as though our salvation descends upon us from heaven.”
“The Army of the Bacosh may be many things,” Jaryd said darkly. “Salvation from heaven it's not.”
“Lord Alfriedo shall declare his rights before the Regent,” Zulmaher continued, “and to judge by the noises the Regent has been making about the restoration of rightful claims, it would be in his interest to grant it. Declaring all Rhodaani land void of noble title will only start a struggle for power amongst all his other allies who will want to claim it, and the Regent can ill afford that disunity now. By declaring old Rhodaani title legal from before the serrin came, he gains new allies here and keeps his existing ones from squabbling over spoils.”
“Exactly what is Prince Dafed asking?” Jaryd asked. Within the confines of Sofy's court, he had heard only rumour.
“Just the problem,” said Zulmaher. “Prince Dafed has little idea about Tracato, not our history, nor how all our institutions work. He is a warrior. Our lords now ask him what we should do with so many of our grand institutions, and he just shrugs and tells us to work it out for ourselves.”
“Well…that's good, yes?” Jaryd asked cautiously.
“It makes them bicker,” Alfriedo said shortly. “The Rhodaani lords cannot agree. Some argue to retain something like a council, so the common folk may be heard. Others wish to dispose of the Tol'rhen and Mahl'rhen. But if we get rid of all serrin influence, what will happen to all my books?”
Jaryd did not think he meant it quite so selfishly.
“For so long we have viewed these institutions as anchors about our necks, holding us down,” said Zulmaher. “Now we face the prospect of losing them for good, and instead of making us happy, it makes us feel naked.”
“Some of us,” Alfriedo interjected once more. “The others, I cannot understand. I will not be sad to see Tracato without a council or a Justiciary; both were corrupt houses of pointless argument and little else. The rule of lords is far more just and efficient. But imagine if we truly tried to cleanse the city of serrin influence. Every second building would have to be demolished, they taught us much of the architecture. All of the schools. All of the arts, the craft markets, the amphitheatre with all of its plays so influenced by the serrin writers and philosophers. The libraries!”
The young lord looked unhappy. Somehow, Jaryd found himself smiling.
“You sound just like Sofy,” he said.
“Yes,” Alfriedo said indignantly, “well, I am most pleased that your princess shares my concerns for my city, but it is quite a different thing for a foreigner to worry about these things and for the Lord of Rhodaan to worry about them.”
“Sofy is the Princess Regent now,” said Jaryd. “She does not see that she is a foreigner. These are her lands, and believe me, you could do much worse.”
“I know,” said Zulmaher. “Yet there is a danger in what she is doing. Prince Dafed makes court at Ushal Fortress. Princess Sofy makes court at the Tol'rhen. One is the brother of the Regent, the other is his wife, and each seems to share a different vision for Tracato.”
“But you just said Dafed cares little what happens.”
“Exactly. Dafed will let the Elissians do what they will, he cares not. The Elissians are angry. I fear I have played my part in making them that way.”
“You should have destroyed them when you had the chance,” Alfriedo muttered. General Zulmaher had commanded the Rhodaani Steel against Elisse barely months before.
“That was not the general opinion of Family Renine at the time,” Zulmaher said archly. “But it matters not. The Elissians see that Dafed is their man. And Sofy, therefore, is their obstacle.”
“She is well-protected,” Jaryd said. “Larosan knights; I've spoken with them. Little that I'd trust a Larosan knight, but in this instance they are committed. To protect the Princess Regent is an honour.”
“She should be careful nonetheless,” Zulmaher persisted. “She becomes very popular in Tracato, and at a pace that will alarm many. Many lords here see the coming of the Regent as their path to power. Others hope for a great reshaping of Tracato, and the destruction of much that the Princess Regent now champions. She makes enemies. Some of those enemies wonder just how valuable is a new highland wife to the Regent, now that the wars appear all but won. If the Regent truly loved his wife, some say, he would have kept her by his side, and in his bed.”
Jaryd watched him, arms folded, and felt resentment. Toward Sofy, mostly. Resentment that he should care at all, when she was now married to another, and to interests far beyond his nonexistent status. One night they had had together…or several in fact, upon the road, travelling from Algery in Tyree back to Baerlyn. And then she had left, for Baen-Tar, and her regal life so inaccessible. Now he was her puppy dog, running about after her in the vain hope of a pat, or perhaps a stick to chase.
