Sasha (77 page)

The many faces opposing her were wary. Even Koenyg's gaze showed a new, dawning respect, to accompany the anger. She'd been thinking on it, on and off, all the ride north. They could send her away from Lenayin. But they could not stop what she had started.

“I'll not fight our serrin friends in any lowlands war!” Akryd declared. “Should the call come, I'll refuse!”

“No you won't,” Sasha said firmly. “You won't because I tell you you won't. Lenayin must stand together, Akryd. Goeren-yai and Verenthane, and all the provinces as one. You will march with the rest, when the call comes. Someone has to keep an eye on our brave and wise leaders. Someone has to make certain they don't sell Lenayin down the river for a handful of coppers and a holy blessing. That someone shall be you.”

Understanding dawned on Akryd's face. He stared at her. Then gazed at the lords. And drew himself up, slowly, with a disdainful stare. “Aye, M'Lady,” he said coldly. “I understand. We'll watch them. Perhaps it's time, after all, for the Goeren-yai of the south, east and west to all get to know each other better. Perhaps we can come to an understanding.”

“You mangy bitch,” Koenyg fumed beneath his breath.

Sasha gave him a slow smile. “You worry about your own hide, brother. You can throw me out of Lenayin, but I was heading that way anyhow. In fact, I think we all are.”

Fires burned before the Udalyn wall and the sweet night air mingled with woodsmoke and the smell of cooking, laughter, ale and song. Sasha sat beside one particular campfire, a cup of wine in her hand, and watched the celebrations. The Hadryn had left—taking artillery, tents and every last sign of habitation with them. Now, men of the column rejoiced at that, and the news that they would be pardoned their disobedience to the king by the king himself, and that their families would suffer no hardship by their actions.

The Udalyn had emerged from behind their wall for the first time in numbers, amid scenes of wild celebration. Goeren-yai had embraced and, Sasha was pleased to see, her column's Verenthane warriors were also greeted with enthusiasm. Many of the Udalyn seemed astonished, in fact, to see so many Verenthanes in the column's ranks. The Udalyn's Chief Askar was thrilled and humbled to find that so many Lenay Verenthanes would shed their blood for the Udalyn. He did not hate Verenthanes, he said. Only Hadryn.

Sasha watched now as men about neighbouring campfires ate, sang, danced, or attempted broken conversation with Udalyn men, often through a chain of interpreters who made increasingly less sense the more ales they downed. There was much fascination that the Udalyn did not look particularly different from other Goeren-yai. More beads and patterned clothes, perhaps, but otherwise they might have been Tyree or Valhanan Goeren-yai to look at. There was more blond hair and red hair, however, and more blue eyes. Goeren-yai they were, but the Udalyn were northerners too.

Somewhere amidst the crowd, Daryd and Rysha sat by a separate fire, surrounded by parents, siblings and extended family, who pressed them for telling after telling of the things they'd seen—Baen-Tar, the Saint Ambellion Temple, Tyree and Valhanan, King Torvaal and the battles of Ymoth and Yumynis Plain. Sasha had received the impression that were it not for her own presence, the Yuvenar Family might not have believed the tale. She'd been pulled to that fireside by Aisha, who'd thought it something she should see—the Udalyn children back with their family, all of whom seemed to be accounted for. Rysha had sat curled in her mother's lap, and Daryd upon a stone by the fireside. Sasha had seen immediately that their mother would as gladly have clutched Daryd close for the entire night as she did to Rysha, but there was something in Daryd's manner now that forbade it. The men, too, watched and listened to the boy with a quiet, thoughtful respect.

Upon seeing Sasha, Rysha had leaped from her mother's lap with a cry and run to her. Sasha had picked her up, hugged her, then carried her back to the fireside, where she'd given Daryd a more respectful kiss on the cheek. The Udalyn boy had at least had the good grace to blush. Introductions had followed, to the astonishment of all the family when they realised who she was. Aisha, Sasha discovered with incredulity, was now partly fluent in Edu, from her time riding with the children, and these last few days in the valley. Barely a week to learn a new language. Even for serrin, it hardly seemed possible.

