Sasha (75 page)

“Your Highness,” Lord Rydysh broke in angrily, in heavily accented Lenay, “this is madness! You bargain with traitors! Look, this whelp threatens insurrection even now!”

“Any enemy of the Tyree nobility is an enemy of the Valhanan nobility too,” Lord Kumaryn added, ominously, looking hard at Jaryd. “Should our noble friends in Tyree be threatened, all of Valhanan shall ride to their aid.”

“All of Valhanan wouldn't ride to your funeral, Kumaryn,” Jaryd retorted. “You don't speak for all of Valhanan any more than I speak for all of Saalshen.”

“Silence!” Torvaal shouted. From either side of the table, the lords glared at Jaryd and Akryd. Behind them, Damon took another sip from his cup, apparently disgusted. “I shall not have arrogant fools destroy these talks before they have even begun.”

“Talks!” Lord Rydysh snorted. “She's your daughter! Bring her to heel like a true Verenthane lord, show her her place with the back of your hand!”

“You watch your mouth with the king!” Koenyg snarled, turning on the northern great lord.

“Bah!” Lord Rydysh waved a dismissive hand. “Southerners have no balls. Your Highness, I tell you again—let me raise my forces and we'll ride through these traitors like a scythe through wheat!”

“She has seven thousand to command,” Lord Parabys of Neysh came to his king's defence. “Don't be a damn fool, man.”

“Seven thousand and the Udalyn,” Sasha told them. “They've barely any cavalry, but taken all together it's a good ten thousand warriors. One move against me and all Hadryn's remaining force shall be destroyed between us. We'll give them as much mercy as they gave the Udalyn. That'll be most of Hadryn's standing soldiery gone. And almost all of their lords, I believe.”

“You unutterable fool!” exclaimed Lord Kumaryn, horrified. “You are not merely a traitor, but an enemy of Lenayin! The Hadryn are the shield of the north! You would destroy the very protection that saves Lenayin from Cherrovan domination!”

“I'm not playing dice for a few coppers here!” Sasha retorted, allowing her voice to rise in volume. “I know exactly what I'm up against.” With a hard stare at Lord Rydysh. “You have all lost the Goeren-yai. Not all of them, but an awful lot. That's neither my fault, nor my doing—I was recruited, plucked from my dungeon without any foreknowledge of what had been planned. This uprising was
their
choice, not mine.

“You've made a mess, my Lords. You've ignored the wishes of the very people whose welfare is supposed to be utmost in your hearts, and now you pay the price. They will
not
just lie down and let you ride over the top of them. If you fight them, they will fight back, and you know by now that there's an awful lot of them. It's your choice, my Lords. I'm perfectly happy for it all to stop right here. But the terms must be favourable. Unfavourable terms have already roused them to fight once. Assuredly they could do so again.”

“No terms!” snarled Lord Rydysh, utterly unimpressed. “No terms with pagan traitors! Not on northern soil! We would rather die!”

“Perhaps that's just as well,” Sasha said coldly. “We've already killed two of the three northern great lords this ride. Why don't we make it a clean sweep?”

Lord Rydysh glared at her, his narrow, dark eyes blazing fury. No one had realised that Great Lord Cyan of Banneryd had been amongst the defenders of Ymoth. He'd partaken in the cavalry defence and died within a few strides of Captain Tyrun before the Ymoth walls. Word had reached Sasha just ahead of King Torvaal's arrival, when someone from the Ymoth burial detail had realised just who the corpse had been.

Sasha gave Lord Rydysh a nasty little smile. “It hasn't been a wonderful month for northern great lords, has it? Three in thirty days. Your gods must love you dearly, to be claiming you all so fast.”

“You speak of the deaths of Lenayin's finest as though it gave you pleasure!” Kumaryn exclaimed.

“Lenayin's finest picked their fight with me and with the Goeren-yai long ago,” Sasha replied, unimpressed. “Their fight, their consequences, their problem. Not mine.”

“You speak as though all the Goeren-yai worship you,” said Great Lord Faras of Isfayen, contemptuously. “The Goeren-yai of Isfayen have barely heard your name. It is the same in most of the west and the south. The north despises you, and there are few Goeren-yai of consequence in Baen-Tar.

“In truth, all that follow you can be drawn from Valhanan, Tyree and Taneryn. You may stand now with seven thousand beneath you, but should the other great lords call their forces down upon you, seven thousand would seem as a sapling before the forest. The Goeren-yai of Isfayen shall not weep for you.”

