Sasha (29 page)

“So much for that,” Sasha said cheerfully to Kessligh, watching them leave. Kumaryn now seemed in furious argument with the Black Wolves captain. If the Wolves refused to fight, that was the end of it.

“Nothing to be pleased about,” Kessligh said grimly. “The nobility becomes ambitious. They're flexing their muscles, demonstrating their power to the king.”

“And failing,” Sasha retorted, steadying Peg's impatient head toss. “There's not enough of them in Valhanan, just the big towns and Cryliss. Rural folk outnumber them by a lot, their power is less than they think.”

Jaegar and Teriyan came back to Sasha and Kessligh, who dismounted to meet them. A councilman from Yule joined them—Tarynt, a small, older man with a bushy beard that tried desperately to make him look larger, and failed.

“Thank you for that,” Sasha said, knowing as she spoke that it was unnecessary. “I'm grateful.”

“Would have done it even if you were guilty,” Jaegar said with a shrug, swiping at a fly. “He's got no right, and he knows it. We let him do this, it's a whole slippery slope from there. He'll not get a warrior nor a horse nor a mangy chicken from us.”

“Just when did the lords of Valhanan start fighting the Tyree nobility's wars?” Tarynt asked with concern.

Jaegar took a swig of his small water skin and spat. “Kumaryn overreached this time. He was never very bright. Hopefully he'll get the message now.”

“He wasn't sending a message to the villages,” Kessligh said grimly. “He was sending a message to the king. They all were. They've had a taste of power now and they want more.”

“Aye,” said Teriyan, “it's the grand crusade to civilise Lenayin. First it's the lowlands gods, then it's land-owning lords, peasants and feuding armies, and soon one day no one will remember what it ever meant to be Goeren-yai and free.” Teriyan was always the educated one, Sasha reflected. The one who knew far more than his wisecracks and bragging let on.

“Over my dead body,” Jaegar said simply.

“All of theirs too,” Teriyan agreed.

“
Did
you kill this…this lieutenant person?” Tarynt asked Sasha curiously. The men of Yule had rushed to help at a moment's notice. Evidently they had not heard all the circumstances when they came.

“Lieutenant Reynan?” said Sasha. “No. It was Jaryd Nyvar. Reynan was trying to kill me from behind. Jaryd saved my life.”

“Nyvar!” Tarynt pursed his lips into a whistle. Even village Goeren-yai knew and respected that name. Tournaments were not combat…but then, it was far more to respect a man for success in tournaments than success in titles or wealth. “Spirits, that's a mess. Isn't he a relation, or…?”

“Of Reynan, aye,” said Jaegar, nodding. “No doubt some quick wit saw a chance to pin it on Sasha before anyone could say otherwise. Perhaps they reckon Jaryd will comply and deny it was him.”

“Aye, his papa will twist his arm to that,” Teriyan agreed.

“They lack numbers, but the lordly classes make up for it in unity,” Kessligh said grimly. “Goeren-yai disunity, now, they're relying on. Why aren't Sedyn or Dayen villages here? They're closer than Yule.”

“Small matter of ancient bloodfeud with Sedyn,” said Jaegar uncomfortably, glancing over his shoulder. The Cryliss column appeared to be forming a line on the upper slopes near the trees, but there was nothing of orderliness about it. “Dayen…well, they're nearer Cryliss than we are. Plenty of folk make good money from the wealthy families, don't want to upset them much.”

“Makes sense,” Tarynt said cheerfully. “Us in Yule, we've not a bean between us!” He cackled.

Kessligh, Sasha saw, was looking straight at her. She knew that look. “What?” she bristled.

“They want you dead, Sasha,” he said flatly. “They need the Goeren-yai divided, as Goeren-yai always are. They want to make Lenayin into a model of lowlands civilisation, with vastly increased powers, lands and wealth for themselves. To do that, they wish all obstacles removed. They think Lord Krayliss might unify the Goeren-yai, so they want him dead. And now there's you, with all the rumours…”

“Bugger the rumours!” Sasha said hotly. “I'm not
doing
anything! I'm just…here!”

“Exactly. They'd like you elsewhere.”

“And you'd oblige them?” she asked incredulously. “Send me running off to Petrodor with you like a coward because some fancy-dress noble threatened me?”

