Tracato: A Trial of Blood and Steel Book Three (13 page)

“Rhodaan had Saalshen’s approval for this war,” Rhillian said quietly, “on the understanding that the feudal nature of Elisse would be reversed. Feudalism is our death, General. It holds humanity in poverty, ignorance and powerlessness, leaving the masses of your people helpless to the predations of unchecked powerlust and fanatical religion—”

“It is not for Saalshen to tell humanity how to conduct our affairs with other humans,” General Zulmaher interrupted.

“No,” said Rhillian, “but it is for us to decide which of these actions we should support.”

Zulmaher’s grey eyes flashed dangerously. “Are you threatening to break your word to Rhodaan?”

“No more than you have broken your word to us.”

“I gave no such word.”

“You did. You said that you would liberate the Elissian people from their oppressors. We serrin have long memories, General. We know that a problem left unsolved will fester. This is our chance to solve the Elissian problem for good, and I feel you are squandering it.”

Zulmaher looked back to his army. The artillery lines were preparing to move.

“I am in no mood,” he said, “to have my commands dictated by the writ of Imperial Saalshen. You do what you will, M’Lady Rhillian. I shall do what I must, for Rhodaan.” He pressed his heels to his horse and rode toward the head
of the forming column. His captains followed, several with final, unhappy looks at Rhillian. She stared at the castle, intact despite the burning tower, and wondered how many hundreds of Elissian fighting men were left within those walls, armed, armoured and undefeated. Perhaps five hundred, including heavy cavalry. And of Lord Crashuren, his lands intact, his rights undisturbed…all from here to the northernmost tip of the Elissian Peninsula, there would be other lords left the same, if General Zulmaher had his way.

Aisha rode up, Arendelle with her. “Did you hear that?” Rhillian asked them. Both nodded.

“He’s a feudalist,” Aisha said glumly. “I’m not surprised.”

“Why not?” Aisha was Enoran, born of a serrin mother and a human father. On matters of local motivations and politics, Rhillian trusted her judgement more than her own.

“His loyalties in Rhodaan lie with the old families,” Aisha said. “They’ve been battling for the restoration of more feudal rights in Rhodaan for a century or longer. What did you think he was going to do—continue to isolate his supporting families by abolishing all feudalism in Elisse?”

“His captains did not appear happy,” Arendelle remarked, watching the command party riding off. “There are some in Rhodaan who would call his position traitorous.”

“Zulmaher is a proud Rhodaani,” Aisha said. “He’s fought and won many battles for his people, and suffered many wounds. He believes the feudal ways are the natural ways of humanity…. I doubt he’d wish them all restored to what they were—even he can’t deny that things are so much better today than before the fall of Leyvaan. But the old families are wealthy, and in human lands, wealth creates power. It seems natural, to such men.”

“And he resents the power that Saalshen has over Rhodaan,” Rhillian added. “Did you hear him, ‘the writ of Imperial Saalshen’?”

Aisha nodded. “He’s very polite to us when it suits him, but most feudalists believe the current chaos in Tracato was Saalshen’s plan to neuter Rhodaan and all the Saalshen Bacosh. It means little to him that Saalshen withdrew its last true imperial writ over a century ago. He believes Rhodaan needs a strong leader to be glorious, and the current system of council and High Table only combine to make a weak leadership. It’s supposed to be a plan of Saalshen to divide and rule the Saalshen Bacosh, whatever their supposed independence.”

“Of all the strange human concepts I’ve discovered,” Rhillian said sourly, “I believe the one I like least may be ‘nostalgia.’”

“Worse than ‘war’ or ‘rape’ or ‘pillage’?” Arendelle asked her.

“Yes,” said Rhillian, “because the one leads to the others so frequently.”

“So do ‘revolutions,’” Aisha said quietly. “Yet that is what we propose for Elisse.”

“I know,” Rhillian sighed. “You are Enoran, and you remember your history. But one bloody episode has led to two centuries of relative peace and prosperity, Aisha. Sometimes, the ends do justify the means.”

“And other times,” said Aisha, “blood is repaid with blood.”