Aisha had shrugged. “Well, I know Cherrovan,” she'd explained. “Did you know that Cherrovan is actually the root tongue for much of the northern Lenay tongues? If you know Cherrovan, Lenay and Lisani, you can work out the rest pretty fast.”

“You know Lisani too?” Sasha had asked, aghast. Lisani was the most prominent western tongue, named as such for its origins from the great Lisan Empire beyond the western Morovian Mountains. The mountains were nearly impassable, and contact between Lenayin and the unfriendly Lisan was rare.

“Actually,” said Aisha, “Lenay Lisani is very different from the actual Lisani of the Lisan Empire. Some serrin scholars speculate it actually came from Kazeri, from Kazerak to the south. Others insist it is entirely indigenous to western Lenayin. I have some ideas of my own, I'd love to travel there in more peaceful times.”

“You speak Kazeri too?” Sasha had sighed, resignedly.

“Of course!” Aisha had been scandalised. “How can one speculate as to the origins of Lenay Lisani without knowing Kazeri?”

“How indeed.” Sasha had found it a little depressing, in truth, to be confronted by a foreign people who knew far more about Lenayin than she ever would. Terel had told her afterward that Aisha spoke seventeen languages, not including her native Saalsi dialects. She was now intent on making that eighteen, in the days they had left in the valley.

“That's inhuman,” Sasha had made the mistake of remarking.

“Indeed,” Terel had replied, with an amused flash of bright red-brown eyes. And Sasha had realised that she'd only stated the obvious.

She'd left Family Yuvenar together at their fireplace, pleased that at least one family had found an entirely happy ending. And had dared to wonder if her own family could ever dream of such a future.

She wondered now, sitting with Sofy and Errollyn by their own little fireplace. Teriyan and Andreyis were off carousing with the rest of the Baerlyn gang. A part of her wanted to be with them, but she knew it would be wrong. She was the leader. She could not favour one group of soldiers with her presence without offending the others.

“Where's Aisha and Terel?” she asked Errollyn, watching the surrounding commotion. There was a lot of music, much of it poorly played, but the dancing was of a higher quality. Udalyn and other Lenay men, having no other means of communication, resorted to songs, dances and friendly contests of strength or knife-throwing. And, of course, that age-old contest of thick-headed men who ought to know better—drinking.

“Terel found an old lady who carves wooden figures in a traditional Udalyn style,” said Errollyn. The firelight lit his eyes to a bright, flickering green that was like nothing human. He sat on an old stump, elbows on knees, gazing at the fire with a cup in his hand. “Terel's a master with wood. I believe she's giving him a tour of her cottage, it's just nearby. Aisha is no doubt off talking to every Udalyn she can. Working on her accent.”

“I saw her,” Sofy said, nodding. The cup in her hand was half empty—the first cup of wine Sofy had tasted in her life. She looked a little unsteady, but Sasha was not about to stop her sister's one night of rebellion just yet. “She was attracting quite a crowd. All very gentlemanly, I was pleased to see. And plenty of Udalyn women around to make certain their husbands did not wander.”

“She deserves a distraction or two,” Errollyn said quietly. “She misses Tassi. She does not relish the long ride back to Petrodor without her.”

Saalshen's trading interests in Petrodor were huge, Sasha knew. Kessligh said that Saalshen's wealth had built Petrodor and turned it from a little fishing village to the most wealthy city in all Rhodia. She did not pretend to understand the complex web of power and relationships between the various competing families that dominated the Petrodor trade, the trading interests of Saalshen, the mainland feudal lords, the dockside poor with their strong ties to the Nasi-Keth, and, of course, the hugely powerful Verenthane priesthood. But she was determined to learn as much as she could from Errollyn before she arrived in Petrodor herself. A three-week journey to a foreign land where she had never travelled before. A part of her looked forward to it. And a part of her dreaded it, for fear that she would truly never see her homeland or her people again.

“I'd love to see Petrodor,” Sofy sighed. “It's not fair that I have to travel all the way to the Bacosh, but I won't get to see anything interesting along the way.”

“Oh, untrue,” Errollyn said with a smile. “If your column takes the most direct route from Baen-Tar, you will travel through Vonnersen and see the riverside capital of Lanos. The crown palace there has sheer walls that rise a hundred armspans from the riverside, and towers that loom well above even that. And I hear that Telesia is a lovely place, where the highlands fade into low, and the land is rolling meadows with a thousand kinds of flower and a hundred kinds of grapevine.”

