Tracato: A Trial of Blood and Steel Book Three (38 page)

In Lenayin, war was serious, and fought over honour, insult or injury. In the Bacosh, it seemed a matter of formality and procedure, as regular as the seasons. Even now, she learned, many of the tournament’s participant families were technically in a state of war. Bacosh wars did not seem so devastating as Lenay wars, however. Captured knights were ransomed, and while villages frequently swapped sides as feudal territories were rearranged, they were rarely slaughtered outright. Once, Sofy might have thought the Bacosh method more greatly civilised. But now, as she sat and watched the splendid knights charging in their gleaming armour, she wondered if the relative civility of Bacosh wars had caused the Bacosh people to come to love war too much.

There were no Lenays in the joust, Sofy was pleased to see. With no experience at this kind of warfare, it would not have been a good showing for her countrymen. However, there were Lenay-style swordwork contests elsewhere in the tournament grounds, she was told.

After several hours seated, she needed to stretch her legs. When one was princess regent, she discovered, one did not simply go for a stroll. By the time she was free of the stands and walking amidst the crowds, she had an escort of eight knights, a herald, Princess Elora, four ladies-in-waiting, and two servants. The crowds stared as the procession passed, and Elora chatted to her on the endless fascination of the Bacosh nobility—families, weddings, children, lines of succession and who was feuding with whom. Sofy had known it was complicated, but now she was beginning to feel dizzy. For the first time, she found herself wondering what would happen to her new family if the Enoran, Rhodaani and Ilduuri Steel held firm in the battles ahead. Almost certainly, she suspected, the regency would fall, and other families would begin fighting for the title. The boundaries of the Bacosh provinces would shift, and whether she or any of Family Arosh would still be alive at the end of it, she did not know.

The Lenay sword contests, which attracted nearly as large a crowd as the jousts, were held within a series of wide circles fenced for the occasion. Sofy stayed long enough to see several invited Bacosh knights, in padded bandas instead of clamshell armour, soundly defeated in flashing exchanges of wooden blades. Some of her female entourage ceased their excited gushing about the valiance of the knights, and began asking admiring questions of various Lenay warriors. All were astonished to learn that Sofy had no clue as to the identity of most of them, as they were not renowned nobles, but poor farmers or villagers from across Lenayin. Most were greatly discomforted when one such Goeren-yai farmer knocked a genuine noble lord to the ground…and astonished further that the nobleman’s only reply was to grin, and acknowledge his opponent’s superior move. Soon enough there were no more Bacosh knights contesting within the tachadar circles, and Sofy’s contingent began to wonder loudly what was happening back at the jousts.

For lunch, the noble entourage was escorted back to Castle Jacquey, where a long table had been set in a grand hall. Still there was no sign of Balthaar. It took Yasmyn’s approach, as Sofy sat to entree, to solve that mystery.

“He’s in the high study,” Yasmyn said over Sofy’s shoulder in Lenay, as others frowned at the intrusion. “There is a gathering of Bacosh lords there. I think they argue.”

“Over what?”

“These are men who love their tournaments. There is only one thing they love more.” And when Sofy frowned, Yasmyn added, “War,” clearly thinking her princess a little slow.

Sofy put her napkin on the table crossly, and stood up. “Sister dearest,” said Elora in surprise, “does something bother you?”

“Yes something bothers me,” Sofy declared. “I am a newly wedded woman, and I have not been attended by my husband all day. If he shall not attend to me, then I shall attend to him,” she said, and left.

Knights scrambled from the table to pursue her, as the ladies looked at each other, astonished at the ill-decorum of it all.

“And where have you been all morning?” Sofy asked Yasmyn.

“Saving a marriage,” Yasmyn said grimly. “It is not well that your husband should ignore you all day. If he were my husband, and he were in the wrong, I would strike him.”

“And if you were in the wrong?”

“Suck him.” Sofy blinked. “If you will not fuck him, you may consider it.”

“Good lords, Yasmyn,” Sofy muttered. “I’ve never had a friend quite so exasperating as you. Not even Sasha.”

“I say what needs to be said.”

The guards at the study doors did not prevent the princess regent from entering. Within, she found a room of tables, shelves and books, lit only by some narrow windows overlooking the tournament. There was nothing of calm discussion within, but rather a collection of lords in raiments and house colours, seated or standing in various small groups, arguing with animation. They barely looked at Sofy as she entered, Yasmyn at her side, and searched for her husband.

