Sasha (28 page)

Great Lord Kumaryn arrived at Baerlyn as the late afternoon sun hung low over the valley. His host numbered perhaps three hundred, Sasha reckoned, a great, snaking line of thundering hooves and glinting helms. Banners with the stallion on the red and gold of Valhanan flew to the forefront, alongside the howling black wolf on blue of the Black Wolves. The column came across the uphill paddocks beyond the upper treeline, threading between boulders that loomed from the green grass and glowed a dull, iron grey in the light from the lowering sun.

Baerlyn's defensive line spread wide across the uphill end of the Baerlyn Valley, concentrated here before the upslope buildings. All the village's men stood, or sat ahorse, weapons unsheathed and gripped with the casual ease that a smithy might grasp his hammer. Some stood across the fences to either side of the main road, in paddocks emptied of livestock, before rickety wooden barns, shacks, and a pigsty, keeping the line straight. Sasha sat behind the main line on Peg, with Kessligh astride Terjellyn at her side.

Further to the left, the exposed fields about the valley's small stream held the majority of gathered horsemen, warding a flanking move. Amongst them were many men from Yule, perhaps five folds distance to the south, who had arrived just a few moments before.

They conceded Kumaryn the high ground above the valley's end; should an attack come, they would fall back into the village, where the buildings and lanes would remove much of the cavalry's advantage, and strategically placed ropes, pikes and spears would avail the local swordsmen of a surprise. As would some of the more assertive Baerlyn women who had taken up Sasha's suggestion some years ago and learned archery. They waited now by the windows of their houses, ready to put arrows into any passing attacker.

Lord Kumaryn did not line his army across the open ground atop the slope into Baerlyn—such a move would have been almost a declaration of war. Instead, the head of the column approached between wooden fences that hemmed in the leading horses, just as the defenders had intended. Lord Kumaryn wanted to talk, Sasha reckoned…at least for a while. A gaunt-faced man with a large, pinched nose and a white beard held up his hand. The three hundred horse column came to a stop in clouds of sunlit dust. A young man in lordly clothes rode forward. In one hand, he carried the banner of Family Tathys—a stone tower pierced by a lightning strike.

Verenthane lords and their family emblems, Sasha thought sourly, watching him. Pompous fools. Fancy parading it around lowlands style, as if the very presence of that bloodline should cause men to fall to one knee in reverence.

“Greetings men of Baerlyn!” the young man cried, his voice high and clear. A squire, Sasha recalled such banner carriers were called amongst the lordly classes. Another stupid, imported lowlands word. Goeren-yai and the rural folk of Lenayin were not yet educated in such civilised terminology. Sasha hoped fervently that they would never need to be. “My Great Lord Kumaryn Tathys of Valhanan bids you greetings!”

“Aye, hello!” called one of the Baerlyn men cheerfully, to a roar of laughter from the rest.

The squire swallowed nervously. “As Great Lord of Valhanan, Great Lord Kumaryn has ridden today to Baerlyn to claim his right under law! It has recently come to my Lord's attention that upon the recent ride of the Tyree Falcon Guard into the province of Taneryn…”

“Where's your balls, lad?” yelled another man. Sasha thought it sounded suspiciously like Teriyan. More laughter.

“He left them in Cryliss, by the sound of it!” yelled another.

“Nay, Kumaryn borrowed them!” Raucous howls. This, Sasha thought with a sigh, was quite certainly Teriyan. “Be fair, Kumaryn! Give the lad his balls back, we know you've got no need of them!”

“Into the province of Taneryn,” the squire continued, his high voice wavering. Sasha almost felt sorry for him. “There the Great Lord Kumaryn's dearest relative, the Lieutenant Reynan Pelyn, of the noble Tyree family of Pelyn, and family to Great Lord Kumaryn through his marriage to his sister's cousin…” Groans of derision from the Baerlyners. “…met his end in highly suspicious circumstances! Word from truth-loving men has placed the blame for this callous murder upon the person of Sashandra Lenayin…”

“Fuck off, you two-bit fool!” came a yell with precious little humour in it.

“Nay!” came Teriyan's loud reply. “Even for a fool, he's not worth one-and-five!”