E
RROLLYN AWOKE TO THE SOUNDS OF THE COURTYARD CAMP
beyond the windows. It was louder than previous mornings. Cattle were lowing. Hooves clopped on stone. Tent straps rattled, and there were voices, gruff with sleep. He could smell campfires. A rooster crowed.

“Sounds like the whole damn countryside moved in to town,” Sasha murmured.

Errollyn knelt up in bed to peer through the shutters. The Tol’rhen courtyard was grey with smoke. Across its stones sprawled many campsites. The number had grown during the night.

There came a knocking at the door. Sasha groaned. “Go away,” she said, burrowing back into her sheets.

“Enter!” Errollyn called. The door opened, and a serrin girl of no more than twelve entered. She had white hair, a slender face and pretty grey eyes. She wore pants rather than robes, identifying her as a
talmaad
in training. However, she wore no blade.

“Errollyn!” exclaimed the girl, coming to the bedside. “You must attend the Council of Ythemen this day at the lunch hour.”

“Must I?”

“Yes.” the girl insisted. She looked familiar, though Errollyn could not recall an introduction. “Ythemen is visiting all the way from Umal’ester’han, and she has much
ra’shi
!”

“And what shall Ythemen be doing at the Mahl’rhen today at the lunch hour,” Errollyn asked with amusement, “that shall require my attendance? Juggle flaming balls? Swallow a whole cow? Perform some sexual trick with a candle?”

Beneath the sheets, Sasha whacked his leg.

Being serrin, and largely unshockable in such matters, the girl barely blinked. “But Errollyn, she came all the way from—”

“Umal’ester’han, yes, I know. Girl, have you ever been to Umal’ester’han?” The girl shook her head. “It’s a series of boardwalks atop a muddy bog. You’ll find greater native wisdom here.”

“Lesthen requires your presence,” said the girl, more sternly.

“Will Lesthen swallow a cow?” said Errollyn. “I’d turn up to see that.”

“Spirits forbid he tries the trick with the candle,” Sasha murmured. Errollyn grinned.

“Girl, I’m busy,” he said. “Try another day.”

The girl frowned at him. Serrin could never figure him out, whatever their age. Before she could leave, Sasha flung out her hand and grabbed the girl by the jacket. She pulled her closer, and slitted open her eyes.

“Serrin truly have no concept of privacy, do they?” Sasha said.

The girl blinked at her. “Should I have waited outside? It was not my intention to cause offence.”

Sasha sighed. “No. No, of course not. Damn serrin. What’s your name?”

“Letish.”

“Letish. In some parts of Tracato, if you rush in on a man and woman abed, you’ll be sorry for it. Be aware.”

“I’m sorry,” said Letish with a small bow, looking anything but. She was gazing at Sasha with intense curiosity.

“
I’m
not offended,” Sasha said with exasperation. “Others might be. Where are your parents?”

“In Saalshen.”

“How long since you’ve seen them?”

“Two years.” As though nothing could be more normal.

Sasha smiled. “You go home now, and you tell Lesthen to stop pestering Errollyn.” She gave the girl a kiss on the cheek, and burrowed back into her pillow. The girl began to leave, astonished and pleased. Halfway to the door, she dashed back, kissed Sasha on the cheek in kind, then left with a smile. Errollyn saw Sasha was smiling too.

“You’ve confused her,” said Errollyn. “She thinks that’s some kind of custom now.”

“Perhaps it should be,” said Sasha. “It never hurts to be nice.” She closed her eyes. “I’m always nice to serrin, I can’t help it. Maybe too nice.”

“I’d never say that,” said Errollyn. Sasha kicked him beneath the sheets, but gently.

Errollyn got up, stretched briefly and wrapped himself in a robe to visit the privy. The Mahl’rhen had been trying to lure him back since his arrival. Word had spread from Rhillian, on her passing through, of his odd behaviour in Petrodor. “Traitorous” was not a word serrin would naturally use. But he had them alarmed. Rather than deal with the problem directly, serrin did what they always did—they talked. Endless talking, endless councils, endless lectures and halfhearted attempts to understand. He’d given up trying by the
end of the first day. Now, they sent messengers pleading with him to return to the fold.