Jaegar and Tarynt looked uncomfortable, as in the manner of men who'd stumbled into a private family spat. Teriyan watched curiously.

“No,” Kessligh said tightly, with as dark a scowl as Sasha had ever seen. “The choice is yours. It's always been yours. Go get yourself killed, I won't stop you.” He strode and leaped into Terjellyn's saddle, spurring his way through the Baerlyn line and up the road in the wake of the retreating column.

“He's impossible,” Sasha muttered, hands on hips.

Teriyan opened his mouth to remark, but Jaegar cut him off. “He's right about it being dangerous for you, Sasha. With a war coming, the Verenthanes think their time has come. Your father might wish to protect you, but no power in Lenayin is absolute—it's a great balancing act—and if the lords all find you a menace, even King Torvaal can't protect you. Today is just the first strike of many.”

All because the stupid Larosa in far-away Bacosh couldn't stand to live side by side with the serrin. A dull panic settled in Sasha's gut. It wasn't fair. Baerlyn was her home. It scared her, all this talk of leaving. She looked at Jaegar desperately. At Teriyan, taller, and with a concerned frown.

“What do you think I should do?” she asked them.

Jaegar sighed and scratched at his scalp. “I can only really give you counsel where the affairs of Baerlyn are concerned, Sasha. It's not my place to be giving instructions to the king's daughter…”

“I'm not asking for instructions, damn it! Just…” she turned away in exasperation, “just a little advice! I can't ask Kessligh, he's stubborn as a mule for all the Nasi-Keth's talk of open-mindedness—he either tells me what I don't want to hear, or tells me an uman can't dictate the uma's path.”

“You are Nasi-Keth, aren't you?” Jaegar asked.

Sasha felt uncertain. She shouldn't, she knew. Kessligh had devoted twelve years of his life to her. But now, he asked for things from her that she did not know if she was prepared to give. “Yes,” she said quietly.

Jaegar shrugged, broadly. “We are Goeren-yai, Sasha. We believe in following a path. Your path is with the Nasi-Keth. Perhaps you should go with your uman.”

Sasha stared at him. “And abandon the Goeren-yai?”

“Are
you
our saviour?” Jaegar asked, with an eyebrow raised.

Sasha blinked. “I never said…I mean, I never thought…”

“Then why stay?”

“You don't want me to?” A lump threatened to grow in her throat.

Jaegar sighed. “It's not about what I want, Sasha. I am headman. I am also umchyl, the spirit talker. I help to find the path desired by the spirits. Especially in the young in the Wakening ceremony and beyond. The path does not care what I want. The path is yours, and only you can decide if you shall take it.”

“
I
care!” Sasha protested. “If you don't think I can help, if you don't think I'll bring any more than just trouble, then I'll leave! I don't want to bring those bastards down on Baerlyn again, I just wish someone would…would have the balls to tell me…to tell me…” She gave up in exasperation and turned to leave before the building desperate emotion escaped her control.

Teriyan caught her arm, hard. “I'll tell you,” he said firmly. “I don't claim to be some spirit-talking wise man like my friend here…” Jaegar smiled, faintly. “But I think you should stay. This, this nonsense…” he waved a hand toward the disorganised rabble of Cryliss warriors across the upper slopes, “…it's been coming for a hundred years. No offence to your great-grandfather, Sasha, but let's be honest—King Soros was raised a Torovan, he'd barely known Lenayin. He did a great thing ridding us of the Cherrovan, but he had no real idea what to do with Lenayin itself except to try and remake it in the image of the lowlands.

“So he turns all his most loyal chieftains and clans into noble families as reward for service, but only then discovers the Goeren-yai and the villages won't stand for it, so he waters down the nobles’ powers to avoid civil war. The nobility bought it then because it seemed better than nothing, and they thought they'd try to increase their powers by stealth…but a century later and they're growing impatient. King Soros
promised
them they'd be full-fledged noble lords like in the Bacosh, not limp-dick puppets.

“We can't let them win, Sasha. You matter to the Goeren-yai. Damn it, Kumaryn's
right
to worry about you, far more than he is to worry about that buffoon Krayliss. Of all the royal children of Baen-Tar, you're the
first
who truly loved the Goeren-yai. It means a lot to people, Sasha.”