Behind the squire, at the head of Kumaryn's column, Sasha noted many men who had ridden forward to hear. Some were officers of the Black Wolves, others were noble Verenthanes, well-dressed and well-groomed atop their large horses. Several others were Goeren-yai—Cryliss had some Goeren-yai, Sasha knew, largely about the city perimeter. A few Cryliss Goeren-yai were wealthy merchants and traders like their Verenthane comrades, though none had yet accepted a title. Most refused nobility as a concept. Swordwork and honour, not wealth and titles, made the measure of a Goeren-yai man. And Sasha knew some Verenthanes who felt the same.

“And so,” the squire resumed, now utterly flustered, “Great Lord Kumaryn demands by the powers of law vested in him that the Lady Sashandra be handed over to his custody at once, for a trial by the procedures laid out within the king's law!”

The squire finished and backed up his horse. Ironical applause followed him. “Well done, lad!” someone shouted. “Fucking incomprehensible, but well done!”

Jaegar walked forward from the line. Like many in Lenayin, he disdained horses when there was a chance to fight on foot. In rugged, forested Lenayin, that was often. His leather jerkin had no sleeves and he wielded the massive blade in his hand as if it were a twig.

“Lord Kumaryn!” he shouted, in a deep, yet eloquent voice. “I'm very sorry that you've come all this way for nothing! Baerlyn swears its allegiance to the king in Baen-Tar, not to you! You have no authority to apprehend or administer a trial against any man, woman or child of Baerlyn in the name of justice! Justice belongs to the king, not to provincial lords! Goodbye!”

The gaunt-faced, white-bearded man rode forward atop a dappled, grey-white mare. His cloak was red and gold, and he wore a blue shirt and leather vest over chain. Sasha saw the sweat on his brow. He had to have at least fifty summers…didn't the heat bother him? She swatted at a fly…up here about the pig and sheep enclosures, the flies bred something fierce in summer.

“Master Jaegar, I presume?” Kumaryn called down from his horse.

“Yuan Jaegar,” Baerlyn's headman corrected. He planted his swordtip on the road and folded his hands atop the hilt, feet set wide. Kumaryn's blue eyes were cold with disdain and his nose was wrinkled.

“You forget yourself, Yuan Jaegar,” said Kumaryn. He did not speak loudly enough. Further along the line, men were straining to hear. “I am Great Lord of Valhanan. That title was granted to Family Tathys a hundred and three years ago by King Soros and has carried on to me from my father and grandfather before me. I rule Valhanan, Yuan Jaegar. Best that you recall.”

“No, you
tax
Valhanan!” Teriyan retorted from behind. “In these parts, we call someone who takes money whilst giving nothing in return a thief!”

A cheer went up. Jaegar held up a hand and the men quieted. “The king's law is quite explicit,” he said, very reasonably. “A provincial lord may levy a property tax, and no more, for the upkeep of provincial affairs. A provincial lord will deal with such local matters of law and order that do not concern the king…”

Some of the mounted nobles were laughing. “You think to lecture
me
on the king's law?” said Kumaryn, smiling coldly.

“No, well, I thought there might be some disagreement,” Jaegar said conversationally, “so I brought along a copy.” He waved to Teriyan, who stepped from the line with a scroll in one hand and sword in the other. The nobles’ smiles faded. Teriyan unravelled the scroll for Jaegar to read from. “Aye, here it is. The rights and responsibilities of the office of provincial lordship.”

“Aye, that'd be you then, wouldn't it?” Teriyan suggested to Kumaryn with an insolent grin. Kumaryn glared, fingering the hilt of his sword.

“The law of Lenayin shall be administered by the king,” Jaegar continued, reading easily from the scroll. Some of the nobles looked astonished. No doubt many had presumed that
all
Goeren-yai were illiterate. “On matters pertaining to the provincial lord's peace, said lord shall be considered an officer of the king, for the purpose of justice. Provincial affairs beneath the king's consideration shall include common theft, rape, affairs of marriage and all pertaining rights and properties, matters pertaining to contests of honour, disputes of land and boundaries…”

“Where does the scroll come from?” one of Kumaryn's party said suspiciously.

“A copy,” Jaegar said mildly. “Those among us learned in writing do make copies of such things and distribute them among the villages. You never know when they'll come in handy.”

“You can read Torovan?” another asked, with equal suspicion.

“It's a translation,” Jaegar admitted.

It was said that King Soros had barely spoken any Lenay when he had arrived in Lenayin all those years ago, Sasha knew. Raised in Petrodor from childhood, having been smuggled from Cherrovan-occupied Lenayin, he'd known mostly Torovan, and most official documents of the period remained in Torovan even now.

