Sasha (9 page)

“But the response of the Verenthanes was not good, especially in the north. And precious few Nasi-Keth from Petrodor have felt inspired to follow me to the highlands.” He shrugged. “Perhaps it would have been different had Krystoff lived. Then Lenayin would have had a king both Verenthane and Nasi-Keth, as are so many in Petrodor.”

“And we have the Hadryn to thank that it didn't happen,” Sasha muttered.

Kessligh fixed her with a hard stare. “Sasha. What happened to Krystoff is old history. It hurt me as much as it hurt you. But we're riding into this mess now on the king's business, and the king must be impartial. If you feel that will be a problem for you, best that you tell me now.”

“They killed him,” Sasha said darkly. “Not by their own hands, but nearly.”

“I know,” said Kessligh. “It changes nothing.”

“And who are you to be accusing me of partisan loyalties?” Sasha retorted. “Saalshen is losing credit fast with Father, and doubtless the Nasi-Keth with them. And now you come on this ride claiming to act in Father's interests?”

“I have always been your father's servant,” Kessligh said flatly. “I've fought in his service since I rode to Lenayin thirty years ago.”

“And should Father act against the Nasi-Keth?” Sasha persisted. “What then?”

“Then,” said Kessligh, “I shall cross that bridge when I come to it.”

C
AMPFIRES LIT SMALL CIRCLES OF LIGHT
in the forest, a leaping dance of tree trunks and long, flickering shadows. Men gathered about their fires and cooked, while others tended to horses, or mended worn gear. There was cloud overhead, the wind was gentle from the south, and Sasha knew it would not grow so cold tonight. But she missed the stars, her one great consolation for nights upon the road.

“There is dispute over Lord Krayliss's ancestry,” Damon said as the regal party ate. Sasha wolfed her meal with her usual appetite—roasted meat on skewers, and a vegetable raal Kessligh had whipped up. Damon, however, seemed to pick at his food. “I've heard it claimed that he's not actually Udalyn at all.”

To Sasha's surprise, he looked directly at her. As if she, above all others present, would be likely to know. Well, perhaps she would. “His grandmother,” she managed about a hot mouthful, seated upon her saddle with a tin plate balanced in her lap. “So it's said. But the maternal grandmother, not the paternal.”

Damon frowned. “That's important?”

“In the old ways, power passes through the paternal line. A maternal grandmother is the weakest claim to ancestry. But then, some have accused Krayliss of overstatement.” To her left, Captain Tyrun repressed a humourless laugh. From across the fire, Jaryd frowned at her above the flames.

“How important is it?” Damon asked bluntly. “To be Udalyn?”

“For Krayliss?” Sasha raised her eyebrows. “Very. Spirits know he gains precious little credit among the Goeren-yai from anything else.”

“To claim ancestry to the chieftain of a dying clan who were once in league with the Cherrovan?” Damon looked dubious.

Sasha could not resist a glance around to see who else might overhear. But the neighbouring fireplace conversations were too distant, and too jovial, for that to be likely. “People in these parts see it differently,” she said warningly.

Damon made a dismissive gesture. “I'll never understand it,” he said darkly. “This obsession with the Udalyn. They've barely emerged from their valley for a century, have been little good to anyone, yet Goeren-yai the length and breadth of Lenayin worship their name.” He took a reluctant bite of his meat.

Sasha glanced at Kessligh, seated to her right. He gazed into the flames as he ate. His eyes were unfocused, as if he saw the ghosts of past memories dancing amongst the coals. “Best perhaps that you tell your brother that story,” he said then, distantly. “We ride squarely into this matter, much unresolved. Best that he understands.”

Sasha nodded. “I agree. But I think one here might tell it better than I.” She looked across to Captain Tyrun.

Tyrun looked surprised. “Me, M'Lady? I'm Verenthane, I claim no great wisdom here.”

“Today at the talleryn stones of Spearman's Ridge,” Sasha said, “you showed respect for the dead. You rode toward the sun, so as not to cast your shadow upon the roadside stones. And you gave the spirit sign.” Tyrun nodded slowly, with new respect in his eyes. “The tolerance of Tyree Verenthanes is well known.”