Balthaar sat at the table’s end, head in hands, as several lords shouted and pointed fingers across him. He saw Sofy, and straightened, astonished. He climbed to his feet.

“My sweet,” he said, taking her hands and kissing them. “You must forgive me, I have been a dreadful husband. Trust me that I should have rather been at your side than here, yet my duties have forbidden it.”

Balthaar loved to ride, hunt and tourney. The study was gloomy, and he had looked bored as sin when Sofy entered. Her heart softened. “And what is this?” she asked.

“We discuss the order of battle. There is so much history in this room, families and feuds and old wars. There is great honour to marching one’s standard at the vanguard of war. We contest for a place of prestige upon the field, and seek not to march upon the flank of some old foe. I fear it could take all day, and perhaps much of tomorrow.” He kissed her hand once more. “Go back to the tourney, my sweet. This is not a matter for you.”

“On the contrary,” Sofy insisted. “I have heard little else besides such matters on the ride to Larosa. Lenayin knows as much of petty bloodfeuds as the Bacosh, I fear, yet we have seen them all resolved to this point. I am certain I can help.”

“Your father and brother allowed your assistance to mediate between the Lenay provinces?”

“But of course,” said Sofy. Koenyg was not so hard headed as to ignore his youngest sister’s persuasive powers. He had coached her, of course, but where offers of possible marriages and royal gifts were concerned to seal an agreement, all knew that such things were far more readily accepted from her mouth than her brothers’ or father’s. And she recalled Myklas saying with affection, after she had persuaded Lord Iraskyn of Yethulyn to allow his son’s standing unit, the Silver Eagles, to hold a rather less glamorous position on the inside flank, that he had no idea how they would run the kingdom without her. “Please, Balthaar, let me help,” she continued. “It does not look good for the new princess regent to wander the tourney without her husband. I may not be able to wield a sword in our partnership, but I can certainly use my tongue.”

Balthaar smiled at her. “One notices. As you will, then. Here, I shall fill you in on the details.”

She had most of it resolved by midafternoon. Balthaar was not the only man impressed. All kissed her hand upon departing, and many bowed low. Sofy wondered how
any
of these fools, in the Bacosh or Lenayin, got anything done without her. Men blustered, made threats and were easily upset. She soothed their egos, made gentle flattery, and found the happy turn of every dark assignment. When that did not work, she bribed, but not crudely. Whatever the worst opinions of commonfolk and gossips, most noblemen in her experience did not desire simply wealth and power—it was rather status, and respect, that drove their craving for gold.

Following the night’s banquet, Balthaar joined Sofy in their chambers, and dismissed the maids. He clasped her hands as they stood warm before the crackling fireplace, and Sofy’s heart beat faster.

“You are not certain of this war,” he said to her, softly. “Why then did you help today?”

For a long moment, Sofy did not know what to say. “The Bacosh is a grand place,” she said at last. “I am the princess regent. I should try to do good while I have the opportunity. I see Lenays and Larosans sharing each other’s cultures, forging friendships. Surely it cannot be a bad thing.”

She said it firmly enough that she nearly believed it. Her instinct had always been to bring people together. She had never liked conflict. Peace between peoples was always good. She could make something good come of it, she was increasingly certain.

“I would like for many other things to be closer too,” said Balthaar. He kissed her. Sofy thought it rather nice, and let him. He took her to the bed,
and began removing her clothes. They made love, and Sofy thought that rather nice too. He seemed rather taken with her, and was ever so gentle. Too gentle, almost, when her own passion took her. As Yasmyn had said, he was a handsome man, and if this were her heaviest royal burden, then it was not a hard one to bear.

Later, she lay in his arms, and gazed at the fireplace.
Now
she felt different, as though married life had truly begun. Yasmyn would be pleased, she thought, and found herself smiling. And she’d only thought of Jaryd three or four times.

Or maybe five.

Elesther Road was in chaos. The Steel made formations across some alley exits, and cavalry clattered along the cobbles, but the riot continued. Bodies lay unclaimed in the street. Others hung from windows, tied at the neck with rope. The Civid Sein had been this way, and the revenge was spreading.