“Enough of this nonsense!” Kumaryn barked. His face was reddish now, partly from temper, and partly, Sasha suspected, from the heat. “You defy your lawful lord! The girl Sashandra is accused before the law! If you resist my lawful request, I shall take her by force and have Baerlyn declared a village of traitors!”

“If there is an accusation,” Jaegar retorted, his tone hardening, “then the law explicitly states that she is answerable to the king, and the king alone. You are the king's
officer
, my Lord. A servant. And the accused, may I remind you, is the king's
daughter
…”

“A title she renounced twelve years ago when she abandoned him to the service of that foreign cult!” Kumaryn glared straight at her for the first time, over the heads of armed Baerlyn men. “You shall yield, or you shall face the consequences!”

“Got a lot of gall, doesn't he?” Sasha suggested to Kessligh. Kumaryn was the greatest fool in Lenayin if he thought this pathetic bluff was going to work. Kessligh, however, looked grim.

“Hey look!” came a shout from a Baerlyn man. “There's Master Wensyl, he brews the finest ale in Cryliss! What are you doing with these damn fools, Wensyl?”

Wensyl, a Verenthane noble, looked uncomfortable.

“Have you nothing to say for yourself?” Kumaryn shouted at Sasha. “Will you not spare the lives of your so-called friends? Or shall you hide behind them like a coward?”

“I am a villager of Baerlyn, Lord Kumaryn,” Sasha replied calmly. “I obey my village council, like any villager. Should they wish me to leave with you, I would do so. However, I've heard opposite sentiment put to me, very strongly.” She shrugged. “It's out of my hands.”

A Goeren-yai man jostled his horse to the fore of Kumaryn's party. “I've heard enough!” he announced. He wore the good clothes of a wealthy city man, yet his bald head wore long hair at the back and his ears were adorned with rings. “This is the stupidest excuse to slaughter an entire village I've yet heard! If there's fighting, I'm on
their
side!”

He nudged heels to his horse and rode through the Baerlyn lines to raucous cheers, yells and raised blades.

“Anadrys Denaryn!” yelled a noble at Kumaryn's side, levelling a blade at him. “You are a traitor to your lord!”

But more Goeren-yai city men were pushing down the column and crossing into the Baerlyn lines, some waving cheerfully to their new friends as they came. Jeers and catcalls accompanied the cheering as Kumaryn, his noble friends and officers fumed.

“I said I'd come to help in the fight!” the man named Anadrys yelled back at Kumaryn across the gap. “I didn't say on which side!”

“Come on, Wensyl!” the man who had shouted out to him before was yelling above the noise. “The man's an ass! You don't want to fight for him. Come over this side!”

“He's Great Lord of Valhanan!” Wensyl protested, almost apologetically.

“So what? Does he own your honour, or do you!”

Wensyl grimaced, rode across to the man in question and dismounted. Kumaryn's comrades yelled at him to come back, but Wensyl was now engaged in a heated debate with his Baerlyn friend and several others. A pair of Baerlyn men approached Kumaryn, whose companions raised weapons in threat, but a Black Wolves sergeant intervened, and that began a new argument. More men crossed the line, weapons gesticulating dangerously, and suddenly the grim face-off had degenerated into a milling, chaotic debate between sometime friends, trading partners and tournament contestants, as men found others they knew on both sides.

Sasha found herself grinning. It was approaching a farce. She knew what the lowlanders would say if they could see this. “Lenay rabble.” Ill-disciplined, chaotic and leaderless. Uncivilised. Barbarian. All were quite possibly true. And Sasha had rarely felt any more proud of the fact than today.

Some dried horse manure sailed dangerously close to Kumaryn's head, but it was impossible to tell who'd thrown it. Sasha saw Geldon climb onto an adjoining fence and call to someone in the column he recognised, followed by handshakes and greetings—Geldon supplied bread to Cryliss and bought grain from them, Sasha guessed this was one of his partners. Anadrys and the other Goeren-yai who'd come over were calling to Verenthane friends still in the column, some of them in the Black Wolves.

The men of the Black Wolves now appeared confused, looking to their lord for direction. Their disquiet was obvious—such companies had been used by lord or king to hit rebellious villages before, but this was different. No Lenay man liked to be seen as another's vassal. No Lenay warrior was obliged to follow a dishonourable command, whatever their oaths. Some more manure actually hit one of Kumaryn's nobles. Kumaryn signalled furiously for a withdrawal and the long column began a slow reverse, leaving many of their number behind to continue the debate.