Sasha appeared to have gone back to sleep. Errollyn stood and looked at her for a long moment. There was something vaguely wild and untamed in the muscles of her arms and shoulders, the way she sprawled on the mattress, the way her hair stuck up against the pillow. The sight of it set free something wild and untamed in him, too.

He crawled over her, and sat straddling upon her backside. Then he dug his fingers into her shoulders and neck, just the way she liked. Sasha smiled and winced. She worked hard at those muscles, perhaps harder than a man needed to. After some bad strains she could barely turn her head.

“You have classes today?” she asked him.

“I promised Ulenshaal Timar I’d take a Saalsi class,” said Errollyn. “After that, I have Aemon to visit.”

“You be careful with Aemon; the Tracato nobility may look very tame but underneath I’m certain they’re no different from elsewhere.”

“I know,” Errollyn said mildly. He slid his hands down her back, then up her bare sides.

“That doesn’t do my stiffness any good at all,” she said, smiling.

“Does wonders for mine,” said Errollyn. Sasha laughed. She threw off the sheets and rolled over.

“Come on then,” she dared him, with her irresistible, mischievous smile. “Wake me up properly.”

After morning training, and a wash, Errollyn walked to the Tol’rhen courtyard to see the camp. There had to be a thousand people, he guessed. Some made tents from wooden frames, others strung ropes between statues upon which to drape canvas, while others slept under carts. Now there were fires, and farm animals gathered amidst piles of hay. Banners hung, several draped over statues—the sickle-and-scythe flag of the Civid Sein.

Tol’rhen Nasi-Keth walked amongst them, handing out food and blankets. A cart was making the rounds, unloading firewood, also supervised by Nasi-Keth. Errollyn saw several youngsters he knew, talking amiably with rough-dressed rural folk. All the rural folk seemed to be armed, some with tools, some with genuine weapons. About the courtyard perimeter, Blackboots were watching, with grim expressions.

By the foot of a grand statue of some famous general, Errollyn spotted Ulenshaal Sevarien and Reynold Hein, in conversation with several Civid Sein men. He walked to them, and wondered what cityfolk would make of these outsiders using their historical statues for tent posts. Sevarien spotted him, and waved him over.

“Master Errollyn!” he boomed. “These are farmers Stefani and Dujane, leaders of our gathering.”

Our gathering? Errollyn wondered to himself.

“Where is your satellite?” asked Reynold, looking around.

“Presently eclipsed in a class of Lenay history,” said Errollyn, flexing a shoulder where Sasha had struck him at training.

“Ah, Sashandra would make an excellent Ulenshaal!” exclaimed Sevarien with a laugh. “It might help the meaningful discussion of Lenay history if she could do so without waving her sword around midlesson, mind you.”

“Sasha believes that history should never be dull,” Errollyn said, shaking his head. “The camp has grown considerably.”

Farmer Stefani nodded. “Soon it will be bigger,” he assured them. He was a large man, with a moustache, and smelled of animals. “We heard what General Zulmaher is doing in Elisse. This cannot be allowed—Elisse cannot become a stronghold for the Rhodaani nobility’s feudalist allies.”

Sevarien beamed, and slapped Stefani’s shoulder. “And nor shall it be allowed. We’ll show those nobility that Rhodaan belongs to the common folk, not the entitled wealthy.”

Reynold excused himself and made off through the crowd.

“What kind of demonstration do you intend?” Errollyn asked. He made his tone conversational, betraying no concern.

“Whatever it takes,” said Stefani, with dour certainty. “The nobility debate in council, how to restore taxation to the landed men. Maldereld made it illegal two hundred years ago, and now they try to bring it back. To remove the power of the Council, and replace it with the money of nobility and their paid men-at-arms.” He glowered in the direction of the Blackboots. “In Enora they’d cut off their heads for daring to suggest it.”

“My friends at the Mahl’rhen are certain it won’t go that far,” Errollyn offered. “They say the debate in council is more about relieving some overburdened nobility from too much taxation, not about granting nobles the power of taxation.”

“Dear Errollyn,” said Sevarien, putting a hand on his shoulder. “You of all people should know better than to place much store in the analysis of the Mahl’rhen. Yours are a gentle people, they do not understand the viciousness and brutality of such folk as the nobility. Only a du’jannah such as yourself can understand.”