Tracato: A Trial of Blood and Steel Book Three (39 page)

Rhillian made her way down the side of the hall, Lieutenant Raine at her back. “…and I say that we shall do unto them as they have done to us!” Ulenshaal Sevarien was roaring. “For so many centuries, the nobility have been a plague upon Rhodaan! They call it taxation, but in truth, it was theft! They are a gang of robber barons and thieves, and they have stolen wealth, and property, and the hard-earned labour of our sweaty and dirt-stained hands….”

“Our?” Rhillian wondered sourly. Sevarien’s hands were pink, plump and pale, like the rest of him. She doubted he’d ever pulled a plough, or raised a barn, or milked a cow in his life.

“We demand that the remaining feudal lands be redistributed amongst those who know and work it best!” A roar from the crowd. “We demand equality!” Another roar. “We demand the abolition of false titles and noble privilege!” Again. “We demand an end to the domination of Council by the wealthy few!”

“And what are you going to replace it all with, you fucking fool?” Aisha said loudly, above the din. Rhillian spared Aisha a glance, and saw the anger. For all her tongues, Aisha rarely swore. But Aisha was Enoran, and she recalled what form the Enoran purges had taken. Now, she saw them repeated on the streets of Tracato.

“And we demand the final punishment of those traitors who have plotted and schemed to enrich themselves on the blood and treasure of our great and noble Rhodaani brotherhood!”

This last, Sevarien delivered with a sweeping gesture, that ended on Rhillian, as she walked toward the stage. Many Civid Sein came to their feet, chanting and yelling. Some Nasi-Keth joined them. On the stage behind Sevarien, the Tol’rhen’s other seniors were seated. Rhillian saw Kessligh, his chin in his hand. His expression was unreadable.

She climbed the steps, Aisha and Lieutenant Raine waiting below, and raised a hand to acknowledge the shouting. It amazed her that they should cheer for her. Perhaps a human might feel some emotional stirring and some common passion with the crowd. Rhillian stared out across the mob, and felt only an absence. She was serrin, and she had the
vel’ennar
. This was nothing. When the noise dimmed, she lowered her arm.

“You have come here for revolution,” she told them. “I see no revolution in the town. I see lawlessness, murder, rape, theft and thuggery. If it continues, I shall send the Steel to this camp, and to all other such camps across the city, and have you all killed. Thank you for your attention, and good day.”

She gestured to Kessligh, and he rose, in that stunned silence. Boos followed, as they moved from the stage, rising to a crescendo of yells and abuse. The Nasi-Keth drew weapons. Rhillian skipped off the stage amidst a rain of missiles, and walked with Kessligh to the kitchens, which were nearest.

“You’ll only hold them with threats of violence for so long,” Kessligh told her grimly. “After a while, they’ll call your bluff, and then you’ll really have to do it.”

“You think I wouldn’t?” Rhillian asked. Aisha and Lieutenant Raine followed them in, Aisha seating herself upon an abandoned cutting bench.

Kessligh leaned against another bench and exhaled hard. “This is fast spinning out of control. Again. You surely can’t say you’re surprised.”

“How many are still with you?” Rhillian asked, ignoring the barb. Kessligh’s stare lingered for a short moment. Unlike most, he never flinched beneath her gaze.

“Most of those not with the Civid Sein,” he replied, finally. “I have more Nasi-Keth than Sevarien, perhaps twice as many. But he has the country mobs. I suspect I’ll gain even more in this place shortly. There’ve been idealistic youngsters horrified at what they’ve seen, the last few days. Sevarien spins a grand and exciting tale of injustice and vengeful rebellion, but on the streets, it boils down to blood, rape and murder every time. I’ve been telling them so since I first arrived; only now do they see my point.”

“Even after what Sasha tried, they’ll still follow you?” Rhillian questioned warily. “Even most of those Nasi-Keth who do not love the Civid Sein have little love for the nobility. Very few nobility ever sent their children to study in the Tol’rhen. Sasha helped Lady Renine and Alfriedo escape, and you are not blamed for your uma’s actions?”