He worried and watched as she so naively placed herself into dangers that only a very intelligent girl like her could contrive to get into, all wishful thinking and girlish daydreaming. A stupid girl would think less and fear more, and be safer for it.
“I've tried to warn her,” he said. “I'll keep trying. But you've met her sisters. They're a headstrong family.”
“Are any Lenays not?” asked Alfriedo.
“See that she listens,” Zulmaher warned. “More than merely her life could depend on it. If her enemies here dispose of her, it would bode ill for all Lenays in the Bacosh.”
NINE
The party made their way to Ilduur the fastest way they knew how. Two men of the Enoran cavalry led them, knowing these roads best. They rode almost directly south, while the armies of Lenayin, Rhodaan and Enora would continue toward the southeast, and the city of Jahnd. The pursuing Army of the Bacosh would be unlikely to head this way in any force, intending the full destruction of Jahnd and its defenders.
The lands they rode through were full of people, farmers and townsfolk going about their business as they might in any other time. Sasha had rarely seen lands so beautiful, rolling hills and pasture giving way to ample forest, and some formations of land so rugged that it seemed even the grandeur of lowlands civilisation could never claim them. Several times they passed old castles, some now broken ruins unused in two centuries, others occupied by commoners who lived within the great stone walls, one family to a chamber, and used the former lordly stables to pen their sheep at nights.
The first day, Sasha argued with Pelner, the leading Enoran cavalryman, about their pace. They rode either serrin mounts or Lenay dussieh, bred for stamina more than power, but even these were not invincible. Pelner was confident they could make the Shalaam Canyon that divided Enora from Ilduur in eleven days if they were fast. From there the land rose steeply, and the Ilduuri Mountains were not territory through which any could make fast progress whatever the urgency. Another ten days at the quickest, Pelner said, and Aisha agreed, having made that journey a number of times.
To her own astonishment, Sasha found herself arguing for a more sedate pace than the Enoran wished to set. It was possible, she argued, to hold a good pace even on high mountain trails. But not if they whipped the horses first. Exhausted horses would not fare well in high, cold air, and those that did not make the transition well might die. The price was worth paying, and the party of twenty-six riders brought twelve fresh mounts with them just in case, but Sasha was unconvinced that even those would fare well without riders, and would make for slow progress at altitude either way.
Pelner disagreed strongly. Sasha suspected him, like many of the Enorans and Rhodaanis, of being in a state of shock. The Steel had been defeated and was in retreat. Their lands were falling, their civilisation ending before their eyes. With the shock came frantic haste and panic. She feared Rhillian might succumb to the same, for the loss was similar for serrin as for human, a
nd all knew Saalshen would be next. But Rhillian, in making the final decision, sided with Sasha.
“Jahnd's defences are strong,” she said. “The Army of the Bacosh will not cross the Ipshaal quickly. Four periods of moderate gallop per day, no more. We save the horses a little for the high passes, and make more time there.”
Sasha spent much time riding with Aisha, learning of the lands they rode through. On the promontory of a high hilltop, the walls of an old fort overlooked the surrounding sweep of land.
“Do you know these lands well?” Sasha asked.
“You know, strangely I don't,” Aisha admitted. “My nearest town of Charleren is well west, near the Larosan border. Those lands I know like the back of my hand, but I joined the talmaad young, and my travels took me back to Saalshen, then to Rhodaan and Ilduur and Petrodor…I've spent more time travelling in foreign lands than in my own.”
“Where did you learn to speak Lenay?” They were speaking Lenay now, as Aisha knew Sasha liked to whenever she had the chance.
“Vayha,” said Aisha. “Enora has some wonderful Tol'rhen, some certainly better than in Saalshen. But I had to go all the way to Vayha in Saalshen to learn Lenay.”
“I suppose Enora never had cause to learn it before.”
“Our mistake.”
Sasha smiled. “Weren't you telling me before that you met Rhillian in Vayha?”
Aisha nodded. “We're nearly the same age. She was seventeen, I was sixteen. She had an important uma, much ra'shi.”
“She told me of him.”
“Even then, people knew she was different. Not du'jannah like Errollyn, but not like most serrin either. Not bound so tightly by the vel'ennar that she could not think and act outside of it. Her Ulenshaals saw the potential of that, and were grooming her for big things.
“But her languages were not very good.” Aisha smiled, remembering. “I was appointed to help her. We studied together, and shared quarters. She helped me with my svaalverd. I was better at that than she was with languages.”
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