“Aye, M'Lady,” said Tyrun, nodding slowly. “I might know a little. Men of Tyree sit often and speak of honour and war. To speak of such matters with Goeren-yai anywhere is to speak of the Udalyn.”

Damon, Sasha thought, looked a little uncomfortable. Well that he should, she thought sourly. To display such ignorance was to admit that he had never sat and talked with Goeren-yai warriors before. So much for the high esteem of Family Lenayin for the ancient ways.

“Prior to the Liberation,” Tyrun began, “there were two clans dominating the province that is now Hadryn. The Udalyn occupied the east, and the Hadryn the west. They were similar, yet different enough to provoke a hostility many centuries old. Intermarriage between the two was punished by the death of both parents and offspring. The bloodlines were kept pure. Northerners have always believed in purity—once as Goeren-yai, and now as Verenthanes.

“Understand, my Prince, that the north was once the bedrock of Goeren-yai belief. Many of the great Lenay heroes of old were from the north, men of a steel forged in battles against the eternal Cherrovan foe, between rival clans, and with the harsh terrain and climate.

But the Cherrovan warlords were strong, often destroying entire Lenay villages. Tharyn Askar, the great Udalyn Chieftain, compromised with the Cherrovan in his lands, so that his people could grow healthy and strong, and not drained by constant minor uprisings and reprisals. He desired liberation from the Cherrovan also, but knew that the Udalyn had not yet the strength.

“He might not have had to compromise if the Hadryn hadn't remained more interested in waging war on the Udalyn than the Cherrovan,” Sasha added, sipping water from her tin cup. “As men tell the story in Baerlyn, Tharyn tried to join with the Hadryn against the Cherrovan and sent his son as a symbol of trust to the Hadryn chieftain Essyn Telgar, who's reputed to have been just as thickheaded as the present line of Telgars. Essyn had him tortured and disembowelled alive. The Hadryn claim to have been key in uniting Lenayin during the Liberation, yet in truth, they prevented its arrival for generations.”

“Aye,” said Tyrun. “They tell it much the same in Tyree. Anyhow, my Prince…there had been a prophecy for generations in the north. It was said that a great leader of Lenayin would ride from the south, bearing supernatural powers, and would smite the Cherrovan from the face of the world. When Soros Lenayin arrived at the head of his army of free Lenay clans and lowlands crusaders…” here he glanced at Kessligh, who snorted, “the north joined his cause in force, forgot their petty disputes and rallied beneath the star of Verenthane.

“The Udalyn fought valiantly, yet Essyn Telgar was clever. He decreed that all the Hadryn should convert to Verenthaneism, as did most of the north, as they believed the Verenthane gods had fulfilled their prophecy and were just and true. But the Udalyn, having the deep roots of their homeland valley to sustain their traditions through even the hardest times, refused. Soros Lenayin rewarded Essyn Telgar with Lordship of all Hadryn, and asked that the Udalyn swear fealty to him. Tharyn refused, for his people would never have listened had he agreed.

“What followed was a slaughter.” Tyrun paused for a moment, gazing into the flames. About the blazing fire, none spoke. From a neighbouring fire, men's laughter carried high on the cool night air. “The united Verenthanes of the north fell upon the Udalyn, for Essyn poisoned the minds of all the north against them, calling them traitors, friends of the Cherrovan and enemies of the new light of salvation. There were no prisoners taken, nor offered conversions accepted. There was only murder—of men, women and children. I am a proud Verenthane, my Prince. I believe that the star of Verenthane has been a blessing of unity and peace upon this land. But truly, the fate of the Udalyn, I believe, was surely Verenthane's darkest hour.”

Damon met the captain's sombre gaze across the fire. Sasha could read his expression well enough to see that he had not heard this history told with such confidence by a Verenthane man. Most Verenthanes denied the accusations of Hadryn atrocities against the Udalyn, and many blamed the Udalyn for bringing their decline upon themselves.

“Finally, all that was left of the Udalyn was their ancestral valley,” Tyrun continued. “Here, versions of the story differ. Some say that King Soros intervened and gave the Udalyn one last chance to convert, or face annihilation. Others say that he did nothing. Yet others defend King Soros, saying that his army was weary and he had not yet been crowned king, so he had no means with which to stop the slaughter. But whatever the truth, the Udalyn did not convert, and the united Verenthane north pressed the attack into the valley.

