Sasha (76 page)

“The Hadryn have been defeated on their home soil, Lord Rydysh,” Torvaal said. “The gods have chosen. The victor is clear.”

King Torvaal turned to Sasha. “Your terms are acceptable.” There was a deathly stillness. Sasha could see the lords thinking furiously. She wondered how long any decree, even the king's, could survive against all the forces pushing the other way.

“I, however,” Torvaal continued, “have terms of my own.”

Sasha nodded. “Name them.”

“All men who rode on this adventure shall once again declare their fealty to the throne, upon their honour. Only then shall they receive their pardon.”

“Of course,” Sasha agreed. “They never
left
your service, Father. They fight unjust lords and bigotry, not the king.”

“It gives me little comfort to preside as a neutral over a Lenay civil war,” Torvaal said somewhat testily. “Sofy shall return to me, and quickly.”

“Aye,” said Sasha. “She will when she's ready.” Her father's stare darkened at that. “Father, this is her first breath of freedom in eighteen years! Give the girl a little time.”

“Two days,” Torvaal said firmly. “She keeps the company of rough men and soldiers. People will talk. It will not do.”

“She tends our wounded,” Sasha corrected, dryly. “She assists those in need.”

“Two days,” Torvaal repeated.

Sasha sighed. “Aye, Your Highness.”

“Master Jaryd shall present himself to his Tyree lords for judgment.”

“Not a bloody chance,” Sasha said grimly.

“Sashandra,” said her father, with the beginnings of temper, “the powers of a king in Lenayin are limited. The lords rule within their provinces, up to the point where those rights come into conflict with the king's law. A king has no say in a fight between provincial lords. This is an internal matter for Tyree. It must be settled.”

“What's to settle?” Sasha retorted, glaring at Lord Arastyn standing over by a window. “Family Nyvar is no more. You are Great Lord of Tyree now, Arastyn. Why do you need Jaryd?”

“Tyree law is Tyree law,” Arastyn said stonily. “It is immutable.”

“Aye, well we're not
in
Tyree!” Sasha snapped. “I have seven thousand under my command, and I make the rules for men beneath my command. You want him, you come and get him.”

“Your Highness,” Arastyn said to Torvaal, “she is unreasonable.” Torvaal gave him a look that suggested him a fool to have expected anything else.

“Who'll you get to come and take me?” Jaryd said from Sasha's back. His tone was flat, edged with darkness. “The Falcon Guard? They stand with me. You are powerless, Arastyn. A powerless coward. All the power and wealth of the Tyree nobility, and you're afraid of one man who does not respect your laws.

“Well, damn right I don't respect your laws. I challenge those laws. I challenge
you
, Arastyn. I challenge you to a duel. If you want me dead, you'll have to kill me yourself.”

“Master Jaryd,” Arastyn said, with dry contempt, “even a fool like you should know our laws better than to think a landless nothing like you can challenge his superior to a duel.”

“Verenthane law, aye,” said Jaryd. “But not Goeren-yai.”

Arastyn stared at him, uncomprehendingly. “Goeren-yai? Master Jaryd, you are a Verenthane.”

“Aye,” said Jaryd, reaching beneath his collar, “well, not anymore.” He pulled free his Verenthane star, snapped the silver chain about his neck with a sharp tug, and threw it at Arastyn's feet. “I reject your gods. I reject your law. From this moment, I follow the ancient ways. And I challenge you to mortal combat, Lord Arastyn, for the Great Lordship of Tyree, and the death of my brother and father.”

About the room, men stared in disbelief. “You…” Arastyn began, and floundered, speechless.

“You can't do that!” exclaimed Lord Parabys, horrified.

“Good gods, man!” said Lord Kumaryn. “What of your soul?”

“Arastyn took that when he killed my brother,” Jaryd snarled. “If the gods shall not allow me my revenge, then I rest my claim with the ancient spirits instead.”

Koenyg snorted in profound frustration, and flicked a gloved hand through his hair. “Where's a priest when we need one?” he muttered.

King Torvaal frowned hard at Jaryd. Evidently thinking. When
was
the last time a Verenthane noble had converted, Sasha wondered past her astonishment? If it had ever happened, she couldn't recall it. Plenty of senior Goeren-yai had converted the
other
way to please King Soros…but this? She couldn't recall it happening even amongst poor, common Verenthanes.