“People here know Sasha,” Kessligh said flatly. “They know she does as she will. I tell them I did not order it, and they believe me, because they know it is the truth. She has little interest in Lady Renine and her son, she was trying to save her sister. Whom you are still proposing to kill.”

“I have no say in the workings of the Justiciary,” Rhillian replied. Kessligh’s expression was statement enough that he did not believe her. “Do you condemn Sasha’s actions?”

“Seriously? In truth, she read my mind. Expulsion from Rhodaan was always the superior option for the Renines, and any other troublesome nobles. Sasha’s own father did that to her, you’ll recall. He’s been a fool of late, King
Torvaal, but he’s been a wise man too, and sometimes that wisdom still shows. If he’d killed Sasha, all her supporters would have been mad. That makes for unpleasantness. You came here down Elesther Road. You’ve seen what I mean.”

“I haven’t killed any Renines yet.”

“And so I wait for it all to get worse when you do,” said Kessligh. “Yes, the Renines and all their allies were stupid. Yes, they are traitors, they collaborated with the enemies of Rhodaan in the hopes of regaining their old, feudal glory. But if you kill them, you lose the wealth of Tracato, and the only force to oppose the rage of the nobility is the Civid Sein. You need the Steel at the front, Rhillian, Sofy Lenayin’s wedding is happening, and the Army of Lenayin will not rest idle forever. The Steel cannot make a strong front against the Larosans and Lenays while Rhodaan continues to burn at their backs. My advice—if you recapture Lady Renine and Alfriedo, let them go. Send them to Sherdaine, or Petrodor. Exile will remove them from the scene, without so much of the bloodshed.”

“M’Lady, he’s right,” said Lieutenant Raine. “In truth, the Steel should have left by now. In their heartland, the nobility can defend themselves, the Civid Sein have done much damage about the outskirts, but if we allow the nobles to arm and gather—as we have not been allowing—then the Civid Sein will soon take grave losses, and decide that settlement is best, whatever their talk today of total revolution. But the nobility will not accept a settlement that means the death of the Renines. Send them to exile, it is the best solution.”

Rhillian gazed at the great ovens, black steel doors swung open, cold and empty. The air smelled of residual soot, and old vegetables. Then she nodded.

“If I can find them, I will.”

“Rhillian,” said Kessligh, drawing her full attention. “I understand that Sasha has violated the law, and will remain confined. See that she is not harmed. Nor her sister, nor Errollyn.”

Rhillian drew a deep breath. “As I said, the Justiciary’s independence is two centuries old. I cannot be seen to tamper, or I will lose much of what support I currently hold, even with the Steel. Rhodaani justice is a matter for the gods. I cannot be seen to overrule their judgement. The priests have been quiet until now, but if I lose the priesthood, we have Petrodor all over again.”

“I know,” Kessligh said simply. “I merely warn you, for your sake and mine. You know me to be hard, but rational. If something happens to Sasha, I can assure you my rationality shall be tested. You’ll be on the top of my list.” The grip upon his staff, Rhillian noted, was white knuckled. His voice and face betrayed little emotion, yet the man was wound as tightly as a spring. Close as he stood, Rhillian could not help but feel a certain alarm. “Just so you know,” Kessleigh said quietly.

They were returning to the Mahl’rhen when urgent word arrived in the form of a scout on horseback. Lieutenant Raine having returned to his unit, Rhillian and Aisha set off after the scout, their guard in pursuit. Deep into feudalist heartland they rode, as armed Steel stood aside, and the only others on the narrow, cobbled roads were armed nobility, in groups no larger than the proscribed five. Soon, Rhillian knew, given the size of the Civid Sein mobs, and the inability of the Steel to control them, she would have to give the order to allow the nobility to gather in whatever size force they liked. The nobility had good weapons, and good men. Then, it would be civil war.

Into a small cross street, between nondescript stone buildings halfway up the slope from the docks, there was a commotion of shouting men, wailing women, and armoured shields holding back the inconsolable crowd. They opened enough to allow Rhillian, Aisha and guards to pass, then closed once more. Rhillian dismounted, and entered through a door bashed off its hinges, then up steps to the first floor.

