Petrodor: A Trial of Blood and Steel, Book 2 (25 page)

Rhillian, too, was faster afoot than Sasha, and arrived well ahead. She faked a strike, spun past, and felled one and then another with magnificent precision. Another aimed a halberd for her head, but Rhillian skipped back like a dancer, killed his companion who tried to outflank her, deflected a stab for her middle with a downward, vertical blade which miraculously changed to a horizontal, upward cut with a twist of wrists and elbows. The halberd-wielder fell, gushing blood from the throat.

Four dead before Sasha and Terel even arrived, the men from House Belis did not know what hit them. Sasha cut through one and found the others already scattering, those on the periphery falling as serrin arrows found them. Rhillian was already running to a dark gap in the walls opposite the corner of the Belis Mansion. Atop the mansion walls, Sasha caught a glimpse of activity within the guardpost arrowslit, confused crossbowmen not knowing who to shoot in the melee. She dived through the gap as Rhillian waited behind for Terel and Vinae.

There were steps in the narrow alley, leading downward, and Sasha risked her poor human eyesight, hoping to secure some distance for those behind to follow. She found a corner where a second alley ran off to the right and the slope dropped sharply. Above the next house, there was suddenly a view of
the harbour well below, agleam with the last light of a half moon upon the horizon. Little ships, in silhouette against that silver light. Now, they just had to survive the descent.

Soft footsteps behind, above the ongoing yells and screams of men on the ridge road above. Terel emerged on the stairs, half carrying Vinae who seemed to have caught a crossbow bolt in the shoulder. Damn. Rhillian came past at speed, feet flying on the steps as Sasha would never have dared in the dark. She took the lead and Sasha fell behind, guarding the rear from any pursuit. It seemed unlikely. An open road was one thing, but an alley in the dark meant single combat with serrin for whom the night was as bright as any day.

They continued down the steps for a fair time, slowed by Vinae's injury. Rhillian took twists and forks with what Sasha presumed (or hoped) was local knowledge, occasionally turning back uphill, or over a short rise of stairs. Many times they passed rear gates in the walls and Sasha suffered bad memories of Riverside, spears and clubs lashing at her from unexpected dark corners. One time Rhillian actually missed a tripwire and triggered a nearby bell, which set a dog barking madly behind its wall. Rhillian seemed not to care, but Sasha could not escape the feeling of unseen eyes upon her back, aiming crossbow bolts in the dark.

Finally Rhillian paused atop some steps where a big tree grew against one wall, spreading thick roots through the surrounding stone. Terel helped Vinae to rest against the tree and tended to his injury. The bolt had struck him from behind, lodging through one shoulder blade. Terel took a knife to his clothes and began to relate his findings to Vinae in some Saalsi dialect Sasha could make no sense from at all. Vinae seemed somewhat reassured, pale and gasping, but alert.

“Those didn't look like family soldiers,” Sasha murmured to Rhillian as both of them crouched atop the uneven stone stairs. “All that clumsy armour, and silly weapons for city fighting. Halberds.”

“They were men of Danor Province,” said Rhillian. She seemed barely even out of breath, her green eyes sharp and calm, cutting through the dark. “That fool Duke Tarabai has been itching to have at us within the city for a while now. He disdained Patachi Steiner's warnings. Now he learns the patachi's wisdom.”

Sasha raised an eyebrow at her. “That's the only nice thing you've ever said about Patachi Steiner.”

“Nice? The wise are rarely nice, in this city. Petrodor wisdom is the mother of Petrodor brutality and intelligence its father. These terms are strange to serrin philosophy. No, I'm sure Patachi Steiner was pleased to set traps along the ridgetop after Riverside, and in light of the increased Nasi-Keth
and serrin activity. But I don't think he'll shed tears for his upstart duke to learn his place, either.”

“I'm sure he'd rather have killed us all even more,” Sasha remarked.

Rhillian shrugged. “
Tian'as fahr
.” One could have said, “that meant, if one could know everything.” “Although captured for torture might be even more preferable to him.”

“Serrin are very good at assassinations,” Sasha remarked. “Why not just kill him?”

Rhillian shrugged. “Patachi Steiner is not the easiest target. Our numbers are not enormous. And there's no guarantee Symon Steiner will be any better. Patachi Steiner is at least open to more subtle forms of persuasion, and he is not yet in a state of total war with Saalshen.”

“Just limited war,” Sasha muttered.