Lord Arastyn fingered his own neckchain uncomfortably. He seemed a naturally calm and sensible man. A trustworthy man, with an inoffensive, handsome face. Exactly the kind of person, Kessligh insisted in his more cynical moments, from whom one should expect the worst treachery. “Even if such a thing were possible,” Arastyn said defensively, “you are still a man of Tyree. You are subject to our laws and punishments.”

“And as Goeren-yai,” Sasha added, “he is entitled to redeem a slight upon his honour, no matter how high the rank of the man he challenges.”

“After his trial,” Arastyn said stubbornly.

“Before,” Sasha insisted, shaking her head. Nice try, slippery worm. “He can't challenge after you've cut his head off.”

“Actually,” said Captain Akryd, conversationally, “this is the kind of thing a Goeren-yai man's immediate headman or chieftain should decide. Duels must be conducted according to the proper protocol.”

“Pagan madness!” Lord Rydysh snarled, and strode from the cottage with a disgusted wave of his arm. He exited with a slam of the rear door.

“Who would be Master Jaryd's immediate superior?” asked the king, as if Lord Rydysh had never spoken, nor stormed out in rage. “Given his…circumstance?”

“Your Highness!” Lord Parabys exclaimed. “You're not seriously considering
allowing
this…this…”

“I'm not a priest, but I don't see how a man can be instructed by others on what he does or does not believe,” said the king, looking at Akryd. “How about your poor bloody daughter?” Sasha nearly asked, but didn't. “Captain Akryd, humour my curiosity.”

“Well, Your Highness,” said Akryd, “I believe since Master Jaryd is not born into a Goeren-yai community, and has no village headman to speak for him, his senior commander in military matters should suffice for a judgment.”

“As the senior military Goeren-yai,” Torvaal observed, “that would be you.”

“Aye, Highness,” said Akryd, somewhat smugly. “It seems a quandary, does it not? One law for Verenthanes, another for Goeren-yai.”

“One of the great quandaries of Lenayin,” the king agreed. “Especially considering the Goeren-yai
have
no written law, and will not accept one. There is only tradition.”

“One reason, perhaps, why Goeren-yai and Verenthane do not frequently live together,” said Akryd. “These squabbles can be confusing.”

“And one reason why certain Verenthanes would like nothing better than to see the Goeren-yai destroyed completely,” Sasha said darkly, with a stare at the lords.

“There is no solution,” said Akryd with a shrug. “Lord Arastyn need not comply with Master Jaryd's demand, yet the opposite is also true. It is the sort of matter on which a king could intervene as judge, Your Highness, but as you have already stated, kings cannot intervene on provincial matters.”

“Hmm,” said Torvaal. Another man, Sasha knew, might have raved at “pagan madness” just as Lord Rydysh had. But her father was actually considering the problem, no matter how it bothered his Verenthane soul. This was why Kessligh had served the man so unswervingly for nearly twenty years. King Torvaal, cold as stone and about as impassive, was one of the fairest men in Lenayin.

“Your Highness,” Lord Arastyn said stonily, “Master Jaryd must face Tyree justice. This is imperative. We have enough great lords present for an appeal to be lodged, should you not allow Tyree's rightful justice.”

“Any more out of you,” Sasha told him, with darkening temper, “and I'll challenge you myself. I
am
Verenthane and such
is
my right, since you've made no finding of law or any other of your pointless horseshit against me. Unless you fancy yourself more than an equal to the departed Farys Varan with a blade, I'd suggest you shut your mouth.”

“You would require fair cause to challenge the Great Lord of Tyree,” Arastyn bit out, with barely restrained frustration and anger. “Your father would have to decide if your challenge was valid, and there is no fair cause that you could offer that would…”

“Fair cause!” Sasha said loudly, placing both hands flat to the table as if preparing to rise. “I am the uma of Kessligh Cronenverdt, the daughter of King Torvaal Lenayin, the saviour of the Udalyn people, and you're
making me angry
!”

Arastyn swallowed. There were great lords who would have accepted her challenge, not because they were fools, but because they were brave, and honourable, and Lenay. Lord Arastyn, Sasha was sourly noting, seemed to have dubious claims to all three.

“A personal insult seems a very fair cause,” Damon offered from the back of the room. He was considering his cup, offhandedly. “You're trying to kill a friend of hers, Lord Arastyn. And a friend of mine. I think you'd best quit while you've still a head on your shoulders.”