It was a simple room, unbefitting of nobility, perhaps, but then few of the feudalists of central Tracato were actually noble. A simple, wood-planked floor, some basic furnishings before the windows, and all now covered in the most appalling carnage. Bodies had been hacked, limbs removed, entrails strewn like depraved festival decorations. Rhillian had seen many such sights upon the battlefield, but somehow, the horror of this was far, far worse. This had been someone’s home. Blood upon a simple tabletop, and gore dripping down the front of a small bookshelf, was somehow indecent in a way that even a thousand dead and wounded soldiers upon green or ploughed fields had never quite managed.

She stepped over a woman’s body and saw a younger girl, a teenager, face down in her own blood and eyes wide, frozen in horror. Then the smaller child, a little boy, head partly severed from his…

Rhillian nearly retched. Nearly broke down and cried. She had steeled herself to do these terrible things, and see these terrible sights, because if she did not, this fate would one day befall the people and children of Saalshen. Someone had to, and the
vel’ennar
had determined that that someone should be her. But she had rarely despised humanity more, at any moment, than she did right then.

Then she saw the Lady Tathilde Renine. The face was contorted, a grotesque shape of mouth and protruding tongue, from the rope that
strangled about her neck. The rope was tied over an exposed ceiling beam, the lady’s dress slashed and dripping blood, where men had cut her as she hung, and struggled, and kicked. Her once-beautiful eyes now beheld a dull finality.

Aisha saw the hanging body too, as she came in behind, and let out a small, sad sigh. “Oh no,” she said. “Now there’ll be trouble.”

Sasha knew something was wrong the moment the cell door squealed open. She shielded her eyes against the lantern’s glare, spying shapes that were not those of the regular Justiciary gaolers, but men with rough clothes and no armour. She tried to stand but could not raise beyond a crouch thanks to the manacles that bound her wrists, and then chained in turn to an iron ring at her feet. The man advancing on her was big, with bare arms and a nasty manner. This was going to hurt.

The first punch struck her in the side as she tensed, falling to her knees and covering, hoping to ride out the worst of it. Kicks thudded in as she covered her head with her arms, blindingly painful, but not so completely strange to a svaalverd warrior who had spent most of her youth being beaten with Kessligh’s practice stanch, and falling off horses. She hissed and exhaled hard as she needed to; hard breathing always helped her svaalverd exercises, and it helped to deal with the pain.

Finally, as she ached in a fire of new bruises, a key was taken to her chains, and the chain released. Perhaps she was to be set free, she thought, as the men dragged her stumbling from the cell. Perhaps something had happened, perhaps politics had demanded her release, or Kessligh had held a blade to someone’s neck—possibly Rhillian’s. Perhaps this punishment was only the final, spiteful gift of those determined to get their shots in while they could.

She did not recognise the corridor down which they pulled her. It was not a part of the main row into which she had penetrated to try to save Alythia. She stumbled down some steps and into a larger dungeon, lit with flame. The air was warm here, and fire burned in an ironmonger’s furnace at the far wall. Chains hung from the ceiling, and upon wooden tables were arrayed rows of grisly implements. Bloodstains spattered the floor, and there was a smell to the air that was not quite foulness, but far from pleasant.

It was fear, Sasha decided, as they dragged her to the hanging chains. It was her own fear. Her eyes would not leave the row of implements on the tabletop, however hard she tried to drag them away. Her heart was hammering. She had long ago confronted the prospect of disfiguring wounds in battle. Such a thing would happen quickly, before she could think on it. This would be slow. She wanted to cry, to scream and beg, and the Lenay warrior in her soul hated herself for it.

The chain between her wrist manacles was linked over a hook, two blows to her midriff ceasing her attempt to struggle. That hook was pulled high with the rattle of a winch, and soon she was nearly dangling, booted toes barely touching the ground. The big man took a sharp knife off the table and stood before her examining it as a farmer might examine his blade before slaughtering a sheep. Sasha tried to kick him, but her ankle chains had been secured to a floor ring, and she only succeeded in thrashing.