“A perpetual state in Petrodor,” said Rhillian. “Today is just another day of business to the Big Patachi.” She eyed Sasha sideways. “You show distaste.”

“Say what you like about we highland barbarians,” said Sasha, “but at least we take war seriously. Here, it's just another transaction.”

“Honour,” said Rhillian, dubiously.

Sasha nodded. “Yes, honour. It's not such a bad concept, Rhillian. It imparts a price for every action.”

“And a reward for every crime,” said Rhillian, taking some dead leaves off the top step and wiping her bloody sword with them. “Lenays place honour on codes of behaviour in order to maintain the social order and hierarchy. Patachi Steiner places honour on power and wealth. It is a flexible concept, this ‘honour,’ neither inherently good nor evil. Like your blade, it depends on the hand that wields it.”

“At least Lenay honour is gained from the means rather than the ends,” Sasha insisted. It seemed important that Rhillian should understand. This woman was the most powerful and influential serrin in Petrodor. So much rested upon her decisions. The fate of humanity, in many ways. “In Petrodor, the ends can impart any crime with honour, should they be rewarding enough.”

“If you're asking for my personal preference of Lenay honour above the Petrodor variety,” said Rhillian, “then you have it. But I shall always dislike ‘honour’ as a concept. Too often it serves to impart respectability upon the most vile of crimes. King Leyvaan's men gained great honour murdering serrin children two centuries ago. Even your wonderful Lenays have a long, bloody history of pillage, murder and rape, all in the name of honour. You are better behaved these days, and honour means different things to you, but that only proves the dangerous ambiguity of the concept.”

Rhillian's emerald gaze fixed onto Sasha with spine-tingling force. There was a droplet of blood trickling down one pale cheek. These beautiful people, this beautiful civilisation, was a shining light for all the world, Kessligh insisted. They are peaceful and good because they are philosophical, and do not to leap to conclusions. They neither hate nor fear easily. They do not kill on a whim. They are frequently long-winded, gentle and indecisive.

But what if that changed, Sasha wondered, staring at that terrible, beautiful vision of luminescent eyes and trickling blood. What if we pushed them too far? What it we made them so angry, and so scared, that they lost their indecisiveness and replaced it with determination? There was determination in Rhillian's eyes now. Determination and focused, deadly intensity. Sasha had now seen Rhillian fight. She'd seen Errollyn fight, and other serrin too. Saalshen would be a terrible enemy for humanity. Terrible for the damage they could do, and terrible for the simple tragedy of such good and decent people forced into conflict with those who should do far better to befriend them. She could not let it happen. She would not.

“You need honour to confirm your identity,” said Rhillian, unblinking. “Your honour tells you who you are. We serrin don't need it. We
know
who we are.”

“
Vel'ennar?
” Sasha asked quietly.

“
Vel'ennar
,” Rhillian agreed. “The one soul,” literally translated. A concept of serrin unity. Whether it was real or imagined, cultural or merely philosophical, no human seemed to know…and no serrin had yet definitively explained. Not to Sasha's hearing, anyhow.

Vinae hissed in pain as Terel applied something to the wound. He was not removing the bolt, Sasha saw. Probably there were better facilities available to serrin than a dingy alleyway for that. “Do you need any help?” she asked Terel.

“Do you have any skills with medicine?” Terel asked as he worked.

“Um…not for something like that, not really.”

“Then I don't need your help.”

Rhillian's eyes flicked uphill, back the way they'd come. Sasha spun in alarm, but saw nothing. Then, after a moment, a small, indistinct shadow crossed the path. A cat.

“Do you see better,” she asked Rhillian warily, “or do they?” Meaning the cat.

Rhillian shrugged. “I've never asked one. Possibly they do. But do they know what they're seeing?”

“Do you? Maybe the cat knows everything and we're all fools.”

“A serrin answer,” Rhillian said coyly, with an impressed smile. “You're spending far too much time with us. We'll corrupt you.”

“Too late. You remind me of a cat, sometimes.”

Rhillian's grin seemed to light up the dark, flashing white teeth and gleaming eyes. “Meow,” she said with her entire, lean, poised body.

Further down the winding alleys, the party finally arrived at a nondescript gate in the rear wall of a narrow passage. Rhillian reached into a hole beside the gate and pulled something. Faintly, Sasha heard a bell ring. A moment later, a hatch slid aside, and something whispered in dialect. Rhillian replied. Several latches were undone and the gate opened on silent, oiled hinges. Sasha waited until last, passing a serrin she did not recognise, who shut the gate behind her. They made their way through a stone passage with arrowslits at the end, and another gate, reinforced yet open for now.