Lieutenant Raine rode at Rhillian’s side, in full armour. Country folk watched them pass, roughly dressed and bearing all kind of rustic weapons. They roamed Elesther, near the Tol’rhen, and were working toward the Justiciary, while the Steel tried to keep armed mobs apart, with limited success.

“There’s too many of them,” Lieutenant Raine said darkly. “Hundreds more are pouring in every day. They make camp in the courtyards, and the homes of fled or murdered nobility. I need only a word, and I shall drive them back to the farms and villages from which they came.”

“I cannot,” Rhillian said. “Not until the Lady Renine and Alfriedo have been recaptured.” The last was most galling; she had not expected so daring an assault upon the Mahl’rhen itself. Five serrin were dead, a friend amongst them, and the young Lord Alfriedo missing. Still, from the broader perspective, she was not too concerned. “This violence is the work of the feudalists. They were warned of the country folk’s waning patience, and now they see the truth of it.”

“M’Lady,” said the lieutenant, “I am losing men to desertion. You know the Steel, you know the family that we are. The Steel
never
desert. Or rarely. But now I have noble-born enlisted and officers alike disappearing to see to their families, and I cannot in all honesty say that I blame them.”

Rhillian repressed a grimace and looked across the street. A door had been caved in, and several Steel were rounding up looters, beating them with little mercy. Tracato, most civil and orderly of all human cities, was falling apart.

“Council sits today,” she said. “What think the captains?”

“Council,” Lieutenant Raine snorted. “That word used to mean something. These men are not elected….”

“Neither were most of the old Council, in fairness.”

“But at least there was an appearance,” said Raine. “A pretence, no matter how they bought or bribed their way in. A Council without half its elected members, with all the nobility stripped away and replaced with Civid Sein cronies, is no Council at all worth the name.”

“Yet the Steel are sworn to obey the Council,” Rhillian said. “Will the captains do so? Captain Hauser does not give me a straight answer.”

Raine’s expression was bleak. His eyes lingered on a body, face down on the cobbles in a pool of dried blood. “I’m a country lad myself,” he said, “but I’d cut these Civid Sein scum down like vermin given the nod. This is not civilisation, M’Lady, this is rule of the mob, and I like it not. Nor do a majority of country folk, I believe, nor a majority of the Steel. I’ll not follow the orders of such people who now comprise the Council. But of course, I cannot speak for the captains.”

“If not the Council, then who?”

“M’Lady, I would follow you. I believe most of the
dharmi
feel the same. The feudalists are traitors, and the Civid Sein are a barbarian lynch mob. You walk the path between, and are not concerned with factions. I believe that is exactly what Rhodaan needs.”

“Lieutenant, you surprise me. Here I’d thought any expression of solidarity from a human would come with expressions of love and loyalty.”

“My father once told me that if you filled up all the goodness ever done by the promises of councilmen, philosophers, lords and priests in your left hand, while shitting in your right, the right hand will be full much faster. I’ll follow you precisely because you
don’t
ask me to love you.”

Rhillian looked at the young lieutenant for a long moment, then nodded. “I cannot in good conscience even ask you to trust me,” she added. “Most of what I do here, I do not like, and much ill will be done before I am through.”

“It was falling apart already, with what the feudalists were trying. There was little choice.”

“I cannot move against the Civid Sein just yet, Lieutenant, whatever horrors they should perform in the meantime. But soon, I promise.”

In the grand courtyard before the Tol’rhen, usually filled with factional and philosophical debate, there now camped a ragged army. There were many carts, mules and horses, amidst which country folk made makeshift camps. The smoke of cookfires filled the air, and an endless commotion of voices, animals, and from some quarters, shouted speeches.

Rhillian paused on the Elesther steps with Aisha to survey it all, and the Nasi-Keth who wandered through it, some talking and friendly with the new arrivals, others wary. She then pressed on through the main doors, guarded
by Nasi-Keth, and into the dining hall. Here, familiar rowed benches had been rearranged crosswise, and crowded with people—perhaps half Nasi-Keth, and the other half not. At the far end, before the kitchens, a stage had been raised. Even above the roaring of the crowd, Rhillian could hear the booming voice of the speaker, in his black Tol’rhen robes. Only one man in the Tol’rhen possessed such a voice, and could rouse such a ruckus.