“The Udalyn were outnumbered twenty to one, at best. But within the valley's narrow confines, their defences gained hope. Over many days and nights, the Udalyn made a fighting retreat up the length of their valley, and their enemies paid a high price for every stride advanced. Finally, the morale of the Verenthane north began to wane, for the Udalyn slew five and more attackers for every loss, so great was their desire to survive as a people and pass on their traditions to the next generation.

“Essyn Telgar saw his glorious victory slipping away, as his men refused to advance further. He rode out before the Udalyn and offered that they could convert to Verenthaneism and save their lives. In reply, the Udalyn charged, full of fury and vengeance. They crashed into an army that was still ten times their number and split them down the centre. Tharyn Askar himself, it is told, carved his way through ten of Essyn's personal guard and family to slay Essyn Telgar by his own hand, before falling dead from wounds. The remaining Verenthanes broke and ran, and the Udalyn survived—the last, small pocket of Goeren-yai defiance in a Verenthane sea.

“Several times in the years to follow, successive Lords of Hadryn attempted to rid their land of their ancient enemy. Each time, though greatly outnumbered, the Udalyn were victorious. Then Chayden Lenayin came to the throne—your esteemed grandfather, Prince Damon, M'Lady Sashandra. He saw how the fate of the Udalyn had aroused the passions of all Lenay Goeren-yai, and forbid the Telgars of Hadryn to attack the Udalyn again. Since that time, the Hadryn have left the Valley of the Udalyn largely alone under King's orders—a policy continued to this day by your father, my Prince, M'Lady. And I pray that it shall always be such.”

Sasha took a skewer of cooking meat from the fire by its wood handle and gave it to Tyrun—reward for a tale well told. Tyrun gave a small smile of thanks.

“And now Lord Krayliss attempts to play the Udalyn card once more,” Damon said. His own food remained largely untouched upon his plate. “Why? What is to gain?”

“The Udalyn are the one issue,” Sasha replied, “the one singular thing, upon which all Goeren-yai can agree. They are heroes. They are the very symbol of Goeren-yai pride, courage and the will to survive in the face of advancing foreign religions. Krayliss claims to represent the old ways, and the Udalyn fly that banner far better than he. He dreams of an age long past, before the coming of Verenthanes, when Lenayin was wild and free.”

“And a bloody, barbarian rabble,” said Kessligh, with his usual diplomacy. Sasha knew well enough what Kessligh thought of such romanticism…and of her own undeniable attraction to it.

She shrugged, too wise by now to respond with temper. “Aye,” she said. “Krayliss would bring back those days if he could, the good and the bad. But most Goeren-yai are too smart for that. Lowlands trade is prosperous and many have benefited. So long as Baen-Tar does not attempt to convert them by force or coercion, they care not if the towns all pray to lowlands gods. And so Krayliss grows desperate. He needs the Udalyn. He is the last remaining Goeren-yai lord—although he would style himself as chieftain—and he claims blood ties to Tharyn Askar himself. On such credit does he ask the Goeren-yai of all Lenayin to love him.”

“And now there comes talk of lowlands war,” said Kessligh. There was a note to his voice, and his expression, that Sasha did not like. It suggested a certain exasperation. A dark, brooding disgust. Well…she was disgusted too, by fools like the Rashyds and Kraylisses alike. Yet she doubted if that were the only target of Kessligh's distaste. “To reclaim Verenthane holy lands in the Bacosh, no less. As well invade the moon to reclaim its silver. Bacosh, Torovan, it's all lowlands—Verenthane—and a world away. Folks here aren't interested. And Krayliss seeks an advantage.”

Damon seemed about to reply, but Sasha cut him off. “It's worse than that,” she said with force, somewhat annoyed with her uman for oversimplifying. “Don't you see? Krayliss seeks to turn the entire province of Taneryn down the path of the Udalyn before them. He's killed the Great Lord of Hadryn, that much seems clear. Just as Tharyn Askar, his ancestor, killed Essyn Telgar a century before. He tries to relive old Goeren-yai glories.”