“The second,” Sasha said quietly. “Krystoff loved the Goeren-yai too.”

“Aye, that he did,” Teriyan agreed. “But Prince Krystoff lived in Baen-Tar and only knew us as soldiers he served with and servant girls working in the palace. You live
here
. The spirits are bound to the land, Sasha. They live in the rocks in the hills, and the trees of the forest, and the dirt beneath your feet. You're the first of all Lenay royalty to be here, and to feel it. I'm not itching to lead some damn rebellion, Sasha…but damn it, you know what the stakes are in this. We need all the help we can get. And if men get desperate enough that Krayliss looks like the only alternative…then spirits save us.”

Tears prickled in Sasha's eyes. She took a deep breath, pig-smelling air and all. “Thank you,” she said. “I'll help. I have to talk to my father. Once upon a time, men say he used to listen to reason. Perhaps he still will.”

“That damn Archbishop Dalryn jerks your father's strings now,” Tarynt muttered. “Him and your big brother Koenyg.”

“Then we'll just have to see what we can do about that,” Sasha replied, with firming resolve. “Shan't we?”

S
OFY STOOD AT THE EDGE
of the stable's mustering yard, watching the milling chaos of horses and soldiers in the blazing torchlight, as frenzied shadows splashed across neighbouring buildings and the towering inner stone wall of Baen-Tar City. Anyse was at her side, trying to hold a spare cloak over her princess's head and ward off the light, chill rain. Sofy recognised Damon, surrounded by Royal Guardsmen, their gold and red distinct amidst the green of the Falcon Guard.

As he dismounted, stablehands rushing to take his horse, she caught sight of a second group of very different riders. They wore the dark skins and leathers of the Goeren-yai, their hair long and wild, some with rings in their ears that glinted in the torchlight. The banner carried by one was their only identification—green with three diagonal black stripes. Taneryn. One man in particular was giving orders—a huge man in a big fur coat with a bushy beard to match.

Anyse's arms were clearly tiring. “Oh Anyse,” Sofy scolded her, “it's barely raining!”

“Your Highness will catch a chill,” Anyse said stubbornly.

“You're getting wet, you should be more worried for yourself.”

“Goeren-yai don't catch chills,” Anyse replied. “Only stubborn princesses who should have more sense than to venture out on stormy nights.”

Then Damon was approaching, his mud-spattered boots splashing in puddles. In his full colours, armour and sword, Sofy barely recognised him…until he pulled off his helm, revealing a face tired and wet with rain, his dark hair plastered flat to his head. He saw Sofy and managed a weary smile.

Sofy refrained with difficulty from hugging him, settling instead for a sisterly kiss on both his cheeks. “Walk with me,” he told her. “I must present Lord Krayliss immediately to father. No doubt there are things to be said.”

“Lord Krayliss!” Sofy gasped, hurrying to walk at his side. “So that's who that big man with the beard is!”

Anyse gave up trying to cover Sofy's head, walking instead at her heels alongside a Royal Guardsman who took Damon's helm for him.

“What happened?” Sofy asked Damon as they followed the torchbearers toward Soros Square. “Why is Krayliss here? Did he come willingly? I haven't been able to discover a thing lately; it's been so frustrating!”

Damon smiled faintly. “Sasha fought a duel against Farys Varan, son of Udys Varan.”

Sofy stared at him, aghast. “A duel! Is she…?”

“Our sister is well,” Damon pronounced, with more than an edge of tension. “Farys is not.” Sofy clasped a hand to her chest with a gasp of relief. “Krayliss apparently took this as a sign from the spirits…one in particular he called the Synnich. He now claims Sasha is guided by the Synnich and has placed himself under the protection of her word. Otherwise, I'm sure he and Lord Usyn would be fighting to the death right about now.”

“A duel!” Sofy exclaimed once more, in disbelief. Past that announcement, she'd heard very little Damon said. “What was Sasha doing fighting a duel? You swore to me you'd look after her!”

“Sofy,” said her brother with exasperation, “one does not ‘look after’ Sasha, any more than one ‘looks after’ a wild animal. She does what she does, and the best any in her vicinity can hope is to remain alive at the end of it.” And to Sofy's continuing, accusatory stare, he added, “Farys insulted Krystoff's memory. It was calculated, I'm sure his elders put him up to it.”