A turn and then they emerged into a patio centred by a fountain, with gardens about the surrounding wall. The house had broad, slatted doors opening directly onto the patio, behind a row of pillars supporting an overhead balcony. More serrin were waiting, and took Vinae into the house. Sasha followed Rhillian and Terel, and found herself in an adjoining sitting room, chairs about a tiled floor and bookshelves against the walls. Most welcoming of all, Errollyn, Liam, Yulia and Adele were all waiting there.

“Where's Marlen?” Rhillian asked immediately.

“Inside somewhere,” said Adele. “He's fine.” Rhillian looked relieved. Sasha looked questioningly at Errollyn. He'd leaned his bow against a wall and was cleaning his sword. Evidently he'd had to use it. He met her gaze and gave a faint smile. “I never doubted I'd see you here,” that smile said. Somehow, she knew what he meant.

Servants brought them drinks…human servants, dressed much the same as serrin—plainly, with few frills or trinkets, but with quality and style all the same. Upon first visiting a Saalshen property in Petrodor, Sasha had been astonished to find human servants in the house. Errollyn had explained to her that the first serrin
talmaad
in Petrodor had resisted it at first—service was not a profession nor a social condition of any sort in Saalshen—but it had been a waste of resources for well-trained
talmaad
to be doing household chores.

The Nasi-Keth had suggested the solution. There were plenty of folk on the Petrodor lower slopes who needed work. Folks with deformities, that often led to them being rejected by their families as cursed. And so the
talmaad
had taken in many such folk as houseworkers—a term the serrin preferred to “servants.” The houseworkers were undyingly loyal and the serrin were happier. The houseworkers would surely be in a dismal state were they not “serving,” and so “serving” became an alternative no serrin could begrudge them from having.

A bald, round-faced man with an anxious smile handed Sasha a drink and then shuffled off, one leg stiff, one hand and arm curled tight. Yulia was slumped in a chair in a corner. Liam paced, anxious to be on his way.

Rhillian addressed her fellows in Saalsi. “I must meet with Patachi Maerler tonight,” she said. “Words were exchanged with Duke Rochel. There are possibilities.”

“Shall we send a message ahead?” asked one serrin. “I'm not certain of his whereabouts tonight.”

“He'll be home,” said Rhillian, with assuredness. “He'll be expecting me.”

“What did Rochel say?” asked another man, newly arrived into the room. His jet black hair fell with stylish disarray about a well-formed face. His eyes were a pale, almost colourless grey. Kiel.

“Another time awaits,” said Rhillian, in the most abstract form that Saalsi allowed. “Not with others listening,” Sasha interpreted that. “Adele, Marlen, stay and rest. Kiel, I want you along. Errollyn too.”

“Must he?” said Kiel. The question was blandly put. Much about Kiel was bland, and expressionless. Most serrin were disconcerting to basic human instincts, as was Kiel but in a different way. Rhillian startled with her intensity. Kiel startled in his impassivity. He was the only serrin Sasha had ever met toward whom her instinctive reaction was dislike.

“Must I?” said Errollyn.

Rhillian's stare was displeased. “You know humans better than most. You read Patachi Maerler well. You may notice things others will miss.”

“I don't know humans as well as Sasha does,” said Errollyn. He sheathed his sword over one shoulder. “Why not ask her along?”

Rhillian's stare became even more displeased. She said something in dialect.

“Rhillian says that I'm being difficult,” Errollyn translated to Sasha. “She says I know very well why she cannot ask you along.” Rhillian made a sharp gesture of exasperation. “Why don't you tell us all, Rhillian, why Sasha cannot come along? Why is it that you plot things, in a human city, that do not concern our human allies?”

“He becomes more and more human every day,” Kiel said mildly. He sounded almost amused.

“Sasha has her own people to return to,” said Rhillian, glaring.

“And I'd so much rather go with her.”

“Are you
talmaad
, or are you not?”

“Do you define the
talmaad
now?” A human might have folded his arms in defiance. That pose, however, seemed foreign to serrin. Errollyn stood calmly, a thumb in his belt. “You're right, I do read Patachi Maerler quite well. You're
a fool to trust him, I said so from the start, and I'm sure I'll tell you the same after this meeting too. What more can I add to your expedition?”