“I don't think they'll travel through Vonnersen,” Sasha replied. “When Sofy's wedding party goes, it'll be as part of the marching Lenay army. Vonnersen won't want that army marching through their lands. They've had bad experiences with Lenay armies in the past. And Telesia will want them crossing furthest from their cities too.”

Errollyn shrugged. “Well, southern Torovan is very pretty,” he offered. “And you'll travel through northern Bacosh, where there are some fantastic castles and palaces.”

“Such a long way,” Sofy said quietly. She sipped again at her wine. “Still, it shall be spring. I have a winter yet to last through.”

“I'll be there, Sofy,” Sasha assured her. “Somehow, I'll be there. You shan't be married without me, I swear it.”

When Sofy looked at her, her eyes seemed to shine in the firelight. “You shouldn't make promises you don't know if you can keep,” she replied. “I'll be fine. My father shall be there to marry me off. And some of my brothers, at least.”

Sasha shook her head. “Kessligh insists that Petrodor is the key to preventing this conflict. I'm still uncertain. I have a feeling that I'll be finding my way across to the Bacosh at some point. I think we all will, whether we like it or not.”

Sofy smiled. Then smothered a laugh behind her hand. “Oh dear,” she half-giggled. Sasha and Errollyn exchanged glances. “I'm sorry,” said Sofy, recovering herself. “It must be the wine. I just recalled that Alythia's wedding party should be arriving in Baen-Tar from Petrodor just now. Only no one's there! How beastly of me to find that funny. The poor girl, she must be distraught. How embarrassing for her.”

“Another reason for her to hate me,” said Sasha with a shrug. “I'm sure that'll suit her well enough.”

“She'll learn,” Sofy sighed, considering the contents of her cup.

“What?” Sasha pressed, with a sly smile. “No haughty defence of Princess Alythia?”

Sofy smiled. “It's not that. It's just that…well, I was feeling so sorry for myself for a while as I was gardening here…you know, wishing for the innocent little girl that I was, and wondering if I could ever be her again. But then I realised that no one can. This valley is different today. It'll never be what it was, and the Udalyn will never be what they were—and for the better, I hope. And it occurred to me that not only is it inevitable that people can't always get their own way, it's good. Usyn didn't get his own way. The Tyree lords didn't. And if they can't, then it should be no surprise that I can't, either. And neither will Alythia.”

“Nor I,” Sasha agreed sadly.

“Nor any of us,” said Errollyn.

Sasha gazed at him for a long moment. She could not, at this moment, be with her Baerlyn friends. Kessligh had gone to Petrodor. The old foundations that had once underpinned her life had all shifted, and now there was a new path before her. She had served Lenayin as best she could in this one, desperate act. Now, she would follow her uman to Petrodor. She was Nasi-Keth, and Petrodor was a stronghold not only for them, but for the serrin as well. She gazed at Errollyn, and wondered if this future she glimpsed was really so strange and unpredictable after all. The serrin had always been an enormous part of her life, through Kessligh, and the svaalverd, and the many teachings of the Nasi-Keth. Kessligh thought she had not given those teachings, and that heritage, the respect that it had deserved. Perhaps now it was time to put old grievances to bed. Time, as the old Valhanan saying went, to put the shoe on the right foot for a change.

“So, Master Errollyn,” she said. “
Ras'el malhrahn tilosse?
” How do you see the road?

Errollyn smiled. “
Way'un ei
,” he said. Steep. No…more than steep.
Ei
, the active tense of
ei'lehn
, the root word for “curl,” as a girl's hair might curl, or a dying leaf. Saalsi words came often in two parts, which came together and came apart to make new meanings, and hint at many more. Steep and winding, but with a hint of beauty in the treachery. “
Leh bel'eraine mahd'se fal
svain'ah si.
” But the view has such beauty. Or no…not beauty. Enlightenment?
Svainerlai
was an old form of “beautiful,” meaning something ancient and beautiful, but the
ah
probably came from
ahshti
, a related word that meant, very roughly, “to gain enlightenment from beauty.” And so…