Arastyn gave a bow. “I must discuss with my fellow Tyree lords,” he said. “If I can be excused…” He left without waiting for confirmation, following the path that Lord Rydysh had taken out the back door.

Sasha ran her gaze along the remaining lords. “We're losing them fast this morning,” she remarked. “I wonder who shall be next?”

“I have one more term to state,” said the king.

“Only one? Name it.”

“You yourself shall be banished from Lenayin for the rest of your life.”

Sasha gazed at him. Her father's expression held no remorse, and no pity. From Koenyg, she saw cold satisfaction, as if there were at least one good thing to have come from these events. She was not surprised. She knew the trouble that her continued presence in Lenayin would cause the lords, and therefore her father. But it hurt all the same.

“Absolutely not!” Captain Akryd exclaimed. “There can be no question. The men shall not accept.”

“The lords call for your head,” Torvaal said, looking only at Sasha. “By the king's law, I can pardon the soldiers of a rebellion. But the law demands death for its leader. I offer you mercy.”

“No deal!” said Akryd, angrily. “You assume too much, Your Highness! We are the victors in this fight, not you!”

“For how long?” Koenyg retorted, standing grim-faced near his father's side, thick arms folded across his mailed chest. “Every Lenay region or province to rise up against the Cherrovan always won its initial encounters. But once the Cherrovan brought their full weight of force to bear, the uprising was crushed. The throne has not even begun to bring its full weight of force to bear. We had hoped such drastic measures would not prove necessary.”

“Oh aye, your mercy and forbearance are well known throughout Lenayin, Prince Koenyg!” Akryd retorted sarcastically. Sasha held up her hand to silence him.

“It's all right, Akryd,” she said quietly. “I knew that this would happen. My father has no choice. Maintaining a balance of power in Lenayin is difficult at the best of times. My presence here, having led this rebellion, now threatens that balance.”

“That's the point!” Akryd exclaimed, striding to the side of the table so he could look down on her. “M'Lady, you rode for the Goeren-yai!”

“I rode for Lenayin,” Sasha corrected solemnly, looking up at him.

The long-haired, plain-faced Taneryn man shook his head in frustration. “What's the difference? We had to choose a leader, and it was between you and Krayliss! We chose you and now you would abandon us?”

Sasha sighed, tiredly. “Please, Akryd, just…just think. This isn't about us and them. It's about Lenayin. Far more than I stand for the Goeren-yai, I stand for Lenayin. The nobles view a united Goeren-yai as a threat to everything they've worked for. They will attack us. They will attack me, more precisely. I will need protection. All the Goeren-yai flock to my defence, and the next thing you know, that's a civil war. The king has no power without the support of the lords. He must support them, or there is no king in Lenayin. No king in Lenayin, and we're back to where we were beneath the Cherrovan heel, a bloody rabble, and a united kingdom no longer.”

“You're…you're saying a united Goeren-yai would be
bad
for Lenayin?” Akryd looked disbelieving. “What were we riding for, if not for that?”

“The Goeren-yai are
not
united,” Sasha said firmly. “Lord Faras is right in that. The west and the south are mostly not with us. They are strangers to us. It's not the right time, Akryd. Now is not the moment to make such a stand.”

“When then?” Akryd showed no sign of retreat. His eyes were angry, and he showed no qualm in displaying such disunity before the watching eyes of the Verenthane lords. One of Lord Krayliss's men, Sasha reminded herself. A passionate man, willing to fight, whatever the cost. Reckon that into any future Lenayin, should he or a man like him become the new Great Lord of Taneryn. “When would be the right time, if not now?”

Sasha returned her gaze to her father. “Lenayin marches to war,” she said. “War in a foreign land, far from home. Our leaders feel we have allies there. They feel we shall be amongst friends, fighting for the Larosa, and the other, Verenthane Bacosh. I feel otherwise. I believe that our leaders are fools to believe appeals to Verenthane brotherhood, as if a common faith can patch over the profound differences that exist between peoples from far away lands. I believe our Bacosh friends will stab Lenayin in the back at the first opportunity, and leave us to bleed and die. Kingdoms are built in such ventures. Men from all over Lenayin will march and serve side-by-side, as they have never done before in all their long history. I wonder if the leaders of Lenayin shall emerge from such a campaign with the same sense of where Lenayin's future lies as they hold today. Many things can change on the road to war.”