Sasha knew that he spoke the truth. The Goeren-yai of the western provinces of Yethulyn, Fyden and Isfayen practised ancient beliefs tending toward a mysticism that very few easterners pretended to understand. All had been traditionally hostile toward foreigners, and so had had little contact with either serrin or fellow Lenays over the centuries, except through conquest and bloody battles. They had participated in the Great War sparingly, preferring to let the easterners and northerners bleed against the invading Cherrovan army. Kessligh was no legend worth the speaking in the west, and the Nasi-Keth just another bunch of odd foreigners. Company soldiers had ridden with her, those having been in Baen-Tar, and having seen and heard of injustice firsthand, and company soldiers tended to be more well travelled than most. But for the most part, she would find no love in the west, and probably not in the south, either. Neither would the serrin.

“You may speak the truth,” said Captain Akryd at her back, long-haired and grim, his thumbs tucked into his swordbelt. “It matters not. She has Taneryn, she has Valhanan and she has much of Tyree. I speak for Taneryn in Lord Krayliss's absence. Not many of us cared for that pompous goat. But we care for the Udalyn, and we reject the rule of Verenthane lords.”

His eyes fixed hard on his king. “You are not King Soros, Your Highness,” he continued. “You have not come to liberate us from anything, and we don't owe you any more than a fistful of horseshit. Should you find a leader amongst the Taneryn to elevate to a lordship, we'll kill him. Should you send priests to convert our poor pagan souls, we'll kill them. Should you send a Verenthane lord from the outside to rule over us, we'll kill him. Should you send armies to enforce any of these rules, we'll fight them until there's not a Taneryn man left alive.”

“That is acceptable!” Lord Rydysh spat. “Your Highness, please accept this pagan's challenge.”

“We are not here to bargain for the fate of Taneryn,” Koenyg told Captain Akryd, unable to hold his tongue any longer. “We discuss the fate of the Udalyn, and the fate of the Hadryn army, and that's all!”

“It's the same thing!” Sasha retorted in exasperation. “You don't understand a thing, Koenyg. You never did.” Her eldest brother glared at her. “The Goeren-yai of Taneryn, Valhanan and Tyree are angry as all hells. Angry enough to defy a king they've otherwise always respected. And they do still respect you, Father.” Meeting Torvaal's impassive stare across the table. “Don't they, Captain?”

“Aye, M'Lady,” Akryd echoed. “Never had no quarrel with the king. The king brings peace and trade. It's the lords we've had a full stomach of.”

“We're here to discuss terms for a peace,” Sasha said firmly. “Terms acceptable enough to allow angry men who've ridden against the king's wishes to go back home and care for their families. If you don't understand why they're so angry, then you'll never be able to offer those terms. They only ask you to listen, Father. Listen to them, as you've been listening to the lords. The lords would have you believe that they are the only voice in the land. These men tell you differently. Only if you listen to
all
the voices of Lenayin can there be peace.

“Lords’ rule might work well in the lowlands, but Lenayin is
different
. Lowlands peasants live their whole lives doing what their lords tell them. It doesn't work here, and it's time all you lowland-lovers learned it! Lenays have
never
liked being told what to do! They'd rather fight. Even the poorest Lenay farmer is a formidable warrior. You've been kicking the hornets’ nest for far too long, my Lords, and finally the hornets are swarming. I only tell you what you need to know to let them go back to their nests and leave you alone. But if you refuse to listen, there will be nothing in Lenayin's future but blood and tears. Even in Isfayen,” she added, with a glare toward Lord Faras, “where the Goeren-yai may not give a holy damnation about me. You try and put them under the feudal yoke, there'll be enough blood on the hills of Isfayen to make the rivers of Raani run red for a month.”

“Name your terms,” Torvaal said suddenly. Sasha stared at him, completely off guard. Blinked, trying to gather her thoughts. Behind their king, the lords were seething, but they dared not interrupt once the king had made his request. She had to get this right.

“Safe passage for all these men,” she said finally. “Reinstatement of all those who may have lost title, rank or pay—with no punishments.” Torvaal simply listened, his black-gloved fingers interlaced on the tabletop. “The Udalyn shall be granted royal protection. Royal soldiers shall hold open the Udalyn pass into Valhanan. The Udalyn shall be allowed to trade, to move back and forth, and to become a part of broader Lenayin. Royal soldiers shall ensure the safety of any moving along the pass.”

“Impossible!” Lord Rydysh snapped. “The Hadryn shall never agree! Royal soldiers on Hadryn soil is a violation of the sanctity of lords’ rights, an insult to Hadryn pride, and is against the letter of the king's law as written by King Soros!”

“King Soros is dead,” Sasha replied, looking only at her father. “King Torvaal rules now.” Perhaps there was a flicker of response in her father's dark eyes. Or maybe she imagined it. It was unclear why the Hadryn had not sent a representative to these talks. Perhaps, with Usyn dead, they had not reached agreement on who led them. Or they found the prospect of talks with their female vanquisher too shameful to bear. Even so, Sasha suspected something more was at play. Where matters of power were in question between lords, it was always safest to assume intrigue.

“Continue,” her father said simply.

“No additional powers shall be granted to the great lords, nor to the nobility in general—no new taxes, no new rules of justice, no more authority over the priesthood, nothing.” There were, predictably, cries of outrage. Sasha ignored them. So, for the moment, did the king.

“Continue,” said Torvaal, once the outbursts had faded. Could it be that there was a faintly different expression now upon his face? It seemed to Sasha that there was…perhaps a wry acknowledgement of a common exasperation between them—the lords. And, just maybe, a hint of…no, not pride. Respect. An acknowledgement that perhaps father and daughter, as little as they knew each other, were alike in one respect—in stubbornness, and determination, and an utter disdain for the disapproval of others.

“The Taneryn shall be free to choose their own succession to Lord Krayliss,” Sasha continued. “I understand from Captain Akryd that Krayliss's eldest son now claims the title of great lord, but under the ancient ways, such claims can be challenged. I understand that none of Krayliss's sons are particularly respected in Taneryn, and a challenge may be forthcoming. Whatever the result, the Verenthane great lords, and the king, should respect the result.”

“The ancient ways have never truly recognised great lords, however Krayliss styled himself,” Torvaal stated, with grim curiosity. “How can the laws of the ancient ways determine the outcome of a modern, and some would claim Verenthane, invention?”

Sasha blinked at him. It was the question of a knowledgeable man. She was astonished. And, just as quickly, she doubted herself. How well did she know her father truly? And how often had Kessligh insisted, against her own disbelief, that all through Krystoff's life, King Torvaal had been a fair and just man with the Goeren-yai? Things had only changed when Krystoff had died, he'd told her. When the sheer weight of protest from Lenayin's Verenthane leaders had shifted the path of the future, and convinced the king that his previous vision for the kingdom had been ungodly after all. Her father's knowledge of the ancient ways was not dead, it seemed. Merely dormant.

“The ancient ways are flexible,” Captain Akryd spoke up. “Taneryn has its own Rathynals, where chiefs and village seniors gather to discuss matters of the province. We shall arrange another. The old ways accept much that is new, Your Highness, even if Lord Krayliss did not. Not all in Taneryn are like him.”

“Might you stand for the Great Lordship of Taneryn yourself, Captain Akryd?” the king asked shrewdly. “Lord Krayliss spoke often of saving the Udalyn, but it is you who stand here today.”

Sasha resisted the urge to turn around and look. Behind, she heard a creak of mail and leather as Akryd shrugged. “Perhaps,” he answered.

Torvaal considered him with narrowed eyes. Pressed his lips thin and gazed out of the cottage windows across the sunlit expanse of valley. “It is beautiful here,” he conceded. “The Udalyn have cared for their valley for many centuries. It seems that the gods have plans for this to continue.”

“Your Highness!” Lord Rydysh exclaimed angrily. “The gods put men in the world to do their bidding and fight their battles! One does not simply give up the battle as lost because of setbacks! At least we must demand that the Udalyn convert! This is Verenthane land, surrounded by Verenthane peoples! To ask the two to continue to coexist would be folly!”

“They do everywhere else in Lenayin,” the king said mildly. “Why not here?”

“This is the north!” Lord Rydysh seethed. “We value our independence. These lands are ours. We do things our way, Your Highness. King Soros decreed that it would be so.”

“King Soros is dead,” said the king. “I rule now.” Lord Rydysh glared at him, grinding his teeth. Koenyg looked uncomfortable and uncertain. For twelve years, the powerful men of Lenayin had taken the king's lack of involvement in such matters for granted.

Watching him, Sasha felt her heart thumping with a new, hopeful urgency. Dared she hope? Dared anyone hope that the old king had finally returned?